LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 3

Saturday, April 4, 1987

A GOOD NAME IS TO BE CHOSEN RATHER THAN GREAT RICHES (Proverbs 22:1)

            “I’d like to get to know you, too,” I stammered as I gazed into Catalina Clutterbuck’s lovely green eyes that were staring intently into mine.

            The front door burst open, startling Cat and me. But the sight of Kyle and Mona brought me relief, as I was sure the next moments with Cat were to bring awkwardness.

            “Where did you guys go?” Cat demanded as she stood with hands on her hips.

            “Knucklehead here lost the tickets to the concert,” Mona said.

            “It was no big deal,” Kyle defended. “I just couldn’t remember where I put them.”

            “We found them above the sun visor of his car,” Mona said, rolling her eyes. “Why would you put them there?”

            Kyle grinned sheepishly and shrugged. Mona said, “Hey Pebbles, come to my room with me quick.”

            “What for?” I asked, puzzled why Kyle’s girl would want to see me alone.

            But Cat had started to rise, then stopped and looked at me like I had two heads, reminding me of her rejection of me the other day. Then she sat back down and said, “Why did you answer to Pebbles?”

            “Pebble, no S, is Loyd’s nickname,” Kyle explained for me. “That’s all I’ve ever heard his brothers call him when they’ve visited. Is Pebbles your nickname?”

            Cat nodded, but Mona explained. “We often call Cat Pebbles at work because she usually has her hair in a ponytail, and it reminds us of the Flintstone’s daughter Pebbles. Why do your brothers call you Pebble, Loyd?”

            I felt my toes curl. “Um, well, it stems from the initials PBL.”

            “PBL?” Cat frowned as if studying a deep problem. “The L must be Loyd, what’s the PB?”

            “Pretty Boy,” Kyle blurted.

            “Loyd is very pretty,” Mona said flirtatiously. Kyle looked at her as if to say, what about me? But Kyle wasn’t pretty. He was handsome sometimes. He looked a lot like nerdy Skippy from the sitcom ‘Family Ties’ that starred Micheal J Fox. So it was surprising how well he did with the ladies. But he did have charm and charisma.

            “Maybe we should start calling Loyd Bam Bam,” Mona giggled. “Do you want to be Bam Bam to Cat’s Pebbles?”

            I looked at Cat who was looking at me. She giggled because of the startled look on my face. But it was a warm reaction, so I said, “I do.”

            Cat took my hand as if to reassure me. “Just remember, Pebbles and Bam Bam were friends before they were lov… more.”

            The lost tickets put us a little behind for the concert, which worked out perfectly as far as I was concerned. Both Cat and I weren’t interested in the show itself, and it lasted around three hours. It was also too loud to start down the path of getting to know each other. Then after the show there was a bit of a hiccup with a bully encounter.

            Although an art nerd, I thankfully was never bullied. Sure, I was picked on by my older and much bigger brothers. But beyond sometimes feeling like a human Nerf ball, I knew they loved me. Not that they would have admitted their affection for me.

            My mom also started me in karate when I was eight, and I kept up with it all through school. So between the underlying threat of my older brothers and martial arts, I was left alone.

Also, I am not exactly a wimp, I just look that way next to my brothers. Much like standing next to position players when I was a punter in the NFL.

            So as we were walking to our car after the concert, six drunk rednecks harassed us. It was a new experience for me. Because it was new and unexpected, I just reacted. First we heard them mention two waitresses from Hooter’s. Then they began to say derogatory things. One was directed at my date. He mention her red hair, snootiness, and using profanity, called her a body part.

            I was torn between turn the other cheek by ignoring and hoping they went away or defend the honor of the woman I was escorting. Right or wrong, I chose the latter. I turned toward the guy who called Cat a vulgar name. “What kind of lowlife talks to a lady like that?”

            He sneered, showing me tobacco stained teeth. “What’re ya gonna do about it?”

            “Tell your mom.”

            His eyes squinted a bit. Forgive me, but I decided to provoke him a little, in the hope that he would attack me. “If she saw you now, she’d probably spank you.”

            “Yeah, why don’t you try to spank me,” he said, and then gave me that for which I hoped. His words coincided with a shove toward my shouldered. I grabbed his wrist just as it made contact. Using his own momentum, I yanked hard, stuck my left foot out, tripping him, and he went sprawling forward with his Nascar hat flying off his head. Although only in his early twenties, he was balding, and apparently wanted to keep it covered. In an attempt to retrieve it as he fell, his face took the brunt of the fall, and right on the gravel parking lot.

            I actually winced and was just in time to see another one of the brave gentlemen take a swing at me. I fell away to my right just in time. I purposely fell to the ground, continuing to move to the right and parallel with the bully. I kicked the back of his legs, right behind the knees.

            At that time no one was aware that I regularly practiced punting footballs, and between that and karate, my legs were rather strong. When I hit the valiant young man behind his knees with quite a bit of force, he went backward and for a couple seconds looked like he was exceptional at doing the limbo. Then one of his knees popped and he screamed.

            I wasn’t intending to do so much damage to these courageous men. I had never been in a street fight before, but we were outnumbered, so I didn’t hold back. Years of karate, coupled with years of wrestling with older, stronger brothers seemed to be adequate preparation.

            And we weren’t done yet. As I quickly arose to my feet, one of the thoughtful young men helped me. But I was wrong. He wasn’t helping me up. He grabbed a fist full of my shirt as if to hold me in place. His other fist was a weapon he intended to hurl at my face. But he left my arms free, and the fingers that gripped my shirt soon released when I put him in a move called an arm bar.

            Let’s just say with him in an arm bar, I could have easily and nastily broken his arm. He felt the possibility too as he shrieked, going to one knee. His three other unharmed friends took a step to assist, and I warned, “Take another step and I’ll break his arm.”

            They stopped and one even held up his hands. I continued, “Look, we were minding our own business when you guys decided to harass us. If I let him up, will you guys let us go on our merry way?”

            “Yes, yes, please, yes,” the guy whose arm I held in a precarious position declared. He seemed suddenly sober.

            “What say you three?”

            “Yeah, we’ll leave you alone,” one of them stammered.

            “Thank you, that’s very kind,” I replied. I let the arm guy go. I placed my hands together like a steeple, bowed slightly, and said, “Wax on, wax off.”

            As we walked away, I kept an eye on the rednecks. Never underestimate an angry coward who takes refuge in a group or gang, especially after they were humiliated. I hoped, and even figured that I would never see them again. But I was only half right.

            It turned out that the bullies were members of the Whitney college football team. It also was very soon to pass that a secret of mine that wasn’t actually a secret was about to be revealed to someone. That someone was to discover that a favorite exercise of mine was going to a vacant field with a bag of footballs and punting them back and forth up and down the field.

            I would be encouraged to try out for the football team. When I did, I was surprised at how surprised the coaches were with my kicking ability. With mouths agape, they watch how far I could boom a football. Also how accurate. I could usually place a football within a couple of feet of an attended target.

            Fortunately, half of the crew that courageously harassed a woman and her three companions were seniors, and I would never see them again. Unfortunately, I would not only encounter, but become teammates of the other three, thereby seeing them on a regular basis.

            As we walked away, Mona and Kyle heaped praise upon me, and I was indeed beginning to feel prideful. However, God as my witness, I certainly didn’t plan what happened. I just reacted to the rednecks not minding their own business and disrupting ours. I wasn’t even scared until after, when, as I marched along, my knees felt week, and my hands trembled a little for a minute or two.

            But Cat walked along as if disturbed, her arms crossed under her chest. I felt rebuked, and therefore didn’t say anything. We were only about a five minute drive from the arena to Cat’s apartment. She and I were silent, but Kyle and Mona were so talkative that they kept interrupting each other. I offered to walk Cat to her door, and thankfully, she didn’t protest. But she was still silent and brooding.

            With thumbs hooked into my jeans pockets, and head hung slightly, I said, “Look, Cat, I’m really sorry about that deal with those guys. I didn’t know what else to do.”

            She looked hard at me. Her eyes seemed to scold, but to my relief, she smiled. Then she quietly said. “You frightened me, Pebble… Good night.”

            She turned to go up the stairs to her second floor apartment. I spontaneously grabbed her hand, instantly regretting what seemed to be an aggressive move. After all, she had just said I frightened her. “Cat, I would never hurt you. I didn’t even want to hurt those guys. But what do you do when someone rudely interrupts your business? I don’t know if you were watching, but I didn’t punch any of those guys. I just, um, helped them fall down.”

            She pulled her hand out of mine and I doubly regretted grabbing it. But then she sat on a step and folded her arms under her chest, sighing. I took it as a good sign that she sat. A bad sign that she sighed. I had only been on three dates with three girls in my life. This one was my first with Cat and looking like my last.

            “That’s not why you frightened me,” Cat said. “It’s hard to explain.”

            She looked away from me, chewed on her lower lip, and angrily wiped a tear from her eye. She stood abruptly. “I need to go in.”

            “Cat, wait,” I pleaded. She ignored me, continuing quickly toward her door, so I tried, “Pebbles, wait.”

            She turned and smiled though her tears. Then she quietly said, “It seemed like a sign.”

            “No, it is a sign,” I said with a smile. “So is that Bible verse… I want to see you again, Cat.”

            “And I you.”

            Like the idiot I am, I had to stop myself from saying, ‘So you’re not breaking up with me?’

            “Then please tell me why I frightened you,” I said gently.

            She took a step toward me. “You frighten me because I’ve never been so drawn to a guy in my life. I too have practiced martial arts, ever since something really bad happened to me in high school. Yet I couldn’t have done what you did tonight. Not even close.”

            “I’ve been in it over decade, Cat. Plus I wrestled with bigger, stronger brothers all the while growing up.”

            “Did you like it?”

            “Mostly no. But now that we are older…”

            There was a long moment where we just looked at each other. I couldn’t get read on her expression, her feelings. But I perceived that she was broken somehow. Yes, we all are to some degree. But whatever she referred to from high school wounded her. I wanted to help her heal.

            “Mona and Kyle are waiting.”

            “Yeah,” I replied.

            She turned toward her apartment, saying, “Call me.”

            “I don’t have your number.”

            She rattled it off, expecting me to remember. Was it some kind of test? Thankfully, she didn’t say 867-5309. After the prefix, it was my birthday, making it quite easy to remember. 396-7866. AKA July 8, 1966. Was it another sign?