Cici Showers

Parker Couch

Acting 2

Pamela Ware

CiCi Showers

To whom this may concern:

I am and always will be a murderer. Whether in the eyes of God or in the eyes of others, I will always be known for what I did. I turned my back on God and God turned his back on me. My sin was my demise. My sin was his death. And like the river in which took him, I go to my penance. I go to be with Buddy.

As stones bind my feet and my tears become one with the river bellow, I think back on my life. I think on my daddy, my momma, and my faith. Born in Hazard, Kentucky 1904, I was the proud son of Charles Showers (a second generation southern Baptist preacher). My first memories were of my daddy practicing his sermons at the supper table, as my momma would holler and cry. It wouldn't be until I was older that I would understand what exactly came over my momma during all those suppers. It was the spirit. Every Sunday, daddy's church would be filled with singing, stompin, and shoutin' believers. At ten years old I would go home after every sermon and practice in front of a mirror waving my arms, stompin my feet, and calling out sinners from the pulpit. I'd shout out as many of the apostle's names as I could remember (the ones I could pronounce anyway) and scream about the sweet love of Jesus, only to find my sister framed in the doorway of my bedroom laughing and telling me supper was ready. But there was one thing missing; the one thing I would pray for over and over again. I wanted to the feel the spirit. You see, as I would watch my daddy preach I would see dozens of people screaming and shouting like life was just fine, tears were streaming down their faces and I could almost see their souls being swallowed up by God. They felt God and I knew it. After a while it seemed that the people around me were hollerin' more and more as each Sunday went by. They were looking at me, I was sure of it; seeing how I was just sitting they're not saying a word, not a tear streaming down my face. I could picture them going home and talking about pastor Showers boy who couldn't find God. Why couldn't I find God or why couldn't God find me? Why couldn't I feel something, as my daddy yelled down from the pulpit? So that's why I faked it. I figured that if I acted like I was feeling the spirit I would eventually get the spirit. So there I was, going to church every Sunday singing and shouting like everyone else all the while, I was secretly praying for Gods love to strike me like one of His apostles I had read so much about. I wanted it, and I waited for it. But it never came, but my father's death did.

Where I come from when a boys father dies, the boy gets his fathers gun. Well, at eighteen I got my fathers Bible.

The news of my father's death and my taking over of the pulpit spread faster than an Oklahoma dust storm. Everyone wanted to know what kind of shepherd young CiCi Showers would be. I can honestly say I didn't disappoint. I took the death of my father as a sign from God. It was my chance to serve him in every way. For twelve years I gave my mind, soul, and body to Christ. I not only resisted alcohol and the using of bad language but I even resisted sex. For I knew that if I gave into the pleasures of this world I would never find the spirit.

And for twelve years, I waited for God to find me, and when he didn't find me I tried to find Him. When that didn't work I waited and prayed some more begging God to let me feel something, anything. Now I know patience is a virtue, but twelve years of waiting can lead a man to the edge. However, it wasn't until six months ago that I found the edge and jumped.

It was a regular Sunday and I began to holler as usual. I was speaking on the love of Christ and the calling forth of his disciples when it hit me. As I looked out on the crowd I saw a mother holding her newborn child and the child was crying. I took it that the baby was weeping because of the heat, but as I watched longer I saw the mother lift the child unto her shoulder