Whose hand to hold
My mind is doing summersaults, and I’m desperate for a scrap of attention.
Throw me your left-overs, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll take anything.
Jealousy tugs on my left hand, and greed slips between my cold, pale, fingers. At the same instant, a man dressed in white gently takes my right hand. His fingers are delicate and quietly intertwined with mine.
My left side forcefully pulls, calling me closer and my right side remains calm, waiting.
I study the faces of these two strangers. The stranger on the left is large. His face no more than a shadow. There is a cloud surrounding this stranger, and his hands long ice cicles. His grip strong, and forceful.
The stranger on the right, is less of a stranger. I feel like I know him.
The string of thorn bush wrapped around his head glistens, imitating that of a halo, and his pale blue eyes calm and inviting. It is then I know.
My left side tugs harder, and harder. Calling me in, calling my name.
I release the fragile hand that has been silently laying in my sinful right hand and in less than an instant, he is gone. I take a breath and my lungs freeze. I am motionless. I try to let go of the man holding my left hand, I struggle to let go, but I can’t. The grip is so strong, and the bond unable to be broken. Let me go, I cry out. Let me go. He is too strong for me to break free. He has a hold on me, and I am helpless. My hands are now damp and stained red, he has me so tight. I recite a quick prayer and tears make their way down my face. One by one they rain over my lips, and onto my shirt. Please God, Please God. Release me from this shackle. The stranger dressed in white reappears and my left hand is set free. The faceless man is gone. He takes my left hand and it is instantly healed. No more pain. No more blood. No more tears. We walk hand and hand, together. I am free.
Whose hand are you holding?
