"The Coin" part 1 from "Inside your shadow." (C) 2025

 

There’s a river that passes through hell. To get across that river one must pay the ferryman (Charon). One of the items, energies set free was from an AA coin.
When one leaves the Earth he/she must pay the Charon a coin.
In other worlds (God’s Time is different from manmade time).

The energies of the chip went to a father’s wake. He remembered a few years ago, hearing his father talk to his stepmom, “I just don’t understand why he came to Thanksgiving high out of his mind again. I’ve done everything I could do to help him.”

The son remembered being drunk and high when he called his father on the telephone, “It’s your fault that I don’t have anything. It’s your fault my girlfriends leave me. It’s your fault because you treated mom so bad. It doesn’t matter how much money you have. You failed at life. That new wife you got will leave you too. How dare you treat your wife’s kids better than you treat me.” He called his father a lot with those type of sentiments. But this time, he actually remembered. Remembered hearing his father cry.

The son remembered being resentful at his grandmother, father’s side for treating him lesser than human-so he thought. The son had yellow skin and was underweight. Clothes that once fit him didn’t because he was strung out from the drugs and the alcohol. She passed him on the street while driving her car. Then turned her head away in disgust. He remembered having a restraining from attending her funeral.

He remembered coming to his father’s office using emotional blackmail. Explaining how he was ruined and needed money to get nice clothes for a job interview. And the father was manipulated again out of a hundred and fifty dollars.

The son looked around the funeral home  at his relatives on his father’s side. All of them distanced themselves from him. Or was that in his own mind. He thought he heard them whispering, “He’s actually got the nerve to show up.” “I bet he’s strung out again. ” He also heard, “No I heard he’s doing well now. He’s got a job as a counselor now.” Most of those talking negatively about him hadn’t seen him in years. The program taught him to let all the negativity go. His eyes were clouded by his unfallen tears. He indeed was smart to wear the sunglasses. He opened the door of the large area where his father was.

He entered the room with his head down.

Minutes after the feast. He was compelled to tell me he had liver cancer.

            

I’m sick, and they kindly say, “I’ll Pray for you.” …I assume they mean “Pray for me to be Healthy Again.” What if it’s God’s Will For Me To Die?

I had developed a sickness before I had learned about my father’s. It was Thanksgiving. My stepmom, my father, my niece and nephew were in the kitchen. There were platters, bowls, and plates with the regulars on the marble center table, potatoes, gravy, turkey, cranberries, and dressing. The interior designer came in, seemingly from nowhere. Wearing blue jeans and a black shirt to get his pay. He asked my stepmom, while my father was in the kitchen, “How’s he taking the news?” and my father then entered the room.

The casket was open. He was surrounded by his stepmom and his step siblings. The ugly voices came again-the same ugly voices he heard often before taking the fix. When the voices came before he used it as an excuse to use. And the voices would continue. It’s the same voice we all hear that gives us self-doubt, self-hatred, “You’re an embarrassment.” “You’re a failure.” “He could never love you.” Fortunately, there is another voice, “Keep going. You’re a better person now. You’ve made your amends. God loves you.” And of course The Sayings In The Rooms That Save Lives, “Acceptance is the Answer.” “Let Go. Let God.” and the affirmations his counselor told him, “Everyday, I’m getting better in every way.” These were enough if he chose to deal with his emotional state as well as possible.

His relatives stepped away from the open casket. He looked around to make sure that he and his father were the only ones in the room. He noticed the nice furniture, the pretty pictures on the walls, the fancy framed mirrors: Everything so pristine and proper. He remembered being angry that his father didn’t buy him houses and cars. It took some work for the son to realize his foolish ways; and change. Then he remembered his father saying, “Son as long as you take care of yourself as best you can, I will be there for you when you’re in need.” And he was grateful that his father knew him after he got clean and sober. He remembered the fun they had on fishing trips, the billiard games. He remembered his father having that tear in his eye when he graduated from college. He remembered being told in one of those meetings that he should give more than take.

Thus the lines he could remember of the Saint Francess Prayer came to his thoughts. Next he remembered that he had a small book in his jacket pocket. He turned to page 101. The he wrote down the prayer on a napkin. The son wept as he read the prayer over and over again.

Then he took a twelve-step chip from his wallet. Placed it inside of his father’s suit pocket…

“I judge myself by my intentions. The world judges me by my actions.”-AA

He waited and waited in that line. He had no food or drink. He could fall asleep; but when he wakes, he would definitely lose his place in line. There’s only so much you can say when you’re waiting for so long. One day, he roamed away from the line. Saw a mountain in the distance. The temperature was hot and the ground was of fiery embers. The ground was so hot that it melted the soles and fabric of his shoes to his feet. The sky was orange and yellow. His clothing also melted to his skin. Strange looking half beast and half human beings chased him. And he wept as he ran. One day, he thought about the last house he lived in-and it appeared on the path to the mountain.

He walked inside. Saw the small sunroom. Then walked into the kitchen, the den, and then into the small two bedrooms. He took notice of all the nice furniture. The leather couches, the mahogany dressers. He looked at the huge black and white television, the huge bed.

He felt the warmth of the whiskey in his throat and stomach. Suddenly, he had his favorite whiskey bottle in his hand. He looked around. Now the house was completely empty. He remembered that he sold everything inside the house the day before. Used the money to keep his drunk going. It really didn’t matter what he told his wife. He was going to replace it all anyway. He looked out the window and saw five bodies hanging from a large oak tree. He was in his childhood home. That was the first time he saw blacks killed.

A neighborhood coming out to gather around the lifeless bodies hanging from the large oak tree.

He was around twenty-five when he killed his first. And he bragged at the poker games, as if it were a prize game. He killed around twenty black men in his life. The last one he killed was lodged in his memory. He was drunk driving through the country roads chasing one down and screaming “Run ____ run!” The fellow ran into his driveway. He shot him in the leg. The man fell in front of his son. But he didn’t see the man’s son until he walked up and shot the man in the head. He remembered the son crying. It was such an awful haunting sound for him to hear-was his last memory as he died years later.

The first thing that had to be done was make him willing and able to do things he normally wouldn’t do. Really wasn’t difficult to do at all because so many were getting high together.

Different types were there. It seemed like most of em’ were there to get high or drunk for a brief while then go back to being productive. …and no matter how much he tried to live in the memories of joy he knew there was no escape. No escape, until he was at a lake fishing on the shore with his father. “You can do it boy,” his father was so patient. His father kept catching fish with ease. He was an eight-year-old, “I’m not good enough.” He felt endless self-hatred that he carried much of the time.

The water of the lake turned into fire.

But every once in a while, he remembered his father saying, “Boy let it go,” as he gently wiped the boy’s tears away. He remembered feeling the rough, like sandpaper on his cheeks. He felt peace. Caught his first fish. Felt joy as the fires turned into a thick fog.

He saw the moon so brightly shining on the figure in a robe and cloak. Had to be the Grim Reaper rowing the ship, with one passenger on board.

When he was consumed by his hatred and fear. He was on the fiery road running from the strange beings chasing him.

One day though:

he sincerely prayed to God while running. The fiery sky became black and he was on the lake’s shore. The moon was a silver color. It was so far away that he could cover it, but not its shine, with his hand. He gripped it as if it were in his hand. Then he felt something cold and metal in his palm. He untightened his fingers. He had the recovery coin in the palm of his hand.