A Convincing Claim

A Convincing Claim

Sweat was dripping off the tip of my nose. I had my knees slightly bent, eyes scanning the field, and hands ready to deflect any ball that came zooming in that eighteen yard box. A tall, slim blonde came dribbling into the box, ball at her feet as she prepared for that game winning shot she was about to blast off. She pulls her leg back, all her conditioned muscles flexing as she does so. Then as her foot soccer ball, it was like a shot being fired out of a cannon. Heading towards the lower ninety degree corner, I dove and laid out flat on the ground. As I extended my hands above my head, I felt the sweet reward of the ball being caught in my hands. Prize in my hands, I stood up and strolled off the field to shake hands with the other team. Success was ours, and there was nowhere else I would rather be.

After shaking heads, I walked over to my mom, a bright smile beaming across my face. I swung my backpack off my shoulder and handed it to her. As I did so, my history binder crashed to the ground and my papers flew across the cement. Landing in a large water puddle was my essay on the North Carolina colony, due the very next day. I was absolutely mortified.

Slowly, I began to pick up all my spilled assignments. Reaching out to grab my soggy history paper from the puddle, I noticed, from the corner of my eye, a young fit man stopped directly in front of the puddle glaring at my paper. The young man displayed very distinguishing looks through his face and posture. It was apparent, though, time had taken its toll on him. His eyes, a deep sea green, contrasted with his dark, coal black eyebrows, and also brought attention to the deep scar on his upper left forehead. His dark hair, which was beginning to thin in the front, blew in the swift wind as he kneeled down and carefully grabbed my ruined paper from the gigantic puddle. I quickly stood up, in attempt to make direct eye contact with the handsome man. He held his slim body upright as his eyes skimmed the wet paper. Without the slightest sound, a glowing white smile lit up his face; haunting chills ran through my body as it made my reminisce back to that ear to ear smile of my dad, a man I once thought I knew. Minutes pasted and the man read through my whole assignment. As he finished reading the last lines of my homework, he tore his eyes away from the paper and looked into my face with his heartwarming eyes and comforting smile. Now for the part I had been dreading, the uncomfortable confrontation.

Extending his arm, he laid the soggy paper into the fold of my hand. Smiling, I softly mumbled, "Thanks." As I turned to leave, he quickly responded, "You're welcome. I realize we've never met, but as I watched you scramble and gather your papers, you appear to be a hard-working, devoted student here at University High. As I was scanning your assignment, I realized this was my opportunity to make a difference in this world, if you're willing to accept. At the bank, tucked away in a safety deposit box, is a yellowed piece of paper passed through my family for generations. It is the story of what really happened to the first group of colonists that built a settlement on Roanoke Island and then three years later, had mysteriously disappeared. I've been meaning to turn it over to the officials for years, but my conscience has gotten the better of me each time. Would you like to use it?"

As this question registered in my brain, it triggered a series of troublesome thoughts. Just exactly who was this man? Why was he offering this vital, but useful piece of information to me? How was I going to get this paper and make use of it in one night's time? All these questions made me begin to doubt the reality of these circumstances. Instinctively, I checked over my shoulder for the situational support of my mother. To a shocking surprise, she had obviously made her way to the car, assuming I was directly following. A confused and worried expression came across my face as I soon realized this was one decision I was going have to make on my own.

Unsure of a convincing response, I calmly replied, "SSSurreee," the word drug out emphasizing my nervousness. Almost instantly, he prepared a plan in his brain. "OK, here's the deal. These days, in the small town of Williamstown, North Carolina, everyone is as close as a next door neighbor. One of my best buds, Jenkins Bowles, is the owner of the city bank downtown. We could meet there in an hour and you could pick up the document. Does that sound like a satisfying plan?" Still leery, I thought about this decision. Before I could reply, he quickly added," Oh, and by the way, in case you didn't know, I'm Mr. Bailey, the eleventh grade English teacher here at University. Hearing this was like striking gold. This fabulous young male was just another person trying to help me reach my successful career goal. Without any further concerning thoughts and a smile now overwhelming my face, I replied, "That sounds like a wonderful idea."

An hour later, my mom and I parked in front of a large, two-story building made of marble. An arch across the top of the building held a sign that read National Bank. After reassuring my mom of the situation and that I could handle this alone, I climbed out of the car and ascended the steps to the building. I entered the building through the heavy front door and crossed into a large sitting area that was right before the bank teller booths. Confidently, I took a seat in a large comfortable leather chair. Admiring the great thought that had been put into the design of the building, time passed quickly and within minutes, Mr. Bailey arrived with a safety deposit key tightly grasped in his right hand. He walked towards me, grabbed my cold hands, helped me up from the chair, and exclaimed, "Let's go!"

He led me down a hallway directly off the main entrance room, with narrow halls. Directly ahead, Mr. Bailey opened an office door labeled Mr. Antonio, hollered in the room, and within seconds, a large man dressed in a suit and tie appeared. He led us into a large room filled with small metal boxes built into each wall. Mr. Bailey announced his box number and was directed to it. When he inserted that tiny key, the valuable riches and papers hidden behind that small door astonished me.

Pilfering through a hefty stack of papers, Mr. Bailey finally pulled out a long document with creased corners and letters covered with smudged ink. "Here you are," he said, glancing at the paper then placing it in my palms. "Take good care of this. Don't let anyone else have it or see it. Also, done cause any damage to this and return it immediately after you've finished. It's irreplaceable," he added. "I understand completely,"