Light the Match

In January 2013, my childhood dream died a quiet, unexciting death.

A single e-mail ripped my aspirations to shreds. Five short sentences affirmed my biggest fear: I didn't have the talent to compete with the greats.

Shortly after my 30th birthday, something shifted inside of me. I decided, with unwavering faith and firm resolve, to reignite the fire.

What's the worst that can happen? I asked myself, fully aware that I'd already experienced the most debilitating rejection of my literary career. I couldn't possibly be more disappointed than I'd been in early 2013. Therefore, I had nothing to lose.

I recently began my 13th novel.

This new novel differs from the others in many ways. For starters, this one appeals to an older audience. Additionally, there are no supernatural elements. In fact, it's surprisingly realistic. Although the storyline is pure fiction, many of the characters are real. They are modeled after people I've worked with, befriended, and even loved.

Below is an excerpt from the second chapter. Callie is nothing if not strong-willed. But when she sets aside her pride, she allows miracles to rise up around (and within) her.

Love,
Lisa

Cocoa or Nothing
Chapter 2

I stand up, pulling my jacket from the coat rack. “I have to go.”

“Callie, can I pray for you? Would that be ok?”

“Not now, Mackie. Sorry. I gotta go home, think this over. Clear my head.”

She hops to her feet. “I’ll call you an Uber! You shouldn’t walk home this late.”

“I’m fine,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I need the fresh air. I’ll text you when I’m home safe. Deal?”

Mackenzie places a hand on her hip. She stares at me for a second, concern radiating from her hazel eyes. “Ok. But you better text me, or I’m calling the cops.”

“Cross my heart,” I say as I open the door. “Mack, I’m so sorry this happened on your special day. You should be planning your cute little announcement shit that people always post on Facebook. You should not be worrying about my crazy life. I’m sorry, love.”

She throws her arms around my neck. “Don’t apologize! Don’t you dare! You’re my best friend and whatever we get into, we get into together. I’m by your side. No matter what.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. Then I pry myself from her embrace. “Love ya. I’ll text later.”

I step through the door and into the chilly night.

***

My apartment is one block away. I can see the “One-Stop Travel” sign that rests directly below my window, can hear the creaking of our gate as the wind whips through it. I walk past the apartment building and toward Van Ness Street.

I’m home safe, I text Mackenzie. Goodnight, love.

The lights on Polk Street beckon me. Restaurants, bars and clubs line the street on both sides.  This section of town is always busy, and tonight is no exception. Music blares from Lush, while several people linger outside of FlyBar. The distinct smell of whisky hangs in the air. I can also smell roasted chicken and curry sauce.

A line has formed in front of The Pour House. I weave around well-dressed men and women, careful not to look anyone in the eye.

I can’t stay here, I reflect as I pass these strangers. Not anymore.

My phone rings from inside my pocket. It’s my dad, calling from Chicago.

“Sorry,” I murmur aloud. “Can’t talk now.”

I tuck the phone back into my coat pocket and continue toward Sacramento Street. A homeless man staggers past me, nearly knocking me over. I step aside just as he nearly grazes my arm. The man reeks of dried-up booze and weed.

This is no city for children, I reflect. My throat closes up. I know what has to be done.