Chapter Two
It started about ten years ago…
It was my senior year at
University. For the most part things were going according to plan. I wasn’t a
star athlete, but I was good enough for the fraternity soccer and football teams.
I know, it’s football and American football, but I was born in what used to be
called Missouri and people there didn’t forget
it was Missouri.
So while the world calls it footy we call it soccer. Sue me.
I was quick enough to play the
midfield. I didn’t have the quick strike power needed for the front line, but I
was more than tough enough for the middle. My specialty was setting picks and
making blocks. I got penalties nearly every weekend. After a season I had
enough yellow cards to tile a bathroom. I wasn’t playing a dirty game, but I
played so hard there was more blood than usual on the pitch. The ladies liked
to count the scars too, and I let more than a few take inventory.
On the gridiron I played tight end
and free safety. My blocks were good enough to open running lanes for the backs
and take pressure off of the quarterback and the receivers. My hands were good
enough to catch the unexpected short pass too. On the defensive side of the
ball I played strong safety, and played it like a free agent in the secondary. I
would consider the situation, watch their quarterback, watch their receivers,
watch the motion and put a lick on the guy closest to the ball. I would play
with strong fundamentals too, make tackles. Fierce hits look tough on SportsCom,
but if the receiver takes the hit and scampers off while I say “But did you see
that hit” then I’m the reason we’re losing. Six points them. Make the tackle
and it’s all good, if I dislodge the ball keeping the receiver wrapped up so he
can’t make a circus catch, that’s even better.
If it seems like my mantra is “hit
somebody” that’s probably right. I was mid-size and pretty tough. I always had
something taped, something bruised, something on ice, and I liked it that way.
My folks thought they should get a punch card at the Emergency Department of
the Health Service, ten punches and they would get dinner for two at some fancy
restaurant. I was at Emergency so often they’d probably have gotten that thing
filled up once every three years or so.
That’s where I met Ashley. She
volunteered at University Student Health. Long legs, great eyes, and long hair
that matched her name, Ash. She made me feel like I could take on the cosmos
and my friends suspected I tried to do just that so I could be in Student
Health every weekend. She was majoring in Pre-Med, that’s why she was working
in Student Health. The Nurse Practitioner would greet me in the exam room with
a nod that said “not again” but her eyes always seemed to say “well hello
there” just for me. I said that to my roommate and I looked up just in time to
find a pillow making it’s way into my face.
That was the day I broke my nose
so my face hurt when it got a snoot full of goose down, but my pride was
wounded too. They say time heals all wounds and that may be true, but let me
tell you, time wounds all heals. There’s truth in that little twist that
transcends the words.
I didn’t have any trouble with
dating, but it was different with Ashley. At the time I couldn’t put a finger
on why, there was something different about her. She was smart. Now I was
pretty smart, the women I dated were smart, but she was in a different league.
She not only knew about her studies, she knew music and sport, which are my
favorite things. So we had that in common too, not just young lust. We could
talk at the beginning and the end of a date. That was new to me.
Then I discovered her idea of
young lust and mine weren’t the same. I had a faith life, I think, I guess. I
went to church with the folks, but it wasn’t as if I took it seriously. I
participated but it wasn’t as if faith touched me. I went to camp but only
because I did love those “nature hikes” but a living faith that could bear any
weight? I didn’t have one of those. While at University, I was more likely to
worship at the First Church of Popeye, I am what I am! I was a B student who
spent more time on the pitch or the pub than the library. It was Ashley who
would turn that around.
Ashley DeMoss is the daughter of
the Reverend Doctor Andrew W. DeMoss, Jr. and he had some letters after his
name but I could never keep those straight. The Reverend Doctor was the Senior
Executive Pastor of the University Reformed Congregation across from campus and
yes, Ashley lived at home. Oh joy, oh rapture. If I was going to win Ashley’s
heart today then I had to win her Father’s approval sometime last year.
So what to do? No matter what I
tried it was going to look shallow so I figured I’d live into it. No, I wasn’t
going to shake his hand after the 9:30 service and say, “Wonderful homily Reverend.
Who am I? I’m the guy trying to get into your daughter’s skirt.” No, not that
guy. But to deny that I didn’t have eyes for his daughter would be dishonest
and stupid. I didn’t think he would be gracious about being treated like an
idiot.
I went to University Reformed. It
was early in my senior year, I was still wearing the tape over my nose but the
black eyes had faded somewhat from the broken nose. I sat and I listened. I
sang and I prayed. He spoke about grace and community. I was interested. I was
most interested at Children’s Time when Ash taught the children before they
left the sanctuary. Ash in a lovely dress, her hair flowing. I thought I could
smell her perfume. Then I wondered how I could smell her from fifty feet away.
I smiled, she smiled too. I thought it was for me, and then I saw her pick up
one of the kids and give her a big hug. My smile got a little bigger, half for
the little girl, half for being a fool for love.
Warning, danger! We haven’t really
met and I’ve got “fool for love” flitting through my head. I should just calm
down and pay attention. Then there’s that burning sensation on the back of my
neck too.
After worship I joined the line to
meet and greet the Reverend Doctor Andrew W. DeMoss, Jr., followed by assorted
letters. I was ready to say “nice sermon, sir” when Ashley popped up beside her
father. “This is him Daddy, the boy whose nose I was allowed to assist while
the PA-C set it! Don’t the Nurse and I do good work?” and it was off to the
races. I was invited to lunch with her family that day, pot roast. Then we sat
together and talked over coffee for an about a half hour or so. Or that’s what
I thought when I noticed it was getting dark.
We became inseparable.
Until we weren’t.
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