Chapter 17
Chapter 17
A week before graduation day at the academy, I submitted my final thesis required for Bones’s self-imposed divinity degree. Forty pages on one verse in Scripture: Matthew 18:12. When Bones handed it back, he’d written one word on the last page. “Pass.”
“That’s all I get? Pass?”
He shrugged, wrote “Nice Job” next to it, and handed it back a second time.
I held up the pages. “I put a lot of work into this.”
“I can tell. And...” He raised a finger. “Truth be told, you’re not a bad writer.”
I would remember this in the years to come. And the smirk he wore as he often reminded me how he recognized first what so many have since come to know.
As I worked to obtain my seminary degree, Bones had served as my only advisor and professor. When he handed me the diploma, true to his word, it had been made out to Murphy Shepherd. The fake me.
“What good is this if I can’t take credit for it?”
He responded, “You didn’t get it so you could hang it on the wall. You got it because you can’t fake it.”
I raised a finger. “Correction. I got it because you made me.”
“You could have quit at any time.”
“You picked a fine time to tell me. ”
He smiled.
That same day, he had handed me a box and said, “Inside are three things you might need. The first is something to help you arrive on time. Hopefully you’ll use it because you’re always late.” Which was a lie. I’d never been late. But he knew this. “Second, there’s a memento of our time together. Something to remember me by. On the other hand, you might need it. And third, a letter.”
With that, Bones turned and walked away. No goodbye. No “Nice job the last four years.” No “Have a nice life.” No “Thanks for the memories.” Just his backside walking away. To be honest, I had expected as much.
I opened the box and did in fact find three things. The first was a Rolex Submariner. The time had been set five minutes fast. A note attached to it read:
There are two reasons for this. You didn’t quit when I gave you every reason. Your life would have been easier, but easy is overrated. You should get something for tolerating the hell you endured.
B ones’s gift was exorbitant. I’d never owned a nice watch. Certainly nothing like this. And I’d worn it and carried it through a million miles with Bones, only taking it off when I gave it to Ellie, who’d worn it every day since as a reminder that her dad loved her and would come for her.
The second item was a Sig 220. Bones’s letter had continued:
Do this long enough and you will find that the two worst sounds in the human ear are “boom” when you’re expecting “click” and “click” when you’re expecting “boom.” This one has always gone “boom” when I needed it, which has been a comfort on more than one occasion.
T he last was a key taped to the letter. It continued:
This fits two doors, both of which lead to the rest of your life. Unlock door number one and I’ll give you a recommendation for any job anywhere or grant you any military assignment you desire. You pick. Walk through this door and I can guarantee you a fast track to advancement and compensation on Easy Street. The world at your feet. You’ve earned it, and I owe you this much. In the years I’ve been scouring talent for someone like you, you’re the first not to quit. Congratulations. The previous thirteen bailed and told me where I could stick certain things. That makes you either crazy or just simply better. I’m still trying to decide which.
Door number two is a little different, and before you unlock it you need to know that, once you walk through, there’s no turning back. No “Can I get off now?” No “This isn’t what I signed up for.” No “Oops, I changed my mind.” You make up your mind here and now and you live with it. No matter the cost. For the rest of forever. That’s the price you pay. If you don’t like it or if this somehow offends your sensibilities or if it is hurtful to the child housed within you, then don’t insert that key into this lock. Because wrong motives, malicious intent, or a half-baked, half-cocked, “Why not?” naivete only lead to a lifetime of regret. And probably you dead in some ditch or quarry or mine shaft on the back end of the earth with no one to hear your last breath.
Given that you’re still reading, I gather I’ve piqued your interest. What then, you might ask, is the value of door number two? If door number one is cash, prizes, and life laid out on a silver platter, why would anyone in their right mind choose anything else? Why not just ride the gravy train into the sunset? Unfortunately, there’s only one way to know. I will tell you this, and I’m qualified to speak because I walked through the door before you: there is something more valuable than money. Although you will have to dig deep to find it. I cannot promise you that door number two will lead to all your dreams coming true. In fact, a few will be shattered. But walk through it and I can promise you this: one day you’ll look inside and amid the scars and the carnage and even the heartbreak, you’ll find something only a few ever come to know.