Empty Hand Revolution

Introducing the New Girl

“Two olive green duffles.” Cosmo planted his face into the palm of his hand and rested his elbow on the conference center counter. “Yes, they were labeled. Cosmo Zimik, Delhi to Bangkok, flight—”

The voice on the other end of the phone line cut him off.

He listened absently for several seconds. The words buzzing in his ear were rote. He’d heard the same lecture half a dozen times, at least once from the same nasally voice currently prattling on.

Tired of talking in circles, Cosmo resolved his bags were gone for good. “Thank you for your time.” He hung up. He stretched and put his hands behind his head. The ornate wall clock behind the reception desk said 5:35pm. In two hours, the evening session of the sports ministry conference would begin.

He couldn’t remember what tonight’s topic was. Regret clouded his thinking. Unaccustomed to the feeling, Cosmo wasn’t sure how to shake it.

He chided himself again for leaving The Winning Team floppy disk and three ring binder in his checked luggage. With those items gone, The Winning Team was truly dead. He had no other copy of the information: names and contact information for five hundred staff and volunteers from around the world, hundreds more donors, his best practices.

The last eighteen months of his life were lost, and he hadn’t even any evidence they ever happened. Crossing the crowded lobby of the combined hotel and conference center, Cosmo sat at a table near a window. Reaching into the pocket of the neon-orange running suit his conference roommate had given him, he fetched one of his few remaining business cards—It’s time you join The Winning Team.

He tossed the card on the table and stared out the window. The lush landscaping around the Catholic conference center and hotel reminded him of his Naga Hills—his Nagalim. It felt like he’d come full circle. Always scrapping to come out on top, the Naga remained permanently on the bottom.

Now that Cosmo thought about it, he couldn’t be certain what team he’d been inviting people to join. When he had named his ministry, The Winning Team, it’d been a jab at everyone and everything he perceived as losing. Of course his team would win. But it hadn’t. He had lost, again.

Even in the midst of his discouragement, he knew the idea to be ridiculous. The Winning Team was supposed to be God’s team. Cosmo’s failures hadn’t changed that. His overreaching and impatience had toppled The Winning Team, but the people the ministry had impacted—they were still winning, weren’t they?

“Excuse me. It’s Cosmo, right?”

 Cosmo blinked several times, breaking his trance-like gaze out the window. He turned toward an attractive brunette with an American accent. “Uh, yes.” He stood. Instinctively, he bowed.

To his surprise she did as well—naturally, fluidly, and not as an afterthought like most Westerners. “My name’s—”

“Sarah?”

She frowned. “How did you know?”

“Your name tag.”

“Of course.” Sarah gazed at her front where the tag clearly said, Hello, my name is Sarah.

Cosmo gestured toward the seat next to him. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you.”

Cosmo waited for Sarah to situate herself before retaking his own seat.

“Is this your ministry?” Sarah studied the business card Cosmo had tossed on the table.

He considered how to respond before deciding the truth would require less energy. “It was.”