LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 10

Thursday, February 4, 1988

FOR WE KNOW THAT THE LAW IS SPIRITUAL, BUT I AM CARNAL, SOLD UNDER SIN (Romans 7:14)

            “So you’re sure I’m the father?” I asked.

            “Like I said, one hundred percent,” Becky told me.

            My brain felt like it might start oozing out of my ears. I had multiple thoughts and emotions reeling in my head. Fear, love, confusion, hate for what Bruce had done to her pretty face, and the urge to pay him a visit, but mostly I was stunned. “How do you feel about it?”

            She showed me a big smile, but then winced, and touched her lip. Then she spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone, even though we were alone. “Now that I’ve had time to process everything after the shock of, well, the way Bruce and I broke up, I’m ecstatic.”

            “Yeah? Why?”

            “Well, you know I’ve always wanted a baby. And with you as the sperm donor, how could he or she not be adorably cute? The only thing that gives me pause is being a single parent.”

            My mind rankled at the term, sperm donor, but then flipped to single parent. With sudden inspiration, I went to one knee and took a hold of her hand. “Becky, will you marry me?”

            She probably looked as stunned as I did when she told me I was going to be a father. Then she smiled, knelt in front of me, and very gingerly kissed my mouth. But then her words contradicted her actions. “Loyd, that’s very sweet, but no.”

            “Why? We’ve created a life together! I want to be involved in his or her life.”

            “Loyd, that’s wonderful! And I want you to be! But marriage? No.”

            “Once again, why? Becky, I love you!”

            She smiled, winced, but continued to smile as her eyes welled with tears. “I love you too, Loyd. You are a very special young man, but I’m twelve years older than you.”

            “Eleven.”

            “Are you, or are you not twenty-one?”

            “I am.”

            “I happen to be thirty-three. If you subtract twenty-one from thirty-three, you get twelve.”

            “Well, when I turn twenty-two, you will still be thirty-three for six more months.”

            “Five months and twenty-three days.”

            I chuckled, and my mouth opened to speak. But thankfully, I didn’t let the words come out. They were going to be, ‘Now you sound like Cat.’

            Instead, I said, “My dad is nine years older than my mom.”

            “It’s different when a man is older.”

            “That’s sexist.”

            “No, it’s reality.”

            We knelt there for a silent minute, holding hands, and gazing fondly at each other. Then Becky said, “Can I ask you something.”

            “Of course, it’s all part of premarital counseling.” She giggled, and then patted my cheek. For some reason the affectionate face pat made me feel much younger, even childlike. “What did you want to ask?”

            “The night we conceived… How much was motivated by alcohol?”

            “To be honest, I don’t know. My desire for you wasn’t motivated at all by adult beverages. But because of my religious beliefs, premarital sex makes me uncomfortable.”

            “So do you regret what we did New Year’s?”

            “It’s hard to regret one of the most exciting times of one’s life. On the other hand, I did feel a sense of guilt, not only for premarital sex, but for engaging with a woman who was, well, engaged to someone else… Do you regret New Year’s?”

            “Not now. At first I felt guilty for cheating on Bruce. But then I discovered he not only lied, but he lied about a very serious thing. I also discovered he had a propensity to be abusive and violent.”

            I told her about him stalking me, and also my promise to hurt him if he hurt her.

            “Please don’t exact revenge on Bruce. I already took care of it.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “He surprised me with his first two punches, but before he could land a third, I put my knee very hard in the place that can no longer produce children. As a matter of fact, he might still be laying there.”

            “Good for you,” I replied with a chuckle.

            “One more thing,” she said with hooded eyes, and a smirk from the corner of her mouth that wasn’t injured. “After breaking up with Bruce, I was able to relish the memory of our night.”

            It is odd how most of us have personal rather than Biblical boundaries as well as limits with our morals and values. It would still be several years before my behavior and character would be molded and shaped by the Bible alone, rather than a hybrid of religious teachings mixed with personal views.

            An example of this would be my love life in the 1980’s. I had a strict policy against casual sex. Yet with the intention of a committed relationship, I became willing to have premarital sex, even though I viewed it as sin. It is the reason why we call people living together out of wedlock, “living in sin.” Of course now a days it is so commonplace, I don’t know how prevalent that term actually is anymore.

            It is true that I entered the fling with Becky under ‘casual’ circumstances. Even in my state of inebriation, I knew that it was likely to be a one night stand. And one night stands were a huge violation of my value system. But I was carnal, sold under sin, even though I thought of myself as a righteous dude. So my lust overruled my principles. However, the person I lusted after, I also loved. In my mind that gave me a pass. Plus, I had already given in to premarital relations with Cat. Once you sin, it’s easier to do it again.

            “I relished the memory of our night together as well,” I said, gazing at her fondly.

            Her eyes smoldered as she returned my gaze, and her tongue came out and licked her wounded lip. I’m sure she was just trying to sooth her sore lip, rather than trying to look sexy, but for me, it was the later.

            “So if you relish the memory, and I relish the memory, why don’t we proceed to the bedroom and make some more memories?”

            Why not indeed was my first thought? My second was the fact that she had no intention of marrying me, despite the child we created. “That sounds wonderful, Becky, but a moment ago you refused my intent to marry you. So is this just gonna be, you know, casual? I don’t know if I can do that. As much as a side of me wants to.”

            Her countenance went from sexy to stunned. “Look, Loyd, I love you. I really do. But the reality is, I don’t want to turn forty one day, and still have my husband be in his twenties.”

            “That makes no sense to me. I should be the one concerned about our age difference, but I’m not. As a matter of fact, I’m already thinking of giving our child a sibling.”

            She bit her lower lip and gazed at me with vulnerable eyes, instantly looking sexy again. “You are?”

            “Yes, and it would be best to raise our children in the bonds of marriage.”

            We looked at each other in silence for a long moment. If our brains were wheels, they would have been going a hundred miles an hour. Then she said, “Look, how about this? After our child is born, then I’ll consider marriage. If you get me pregnant again, I will marry you.”

            The raging hormones in my twenty-one year body insisted this was fair. Passion ensued, and as we slowly made our way to the bedroom we hungrily kissed. But before our second intimate encounter proceeded, Becky stopped us. She breathlessly asked, “One more thing, Loyd, for the time being, can we keep our relationship secret?”

            I didn’t know what this meant. I didn’t like what it insinuated. But hormones had completely energized my carnality, so I simply agreed with a quick “yes.”

            So began a closeted relationship with the mother of my child. At work we resumed as normal work buddies. But a couple nights a week we privately rendezvoused at her place. But there was soon to be trouble in paradise.

Thursday, April 28^th, 1988

            What an eventful week so far! The highlight was the NFL draft, with me being selected by the Chicago Bears in a supplemental draft after the main draft. The lowlight was Becky going to her fifteenth high school reunion and becoming reacquainted with what she called a boy that was a friend. But now that he was a man and divorced, would he still remain a friend?

            I didn’t understand why her gleefully recounting how they talked the night away made me jealous. Maybe because I intuited that it was going to be a problem down the road. Maybe it was that now that her pregnancy was obvious, she blamed it on an anonymous guy she knew that she had a fling with. True enough, I guess.

            But my biggest thrill that week came with a pair of eyes I saw in my peep hole. You may be wondering why that would be a bigger thrill than the Bears. Well, as wonderful as my job prospect was with the Bears, I still needed to make the team, the possibility of which I had doubted.

            But the eyes I saw after the doorbell rang were Cat’s green eyes. Not a cat, but my Cat, Catalina Clutterbuck. The thrill that I felt rebuked me for being jealous over Becky’s rekindled friendship with a person of the opposite sex. But when I excitedly opened the door, I discovered the person standing there was a man that bore a strong resemblance to Miss Clutterbuck.

            He had a friendly looking face, framed with light brown hair, and it became even friendlier as he stuck out his hand to shake and asked, “Loyd Burl, I presume?”

            For some reason as I grasped his hand in greeting, I spoke like, I don’t know, James Bond or something. “Yes sir, it is I. And who might you be?”

            I felt my mouth drop open when he replied. “I’m Pastor Kenny Clutterbuck, Catalina’s older brother. She had been staying with me in California for a couple months.”

            Had been staying with him? Was she in trouble? I inquired as much. “Is Cat alright? Where is she? How is she?”

            “She’s fine,” he said easily. “She just went to stay with our grandmother. She used to be a midwife, so she figures she could help her prepare.”

            “Midwife? What does that mean? Prepare what?”

            “Well my new friend, it means she’s pregnant. It seems you’re the father.”