Why Paradox Believes in Continuing Revelation

My high school only allows five unexcused absences before a student will fail the marking period for attendance. After several days of almost no sleep, I stayed home on Thursday; I knew, however, that I couldn't miss any more days after that.

Friday morning comes. I don't make the bus. I wake my mom up, but she refuses to take me to school. She tells me to call one of my friends that drive, but I had already done so before approaching her--she fails to realize that she is always, always my last resort. I informed my mom that I needed her to take me to school.

To which she replied, rather indignantly, "I guess you're walking."

No big deal, right?

Well, I live about 4 miles from my school, and there are two ways to get there; down a really long two-lane back road, or down a four-lane highway that eventually merges with the interstate in both directions--complete with truck drivers and all sorts of scary looking hitchhikers.

I laced up my knock-off Converses and started walking through the balmy morning.

I was angry. . . wait, no.

I was furious.

I listened to my MP3 player, and attempted not to get emotional about Mama Judas' latest betrayal. It didn't work, but I knew I needed to get moving. If I didn't make it to school by the end of 1st period, I'd only have a half day, and could still fail for attendance.

About five minutes into my trek, I realized I should have worn different shoes. My shoes were already damp, and I knew by the time I got half-way to school, they would be soaked.

I kept willing for the Mack trucks, or the cars doing 60--or any of the vehicles travelling down the first two-lane road I'd have to travel--to do me a favor and strike me dead.

I considered throwing myself in front of one of them, but I knew that with my luck, I'd survive. And there'd be no living with the therapy and the mark of Cain that would permanently follow me after that.

So I attempted to distract myself from my melodrama--and the swampy smell that accompanies fog here--with just about anything else that could hold my attention.

I saw an empty bottle of Hennessey, and realized that it never occurred to me that I didn't know how to spell that.

I pounded the white edge of the pavement in an angry swagger as I realized what it meant to "walk the line." (Thank you Johnny Cash.)

I walked the line, forgetting everything I ever knew about prayer. I walked the line all the way to the biggest puddle I've ever actually seen, and stomped on it without a miracle in sight.

I stared straight ahead of me, watching cars zoom past me like I didn't exist. I thought about where I would go if I was the one behind the steering wheel of a Mercedes, a Hyundai, a Ford. I fantasized about driving to BWI, hopping the first flight that goes anywhere near Salt Lake City, and never looking back.

I looked up at the sky. Why couldn't I just leave, then?

I wanted to scream. I had no answers, no one to call, nothing to do but walk... and that just didn't seem fair. So I cried.

"All BY yourseeeeeelf... by yoourseeeeeeelf..... all BY yoourseeeelf," crooned Gwen Stefani in my ears, which only made it worse because it was true.

"OOOOOH MISEEEEERY! OOOOOOOOOOH MISEEEEEERY!" followed Pink with Steven Tyler, and I knew that if I kept this up, I wasn't going to make it. Not to school, not through my day, not through anything else. But I just didn't have it in me to switch over to something else. What could I change it to? "I am a Child of God"? HA!

"An earthly home with parents kind and dear"?

More like an earthly Hell with parents kind of useless. Spare me.

Eventually, I reached the end of the first back road and turned onto the really long, really narrow road that runs almost directly to my high school.

I remembered learning that you're supposed to walk with traffic when you're on a road with no sidewalk. But I decided that if I'm going to be hit by a car, I would at least want to get to watch, so I stayed on the wrong side of the road.

And before too long, a school bus tried to pass another car on this really narrow road and almost hit me, so it's not like my thoughts were completely unfounded.

It then occurred to me that I might actually get lucky, and someone might pick me up. So I started to think about whether or not I would accept such an offer. I ultimately decided I was pissed off enough to not care if I got picked up by a rapist or something.

At which point I realized I was being somewhat ridiculous, and moved on to something else.

I decided to start counting all the cars that passed without stopping for me.

1. . . 2 3. . .4. . .5 6 7. . .

It gave me something to do that both passed the time and proved a point.

12. . . 13. . . 14. . .

Where are all these people going that they can't do the dang speed limit, let alone offer me a ride?

24 . . . 25 26 27 . . . . 28 29

"Especially since ah was nearly hit by yer stupid Escalade, ya jerk! The speed limit is 30 here, ya A-HOLE! Don't drive a friggen land yacht if y'all cain't read!!!"

33. . . . . 34. . . 35. . .

Just because you're mad doesn't mean you get to butcher English you bumpkin. You have to stop doing that.

49. . . 50. . . . 51 52. . . 53 (or was that 54?). . .

That's like the 3rd bus I've seen. Even THEY won't give me a break?

62. . . . . .

I'm really hungry. I should have eaten before I left.

. . . .66 67 . . . 68. . .

Ugh. Stagnant water. I won't miss that in Utah.

74. . . . . . .

Oh look, and empty pill bottle. I wonder what used to be in it.

81 . . .

Hey, it's TJ! I know him! I totally don't feel so bad now. Wow, that makes me wish I could skateboard too. Not that I intend to try.

89 90. . . .

It just wouldn't look natural. TJ is a total Rastafarian, and I'm just a book worm who reads books like The Bell Jar and worries that it's some kind of oracle for her future.

96 97 98. . . . . . . . . . 99

Well looky here, Mr. 100 drives a Cadillac too! When I write my first novel and make lots of money, I'm resolved here and now never to drive a Caddy because of these jerks.

105. . . . 106 . .

I'm almost there. Now do I want to follow this other back road, or do I want to go straight and go around with all the traffic?

107. . .

Well, TJ is going straight, and he would know better than I would which way to go. Lead the way Mr. Rasta.

115. . . . . . . 116 117 118. . . . .

Well, we're getting closer to the Christian school. Maybe someone will decide to be a good Christian and offer me a ride or something. I'm pretty sure a book bag, a college sweatshirt, and jeans are a decent indication that I'm not an ax-murderer or a prostitute.

. . . 121. . . and 122! . . .

Jesus saw that! That's right, drop off your progeny so they can learn about being the kind of Christians that drive Cadillacs don't pick up people walking to school!

. . . 134 . . . 135 . . .

Wow. That's a nice red Mustang, Mrs. 135. What do YOU do for a living?

. . . . . . . . . 142. . . the Mack truck doesn't count.

Mr. Passenger in the Mack truck, that wasn't an invitation for you to start gawking at me out the window. Mindja business!

. . . . 155. . . 156. . . .

Yanno, I'm not exactly being a Kosher Mormon right now. I'm gonna have Hell to pay when I watch Conference this weekend.

. . . 156 157 158 159 . . .

I'm practically there. I don't suppose it counts at this point.

. . . . 162 163 . . . . 164

I'm really hungry. I should have eaten before I left . . .

169 . . . . 170

That was a good, round number so I decided to stop there.

I pulled out my phone. 8:47. 1st period ends at 9:05! I was going to make it!

I rolled into the office at 8:52 to get a pass. My MP3 player was still going.

"I'm goin' to California... Will someone say a prayer for me?" sang Pink.

A tear gathered on my lashes. If this morning had taught me anything, it's not to rely too much on other people to do much for you.

I got to first period just in time to tell my friends where I had been. None of them knew what to say because they know where I live. Their expressions said exactly what I myself was thinking: Nobody in their right mind would walk that road.

And then of course I find out that Friday was the start of the new marking period, so my 5 days had started over that morning, and my going to school wouldn't make a difference at all in my attendance.

I got really mad.

One of my friends came over and started complaining about how he ONLY has A-'s in sooooo many of his classes, and how DARE our English teach not allow him to turn in his English project 4 days late because he has been so busy with this-that-and-the-other...

I looked at him like he was being absolutely insane.

He wouldn't stop talking, so I started screaming profanities and cursing all the way down the hallway to second period, where a bunch of freshmen and sophomores decided to stand right in front of the door. I screamed at them to move, and it scared them. Normally I would have laughed at their fear, but I really wasn't in the mood.

When I got into the room, I sat down for the first time that morning. The weight of what I had done hit me like all the Mack trucks that hadn't bothered to slow down as they passed me on the road.

And I finally said a prayer. . .

Please let me make it to General Conference. I need it Heavenly Father. I need it.