FRANCIS OF ASSISI

Short Story

1

All night I thought about the upcoming fishing trip, twisting and turning side to side, glancing at the clock on my cell phone repeatedly—afraid to oversleep. That evening I had set the electronic alarm for five a.m. A few times before going to bed I also reminded my dad to likewise set the alarm on his cell phone for five a.m. “Tomorrow I will catch a loooot of fish!” There is nothing more amazing than going fishing! Ice cream, bike riding, even computer games cannot compare to fishing. Of course, this doesn’t mean that I don’t like to eat ice cream, ride a bike, or especially play computer games, but fishing is something special.

When my parents ask me who I want to be when I grow up, I have a ready answer—a fisherman. Recently I told my parents that I want to drop out of school. “Why?” “Because I know how to count, read and write, and a fisherman need no other knowledge. A fisherman needs luck.” We argued a lot until I finally relented. I will finish school but I will not go to college. I will buy a boat, pulleys, and high rubber boots right away and I will fish day and night. I will sell the caught fish. For this purpose, I will open my own store and hire workers; maybe even my parents will agree to clean the fish there and work as cashiers. We will have a real family business. My dad and I shook hands on this business deal. My mom muttered that “college would need to be finished all the same.”

 

2

 “Once I visited Italy with your mother; you were not born yet and were inside your mother’s belly.  So, in Florence we went inside the famous cathedral Santa Croce. There, in one Chapel behind the glass, a frock of Saint Francis of Assisi is stored. This man lived long ago,” my father told me when we were riding in the car in the morning. “This dark brown frock lies behind the glass, along with a rope which Saint Francis used to tie.”           

Yawning, I looked out the window where in dissipating twilight the shapes of trees flashed.

facebooktwittergoogle_plus