ec fiction contest finalist: Whitney Stewart

Last December, the ec staff invited our readers to think creatively and exercise your writing skills in our first ever fiction contest. Your response surprised us. You've probably seen the winning submission on page 20 of this month's issue of the magazine. And we promised you the two other finalists' stories in their entirety here on the blog. So, sit back and read Whitney Stewart's submission, "Underneath My Skin."

Underneath My Skin
By Whitney Stewart

No one ever really noticed her, not until she was gone. I did, even though I never would have admitted it. She was just a classmate and to me, a strange one. That was because she was so different. There was this way about her, like there was this light that just emanated from her. That was what caught my eye; she was like no one I had ever met before.

She looked like an average person. No striking features good or bad. Yet she never seemed average. She was quiet and reserved. When she did break her silence, it always seemed worth listening to. My friends would mock her, though, even when what she said made perfect sense. She never acted like the average person either. She was always there with an outstretched hand, even for those who ridiculed and mocked her. She also never seemed to have any harsh words for anyone.

She always talked about this friend she had. He was always there for her no matter how big of small the problem was. She always mentioned Him in class. in ethics, she always went back to what He said she should do and what was right and wrong, not what she personally would want to do, like the rest of the class did. No one could stand it when she spoke, even though they listened. The snickered behind her back or tried to ambush her into saying something she would have regretted. At first, my view was the same as everyone else's and then slowly it turned into respect. Respect because I knew that I would never had been able to stand the kind of ridiculing she went through. Heck, even though I knew what my friends did was wrong, I just stood by and let them torment her. She never showed any hint of it.

I wouldn't even have known her name if it hadn't been for that day. When I needed someone the most, there she was. My so-called friends were too busy getting ready for homecoming and finding dates. She found me crying on the stairs before school started. Coming up to me, she asked "What's wrong?" At first, I just ignored her, not wanting to come out and say those terrible six words. It was like saying them out loud would make the situation come true. She sat there patiently. The fact that she had stayed was a comfort. Everybody had just walked off amidst an uncomfortable silence. Finally, I was able to muster up the courage. "My parents are getting a divorce." The words sounded like the hammer hitting the anvil. She just sat there for a couple of minutes. "I'm sorry. That must be hard." At that, I broke down and let the dam that had been building all morning burst. I couldn't understand how they could just break up after so many years. What she had to say next surprised me.

“My parents have been divorced for about a year now, and it doesn't get any easier." She explained all that had led up to that point. All the meaningless arguments and things left unsaid. She told about her sister moving to upstate New York to live with her mom. “You must miss them.”

“I get to see them at Christmas and in the summer.”

“What is the hardest part?”

“Well, it's hard not seeing them, but the hardest part is the fact that I can't get any of them to go to church with me.”

“Huh?”

She explained that shortly after her parents' divorce, a guy down the block had convinced her to go to a camp over the summer that his church was going to. So she went. She had just needed to get away. It had gotten to the point where she avoided going home at all costs. She didn't feel loved at all. “After I was at the camp for a couple of days, I realized I was loved, just not by somebody I could physically see or touch. At the time, I couldn't deny the truth of what the pastor said. Someone loved me enough to die for me! And the fact that hew was so different. That's what brought me through my parents' divorce. That is what can help you.” She saw my look of disbelief and didn't push the subject, though she invited me to her church, giving me the directions.

We hung out more and more as the year went by. She never made any attempts to hide her religion. At lunch she would pray over her food. Although, she never asked me to, I would hold off eating until she was done. My friends started teasing me, just because I was hanging out with her. They even seemed to increase their torment of her. Now I couldn't stand what they were doing to her, though I rarely said anything. I was too scared to do anything. Though, the times that I did stand up for her, the look on her face made me feel like a million bucks. She seemed to understand how hard it was for me to stick up for her. Even then I didn't really grasp how much of an impact she was having on me.

She always made a point of inviting me to a church function or just church in general, but I always declined. She never pushed and asked in such a casual way I never thought anything of it. With my parents' divorce, I couldn't see how there could be a God who loved me, regardless of how much she insisted He did. She never gave up an opportunity to tell me this. I also wasn't ready for the kind of ridiculing I would get from my friends. It was hard enough to deal with the teasing I was getting. So I stayed home. Then my world came crashing down.

When I finally set foot in a church, I wished with every fiber of my being that I wasn't there, not for the reasons I was. A funeral, I never would have dreamed it! I had waited so long and now it was for a funeral. I remember looking at all the strange faces, wondering why I had even come. I didn't know any of these people. The were all so sad and crying. As I sat in a pew in the back all alone, I listened to what everybody was saying. I wondered why something like this could happen. No one seemed to remember the bad, and if they did, it was said as if it had been some joke. Then the pastor got up to say the last words.

They weren't words of remembrance, but a warning. A warning about how short life in this world is and that it is not our last. He talked with such conviction and passion. He had me captivated. He was talking about the same thing she had. As he came to a close, pleading for those you have never accepted Jesus' gift of eternal life, I broke. I realized that I had been nearly too late. Right then and there, I gave my life to her Jesus and took Him as my Savior. I trusted that He would heal this deep hurt.

I was sick that day. I didn't go to school or the hospital that we volunteered at. I wished I had. I wished I hadn't waited that extra day. Mom woke me up about three, worry strewn across her face. There had been a shooting at the hospital. I had sat up like a bolt of lightning. Was she OK? The look on Mom's face betrayed everything.

After her funeral, I couldn't get enough of Jesus. I devoured everything I could get out of the Bible. I did all I could to follow what I saw. I struggled, yes, but little by little, I saw myself gain ground. I still gain ground every day. My biggest regret is that I never took the opportunity to say, "Mary, I love you." Why hadn't I been able to do that before it was too late? In the time I had gotten to know her, she had stolen my heart. My prayer is that Mary knows she is the one who got to me, got underneath my skin, before she had the courage to look death in the face and say, "Yes, I am."

Getting to know Whitney:
Age at time of submission: 18, college freshman
Hometown: Lehigh Acres, Florida
Favorite Scripture: Matthew 11:28