500: An Anthology of Short Stories
An Unfinished Journey

I was in a small rowboat, floating on a serene, dead calm, vast sea. But I didn’t know how I knew this, as I was lying in the bottom of the boat, my body chained down, immobile. I didn’t panic, surprisingly, but I breathed shallowly, as if taking my last few breaths.

A sudden image, sharp as a scalpel, sliced through the fog cottoning my mind. I recalled the last moment I was actively conscious, before I had been swept away to replace myself shackled to the bottom of a rowboat on the surface of an ocean. –

“You’re a very fortunate man, Alastair,” the surgeon, Doctor Sigidi, informs me. “A donor has come forward with a kidney,” he tells me. I had been on the waiting list for nearly a year, having given up hope long ago of ever receiving the kidney transplant I so desperately required.

“Who is the donor, Doctor?” I ask in feverish fervor. “I’d like to meet and thank the person,” I add, smiling, my heart finally freed of the fear and uncertainty it had been captive to for these past eleven months.

“Actually, you do know the person, Alastair,” Doctor Sigidi informs me, giving me a wink as he takes a step back to reveal the person standing silently behind him.

I gasp in utter incredulity, exclaiming in delight and surprise, “Dale Finnegan, my erstwhile student of many moons ago!” I reach out to him. Although it’s awkward to hug me as I’m lying in my hospital bed, Dale warmly embraces me.

“It’s the least I could do for you, sir,” he says, once again my Grade 12 History student. Warm tears pool in my eyes as I gaze upon the young man he has become.

“How did you even replace out that I needed a kidney, Dale? And please, call me Alastair; I long ago stopped being your ‘sir’,” I tell him.

Laughing softly, Dale says, “Fine, Alastair. I saw the appeal on Facebook and well, the rest is history,” he joked. Both of us laugh at his obvious pun. –

I was back in a blink in the boat, my breathing far shallower, more strained than before. I could sense my end nearing. Strangely, I heard weeping, heartfelt sobbing; I heard my mother’s voice saying, “He was doing so well, too. Lord, please bring my son back to us! God, grant us a miracle at this holiest of times, I beg Thee.”

I closed my eyes; I was ready to sink into eternal slumber.

“Wake up, Alastair,” a melodious, disembodied voice imbued with infinite Grace, Mercy and Love addressed me, rousing me instantly from my stupor.

“It’s not time for you to come home, my son. Return. I am not yet done with you.” –

Gasping, I open my eyes, stunning the mourners surrounding my bed. My mother is the first to react, fiercely enfolding me, tears of joy streaming down her beloved face.

“Thank you God for this miracle!”

Gratefully, I accept God’s gift.