Converted
by Aniya Fisher (age 13)
There was one day that I could never forget: September 6, 2023. A day too cold to do anyone any good, yet the air was still warmer than the friend who lay in the casket. That day, we all stood around his casket, crying and saying our goodbyes. There were mutters about how he went too young, how he went to a better place, and that we’d all see him there one day. The only thing I wondered was why he was taken so soon.
“Honey, please come out of your room; brooding won’t do you any good.” My mother called out from downstairs.
I slowly got up and went downstairs, taking my time on the steps. When I got downstairs, there was already breakfast on the table. I sat down in front of a plate of eggs and bacon.
“Are you almost ready for school?” Mother asked.
I bit into a piece of bacon, “Yeah, I just need to get my bag.”
I sat and ate in silence with my mom watching me. After a few seconds, she left up the stairs, presumably to get my backpack. I was finished eating by the time she came back downstairs, with my bag and my coat.
“Here, Honey, put this on, so you don’t get cold,” she handed me the jacket.
I took the jacket and put it on, then put the backpack on. I walked out the door and waited for the bus. About five minutes later, it pulled up and I got on. After finding a seat to myself, I put on my headphones, ready to drown out the world, but the world had other plans for me.
“So whatcha listening to?” a kid asked, while hanging his body over the seat in front, a necklace dangling from his neck.
“Nothing yet,” I say, my finger hovering over a song.
“Well, what are you going to listen to?” he asked.
“It’s not really any of your business, is it?” I ask, though it sounds more like a statement than a question.
There was silence for a few minutes till the kid sat back in his own seat, correctly.
I stared out the window and put my playlist on shuffle. We finally got to school, and I got off the bus as soon as possible. The kid followed behind me, but I decided to ignore him.
I went to my first class, History, which had to be my least favorite. I sat in my seat and waited for the bell to ring.
“Listen up, class,” Mr. Maxwell announced to the class. “We have a new student today, so treat him with respect.”
I looked up at the kid; it was the same one from the bus. I held back a groan. I didn’t want this kid in my class.
“Hey, I’m Matthew.” He stood awkwardly at the front of the room, then sat in the closest empty seat, which just so happened to be right next to me.
I looked closer at his necklace; it was a cross. Great, he’s probably just another one of those Christians. History was long and painful, but was finally over. The rest of the day went without any issues. At the end of the day, I opened my locker. That’s when Matthew came up behind me.
“So, who’s that?” he asked, pointing to a picture in my locker.
I roll my eyes at him, not wanting to be on this subject, but answered anyways.
“That’s my friend … or he was my friend.”
“What’s his name?” Matthew asked, interested.
“Peter,” I answered quickly.
“So why is he not your friend anymore?” Matthew questioned again.
Gosh, does this kid not know how to back off?
“Because he died!” I say, slamming my locker shut and heading to the bus.
With no surprise, Matthew followed me, probably because he was also a bus rider, but still, he didn’t have to follow me all the time. Shortly after, I got onto the bus finding an empty seat, but of course Matthew had to sit next to me.
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Matthew states.
This was obviously him trying to get my name, to try and be my friend, but I didn’t want any more friends, not anymore. But if I didn’t want him to keep bugging me, I might as well just answer him.
“It’s James,” I reply at last.
He smiles. “Nice to meet you, James.”
I point to his cross necklace. “So why do you wear that?” I ask plainly, deciding to make some conversation.
“Oh, this is a cross.”
I roll my eyes again. “Yes, I know it’s a cross. I meant, why do you wear it? You’re going to get bullied for wearing it anyways.”
“It’s because I believe in it, well, in God, which is Christianity,” he fidgets with his cross.
“And you’ll get bullied sooner or later,” I state.
“Yeah, well, I’ll forgive them if they do.”
I raise an eyebrow at that.
“You’ll … forgive them?” I ask, my voice filled with confusion.
“Yeah,” Matthew answers, then sees the look on my face. “God tells us to forgive, and we try to be like God, well, we as in Christians, but I also try to be like God; everyone deserves to be forgiven.”
I give him another look, “But isn’t it hard to forgive people and not get mad at them?”
“I mean, of course it’s hard, no one said it was going to be easy, but I know God has it all figured out.”
“So what, God tells y’all something and you do it?” I ask, kind of sarcastically.
“He tells us in his Word.”
“His Word?” I ask again.
“Yeah, the Bible.” Matthew pulls out a leather-covered book with Bible written on the front, and in small letters under it, “ESV.”
“ESV?” I read to myself.
Another question, if I were him, I’d be annoyed by all the questions I’m asking, though I find it weird that he hasn’t told me to be quiet or to figure it out myself.
“It’s the English Standard Version.” He paused for a few seconds, then continued, “You can have it.”
He puts the book in my hand, and it’s heavier than I thought it was going to be.
“You’re giving it to me?”
“Yep,” he replies.
“Why?” I flip through the pages quickly.
“So, you can read it and see for yourself.”
The bus pulls to a stop, and he gets out, waving me goodbye. I stare at the book in my hands for a few minutes, then shove it into my bag. After I get home, I go straight to my room, ignoring my mother who was cooking dinner. I place the Bible on my bed and stare at it for a few minutes. I open it to the first page, a place to put your name, and I keep slowly flipping through it till I get to the actual first page. My eyes scan the first few lines, something about God and something about the earth. I guess I was staring at it longer than expected because my mom knocked on my door, startling me.
“What Mom?” I ask, looking up from the Bible.
“It’s time to eat,” she says, opening my door slightly.
I put down the Bible and head downstairs.
A long while had passed since I’d left the Bible. It was now sitting on my shelf, collecting dust. I’d been talking to Matthew more; he seemed like a good guy. Always letting stuff roll off his back.
But today I didn’t go to school, I sat in my bed, door closed. My mom closed it this morning; we both knew why. It was September 6th. That day, the day life had started to go downhill.
I stared at the shelf, the Bible staring menacingly back at me. I got up and grabbed it. Not like I had anything else to lose. It opened to Psalms 34. I read the chapter, then read it again. The verse that really stuck out was verse 18, which mentioned something about how God saves the brokenhearted. I wondered why I felt like this, why I had to feel like this. I was almost tempted to yell out and ask him why, but my neighbors didn’t need another reason to think I was crazy. The thing is, I did something I thought I’d never do, and it was odd. I put my hands together and prayed. I kind of knew what I was doing; Matthew prayed a lot, whether it was before lunch or on the way home. I’ve seen him do it loads of times, so I tried to copy that.
“God, if you can hear me, please help me,” I called out. At the time, it felt weird.
I sat there for a few minutes, not understanding what that was supposed to do, though I did feel a little better now. I flipped through my Bible again till I saw something shiny on the front page, so obviously I turned to look at it. It was a simple, silver cross. Like the one Matthew wore. He must have left it in here. I thought about giving it back, but hesitated. I put it on. It looked nice enough on me as someone who never wore any jewelry.
The day went by quickly, and I was back in school again. Matthew had commented on my necklace. Soon enough, I was going to church, Matthew’s church, which he dragged me to, and going to this thing called “youth group.” I got baptized, and years later even got married to the love of my life.
Something I had realized was that Matthew had always been there, but not just Matthew, God was there too. Of course, not physically, but I could always feel his presence, like when I was about to make the wrong decision. But especially when I missed Peter. I still miss him now, but every time I feel this way, I just open my Bible to Psalms 34. I now know that God has it all in his plans; all I needed was a push in the right direction, and Matthew gave me just that.
About the Author
Aniya Fisher is a 13-year-old girl in Indiana who goes to a Christian school. In her free time, she likes to read books, try out for new things, and hang out with her friends. She goes to youth group on Wednesday and helps with the little kids on Sundays.
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Image is in the Public Domain. Modified with AI by Veronica McDonald.
