LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 9

New Year’s 1988

DO NOT LUST AFTER HER BEAUTY IN YOUR HEART, NOR LET HER ALLURE YOU WITH HER EYES (Proverbs 6:25)

            Have you ever been thinking about someone, and they just seem to appear?

            With about five minutes left until midnight at the Pyramid Club, two cute girls were jockeying for position to share the first kiss of the New Year with me. As pretty as they were, I didn’t really want to kiss them. I suspected that they were drawn to my notoriety as the best player on Whitney college’s football team. This is a rare thing for a punter to be, and not a good sign for a football team.

            Carnally speaking, it would have been very pleasant kissing either one of those girls. Doubly pleasant kissing both. But I say with all humility, I also didn’t want two girls fighting over me. I think I’m being humble anyway. However, one of my favorite authors, C.S. Lewis, once said, and I’m paraphrasing, ‘The funny thing about humility, is as soon as you think you have it, you have lost it.’

            Also, I was still heartbroken over Catalina Clutterbuck breaking up with me ten days previous. And I was still reeling from a passionate kiss I shared with co-worker, Rebbeca, eight days ago. As a matter of fact, it was she with whom my mind was preoccupied. Becky, as she was commonly known, was the beautiful woman with whom I had had a severe crush on for over three years.

            At our company’s Christmas party, I briefly had a mistletoe hat placed on my head by a male co-worker. Although I immediately removed it, Becky, to my surprise, snatched it out of my hand and placed it back onto my head. A second later, her lips were on mine. Although her breath smelled like an ashtray, it was wonderful to have my lips actually connected to that pretty mouth. She could have just eaten a piece of Limberg cheese, and I still would have kissed her. Well, maybe… Actually, no, I don’t think so.

            “Jake, I’m sorry!” she had said breathlessly as she pushed away from me.

            The kiss lingered for around ten seconds, and it took most of that time for my brain to comprehend what was happening. As soon as it did, I was just about to try kissing her like they do in France, when she shoved herself away from me. All I could think to say was, “Why?”

            She was blushing but giggled. “The last thing you probably want right now is to be kissed by an old hag. I had a glass of spiked punch, and it must have went to my head.”

            “Old hag! You’re anything but!”

            She snorted a laugh. “Loyd, I’m almost old enough to be your mother.”

            “Hardly! I’ve never heard of an eleven year old girl giving birth.”

            “I said almost,” she giggled. “Come on, we better get to the party.”

            I grabbed her hand, pulled her to me, and kissed her aggressively. Thankfully, she looped her arms around my neck and for a brief second we actually did kiss like they do in France. Then disappointedly, the door between the office and warehouse clicked open, and Becky pushed away from me so hard that I stumbled backward.

            The vibe between Becky and me at the office party was strange. It was awkward, it lustful, it was tense, it was filled with longing. I bided my time, and when the opportunity arrived, I asked her to talk in private. But once alone, I panicked and didn’t have anything to say, so I just tried to kiss her again. But she stopped me with a sad smile.

            “Loyd, we got carried away earlier. But the reality is, you’re on the rebound, and I’m engaged,” she said dead serious, as she attempted to show me her ring. It wasn’t there. She had taken it off at the warehouse desk, chucked on the surface, and apparently forgot to put it back on. She gasped, and then ran to the back of the warehouse, practically sliding up to the desk. She sighed her relief, picked up the ring, and put it back on.

            I had followed her, reluctantly willing to help her find it. Watching her put it on, and then hold it out in front of her to gaze at it, certainly put a damper on the mood to try kissing her some more. When she was done admiring it, she smiled warmly at me, held out her right hand to shake, and asked, “Friends?”

            “Friends,” I replied, returning a smile and shaking her hand. Then joking, but not really joking, I said, “But if you ever want to be lovers, just say the word.”

            She smiled, kissed me on cheek, and walked back to the office. She had left five minutes later, and I figured I wouldn’t see her again for more than two weeks, as she was going to be on vacation. I was beginning to wonder how awkward things would be when we began working together again. Was it possible to go back to normal? What was normal? How many ‘friends’ have kissed passionately?

            “Hey, you,” a sultry voice said, blending in with the noise of the nightclub as a slender hip covered by a short black cocktail dress bumped into mine.

            “Hey, yourself,” I grinned excitedly as I gazed into Becky’s large, lovely green eyes. I always marveled at how similar Becky’s and Cat’s eyes were, both in color and the almond shape. Not to mention they both had silky auburn hair. But it was these similarities that drew me to Cat in the first place. “I thought you were going to Florida despite your,” the word almost got stuck in my throat. “Fiancée backing out.”

            “Well, the girlfriend that was gonna go with me backed out also. Her grandmother died.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

            She shrugged. “Oh well, it wouldn’t have been any fun going alone, so I cancelled altogether. Soooo, I decided to go out with a couple old girlfriends to celebrate New Year’s and my birthday.”

            Becky introduced me to her two friends that she had known since school days. The three ladies had clearly been drinking, and one of them gave me an example of why they call intoxicating drink ‘conversation lubrication.’ “Becky was hoping you’d be here.”

            “Annie!” Becky scolded with a frown, slapping her friend on the arm. Then turning to me. “I just told them that you said this was a fun, lively place. Plus we were close by.”

            I’m ashamed to say I had several drinks in me myself, and my inhibitions were on the low side. Yet I was sober enough to want to avoid awkward standing around and looking at each other.

            “Becky, will you do me a favor?”

            “Depends,” she replied with a coy smile.

            “Come to the dance floor with me.”

            I took her hand and led our way to the dance floor. Now, I wasn’t a good dancer, I’m still not as a matter of fact, but it was an in-between song. By that I mean some were dancing slow, and some were gyrating by themselves, albeit facing a partner. I could dance slow.

            I put a hand on Becky’s waist, and she looped her arms around my neck as if we’d done this a hundred times. I told her about the two girls that were saying that they wanted to be the first to give me a New Year’s kiss.

            “I can’t say that I blame them,” she said, smiling warmly.

            The music stopped, and the DJ’s voice led the countdown to 1988. “Five, four, three, two, one.”

            Several air horns blew, and confetti fell onto the dance floor. I smiled mischievously and said, “I’m afraid we have to kiss.”

            I had intended just a simple, quick peck on her lips, but Becky tightened her arms around my neck, intensified her coy smile, and said, “Have to or get to?”

            The kiss wasn’t overly passionate, yet it was definitely more than friendly. Feeling embarrassed, I said, “Sorry that wasn’t Bruce.”

            She gazed at me with hooded eyes. “Sorry that I wasn’t Miss Clutterbuck.”

            I shrugged. “Cat’s not here, and she’s not gonna be. She told me to move on.”

            Becky mirrored my shrug, continued her coy smile, and said, “Bruce isn’t here either.”

            Once again I’m ashamed to say I had a pretty strong buzz, so my mind reeled to comprehend a hidden meaning, or not so hidden meaning.

            I took her left hand and lifted it into view. The diamond from her engagement ring sparkled in the dance floor lighting. As people toasted, hugged, cheered, and kissed around us, Becky pulled off her engagement ring and put it into her purse. She looped her arms around me again, and her lips brushed my ear as she whispered into it.

            Her warm breath was more intoxicating than the adult beverages I had consumed. Albeit in a different form. “You told me eight days ago that if I ever wanted us to be lovers to just say the word. Well, I’m saying it.”

            I wondered if she could hear me gulp. “What are you saying?”

            “Word, silly.”

            “What word?”

            “You told me if I ever wanted to be your lover to just say the word. So since Bruce bailed on me not only on my birthday, but the promised trip to Florida, I want to accept your offer.”

            “Becky, you’re engaged,” I feebly tried. It was odd, for we were still whispering in each other’s ears. It looked like we were slow dancing, but there was no music. Thankfully the whole place seemed to be celebrating rather than paying us any attention.

            “I am not married at the moment,” she said, and then nibbled on my ear lobe.

            This made me giggle and squirm, but I managed to say, “You’re going to be.”

            “That’s not your problem. If you didn’t intend to keep your promise, you shouldn’t have made it.”

            “Was it a promise?”

            “You bet it was, young man.”

            Why did I tell her that? Yet I was so glad I told her that! Why did she call me young man?  Yet, as much as I loved her, I couldn’t just use her for sex. I told her as much.

            She snorted a laugh and surprised me by using my old nickname. I wasn’t even aware she knew it. “Pretty Boy Loyd, who will be using who when you fulfill your promise?”

            I sighed with resignation but grinned happily. “A promise is a promise.”

            “You’re apartment is close by, isn’t it?”

            “Yeah, a few blocks away.”

            Eight hours later I awoke to find Becky gone. It turned out one of her friends picked her up at the crack of dawn. She had left me a note thanking me for the night, saying she had no regrets. Then telling me to have no regrets. Then she said that as much as possible, we should go back to being work buddies when she returned from vacation. Surprisingly, we pulled it off, for the most part.

            Then one day in early February, Becky called in sick. Even though I didn’t recall her ever calling in sick before, I didn’t think much of it. After all, it was cold and flu season. But when I arrived home after work, my message machine was flashing. It was Becky requesting me to come see her at her place. I granted the request.

            My pulse quickened, and my mouth gaped open when I saw her. She had a black eye, that was swollen shut, and the left side of her lip was puffy with blood residue. “Becky, what happened!”

            “Well, after a visit to my doctor, I very happily told Bruce that he was going to be a father. But instead of sharing my joy, he very vulgarly asked who I had been sleeping with. You see, even though he said he was very eager to have a couple more children, it turned out he had gotten a vasectomy after his third child was born.”

            “I see,” I replied as realization flooded my brain. “So… Am I the father?”

            She took my hand and smiled fondly at me through her puffy lip. A little breathlessly she said, “Yes, you are. One hundred percent, guaranteed.”

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 8

December 21, 1987

LOVE IS AS STRONG AS DEATH, JEALOUSY AS CRUEL AS THE GRAVE (Song of Solomon 8:6)

            The darkest day of the year was the darkest day of my life. I sat on the corner of my bed and read the note Cat had left on her pillow in the middle of the night for the umpteenth time. Like the mystery that she was, she addressed me by the nickname we had in common with each other in the very beginning. It was Pebble for me, and Pebbles with an s for her. The thing that was odd about her using this moniker, was that we hadn’t used them since our first couple of times seeing each other.

            She almost always called me K.P. in private. It was short for Kickypoo. It was a combination of two things. My paternal grandmother was a Kickapoo Indian, which came to light as we got to know each other. And I was a punter, which obviously is a type of kicker. Cat was absolutely giddy about the parallel between ancestry and what turned out to be my occupation.

            My pet name for her? It was Kitty, which derived from Kitten, which derived from Cat, which derived from Catalina. Although she had addressed me as Pebble in her Dear John letter, she had signed off as Kitty.

            “Dear Pebble. As you read this, I am on my way to California. I need is a new start in life. What you need is a new woman, a special woman, because you’re a special guy, Pebble. Selfishly, I’m a better person for our lives having crossed paths. Selflessly, I need to let you go, because I should have never engaged you in a relationship in the first place. I should have never enticed you to make love when you were trying to be a proper gentleman. But I was so incredibly drawn to you, Pebble. It only brought to light just how ugly my own soul is. It is a curse to be pretty on the outside, while being ugly and unstable on the inside. Please don’t worry. I simply need the mountains, the sea, and the Bible. I’m going to say when, not if, I get right, I will live a life of service to our Lord. Alone except for God. Move on, my love. Please move on! I’m truly sorry! With all my love, the woman briefly, and wonderfully known to you as Kitty.”

            I didn’t know grief could make you physically ill. Although Catalina hadn’t died, I was mourning the loss of her. I was also tormented by the green monster of jealousy. I did not forget that her boyfriend before me was from California. But it wasn’t only her dumping me that disturbed me. After our relationship had turned intimate, with the lack of clothes this involved, I discovered on hidden parts of her body that she had been a cutter.

            This revelation had startled me and unsettled her. It was strange how I could tell that she both wanted me to know and didn’t want me to know. Her pain hurt me to the core, especially as I held her as she gently wept as she tried to explain the reasons why she harmed herself.

            Then two nights before I received this Dear John letter, I probably made a mistake. There was one item that I had never seen removed from Cat’s body. It was an inch wide watch. In postcoital, I had gently taken her hand, and began to unfasten the timepiece.

            “No, no, no,” she had said with a playful giggle, yet her eyes looked frightened.

            “Yes, yes, yes, my lovely Kitty,” I returned with good humor. “This has been the only obstruction for me to see all of you.”

            I had meant seeing all of her physical body in her birthday suit, obviously a joke. In hindsight, she saw my statement as pertaining to her person. She put the back of her hand into my palm, and I unfastened the watch. When it separated from her wrist, it revealed a thick dark purple, pink scar, multiple times bigger than the dozens of thin hidden scars from cutting. It almost looked like her hand had been severed at the wrist and sewed back on.

            “Oh, my beautiful Kitty, what did you do?” I asked without thinking, and not hiding my shock.

            Violent sobs erupted from her, lasting a few minutes. I squeezed her hand as she squeezed mine. As tears ran down my own cheeks, I prayed her cries were releasing the demons that tormented her.

            When it was over, she calmly ran her thumb over a line of tears on my cheek and licked them. “This is why I love you. You have empathy like no one I have ever met.”

            But then the night before the Dear John letter, I woke up to hear her rummaging in the bathroom. Then it was quiet. I went to check on her and found her staring at a handful of pills. She was so entranced at her hand and the dozens of tiny objects they held that she hadn’t noticed I had pushed the door open a good foot.

            “Catalina?” I tried softly. The way she jerked, you would have thought I shouted. A few pills rattled on the floor. “Honey, we need to get you help.”

            “I was flushing them, I promise,” she said. And she did toss them into the toilet and push the lever. I know, you’re not supposed to flush medication down the toilet. But this was 1987, and we were young and dumb.

            I hugged her and whispered. “Let’s get you help.”

            “Help!” she barked as she pushed away from me. “From who? The last idiot I went to prescribed those sleeping pills I just flushed. What kind of a quack gives somebody with suicidal tendencies a bottle of sleeping pills?” 

            The bad news. The last words I heard from Cat’s mouth before she left me were ‘I should have never been born.’

            The good news. When I finally heard from her several months later, she gleefully told me ‘I’ve been born again!’

Wednesday, December 23, 1987

            At work, when I returned from my afternoon deliveries, I smiled for the first time since I read the breakup letter two days previous. It was a forlorn looking elf sitting at the warehouse desk in the back of the building. Her back was to the desk, and she smoked a cigarette and bobbed her foot aggressively as a plume of smoke emerged from her pretty lips.

            It was the foot bob that made me smile. For she was wearing a green shoe that had a big curl at the toes that looked like the emblem on the Los Angels Rams football helmet. A green skirt with green and red striped tights, red sweater, and a green fedora with a big white feather completed the costume. Kristen, another gal from the office, was dressed identically to Becky. Roger, the plump service manager, was dressed like Santa. At our five o’clock Christmas party, the trio handed out presents. I got a flashlight.

            “You don’t look like a very jolly elf,” I told her.

            “Santa’s jolly, elves can be cranky.”

            “Hey now, that’s not the Christmas spirit.”

            “Oh, yeah? You’re one to talk.”

            “Huh? What do you mean?”

            “What, you don’t think it’s noticeable when Mr. Happy-go-lucky mopes around all week?”

            “Oh, so you noticed I’ve been kind of down the last couple of days?”

            “Ya think!”

            I told her all about Cat and the Dear John letter.

            “Oh, Loyd, I’m so sorry.”

            I shrugged. “It is what it is. I’m just glad I saw you in that outfit. I was starting to feel like I was never gonna smile again.”

            To my surprise, Becky lit another cigarette off of the old one. I had never seen her do this before. She was a light smoker, having started and quit off and on numerous times.

            She called smoking her stress relief. I understood her sentiment, but now that I was older and wiser, I had taken to running as stress relief. I hadn’t had a cigarette since before football season started. In the fifty five hours since my breakup letter from Cat, I probably had run more than twenty miles.

            “So what has you all mopey today?” I asked.

            With a sarcastic smirk, she said, “You noticed.”

            “Ya think,” I replied with her own comment about me. We both chuckled, despite our combined unhappiness.

            “So, as you know, Bruce asked me to marry him over Thanksgiving.”

            I glanced at the ring on her left finger and concentrated hard on not making a face. It was hard enough being newly dumped by Becky’s younger doppelganger. So I didn’t like being reminded that Becky had planned to yoke with that smarmy, creepy Bruce. Bruce with his mustache, shirts unbuttoned halfway down to show off his thick carpet of salt and pepper chest hair, adorned with gold necklace. Then the cherry on top, his mid-life crisis Corvette.

            “So, Bruce’s oldest is getting married New Year’s Eve,” she continued. “As nice as I’ve tried to be to his kids, they don’t like me, especially his oldest. But I didn’t realize that the dislike was so strong that she doesn’t want me at her wedding. But I get it. Her mother is going to be there, and I am, well, the reason they got divorced.”

            “What? How can that be? I distinctly remember you telling me he was divorced when you first started dating.”

            “I know,” she said with a shrug. Then took a long pull on her cigarette and exhaled a long plume of smoke. I eyed the bright red of the lipstick on the filter. It matched the red parts of her elf costume. I almost asked for a drag, just to touch where her luscious lips had been. But she continued and the words got stuck in my throat. “So he claims he told me they were going through a divorce, but not divorced yet. I guess it was a lack of communication.”

            “I see. Can I ha…”

            “But then his divorce wasn’t finalized until October,” she interrupted. “That’s what? Nine or ten months after he and I start dating? I don’t why I agreed to marry him!”

            She pulled off her engagement ring and tossed it onto the desk. I felt a moment of satisfaction, but then ruined it by asking, “Why did you?”

            She snorted a laugh. “Well, he is rather sexy, and, well, fun… If you know what I mean.”

            I didn’t want to ponder what she meant, and her overall comment almost made me throw up in my mouth.

            “Plus, my biological clock is rapidly ticking. I really, really want a couple children. Bruce said because of work he missed a lot of his kid’s growing up, and he’s anxious to start a new family and being an involved with our kid’s lives.”

            “But what about his current family, and the fact they don’t seem to like you?”

            “Yeah, I know,” she said, sighing unhappily. She took long drag on her cigarette, but talked before exhaling, causing little puffs of smoke with each word. “Oh well, nothing’s perfect in life, right? Just like my birthday being ruined along with being dissed at the wedding.”

            “What do you mean?” I asked, even though I happened to know her birthday was New Year’s Day, and the wedding was New Year’s Eve in another state.

            “He had promised me when he proposed that he we would celebrate by taking an extended weekend in Florida for my birthday… I don’t know, maybe I’m making a big mistake by marrying him.”

            She angrily snuffed out her cigarette in an ash tray, and as we both began to walk to the office, I almost told her that I thought she was. But then Tim Mansfield, a balding, pudgy salesman, came walking toward us wearing a baseball hat with mistletoe attached to it. He blocked Becky’s path and pointed to it.

            Becky giggled, and I would remember her words that followed in a few years when the TV show ‘Home Improvement’ aired. She said, “I don’t think so, Tim.”

            But a more vivid memory happened just seconds after this declaration. Tim grinning, complained in mock disgust. “A lot of good this mistle toe does. Apparently you still need to be movie star handsome like Loyd here.”

            Tim removed the hat from his head and stuck it on mine. Then he disappeared into the warehouse restroom. Chuckling, I took it off, and took a couple of steps toward the office when I felt Becky’s hand grasp mine. She ordered, “Wait!”

            I faced her dumbfounded. She looked left, she looked right, she grabbed the mistletoe hat and jammed it back onto my head. Before I could comprehend what was happening, her lips were on mine.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 7

Thursday, July 30 to Saturday, November 7, 1987

DO NOT BE DRUNK WITH WINE, IN WHICH IS DISSIPATION; BUT BE FILLED WITH THE SPIRIT. (Ephesians 5:18)

            My heart began to pound as half of the Whitney football team crowded around my locker. One of the football managers had just shown me to it, and immediately scrambled away from me when an offensive lineman slammed me hard into the neighboring locker. His two hammy fists clutched my t-shirt just under my shoulders.

            You might remember earlier in the story when six courageous young men harassed Cat, Kyle, Mona, and me after a concert. They had been angry at us for minding our own business. However, they had also recognized Cat and Mona as waitresses at the local Hooter’s restaurant. Anyway, the gentleman who now had me pinned, was the first one that came at me the night of the concert. I had helped him fall face first onto a gravel parking lot. I supposed his bruises and abrasions had healed nicely, but it was hard to tell because he didn’t have the best complexion to begin with.

            What was happening to me at this particular moment was one of the main reasons I had never previously taken my skills at punting a football to an actual team. Having grown up in a sports family with four older brothers, I was well aware of hazing. To the extent of which my own siblings participated, either as predators or victims, I did not know.

            “Alright, punk!” his stale breath was only inches from my face, making me cringe. He grinned wolfishly. “That’s right, you’re about to get hurt. I’m sober now, so you have no advantage.”

            “Oh, actually I doubt that,” I said matter of fact. “I’m cringing because you have bad breath.”

            “Why you,” he replied with clinched teeth. He pulled me forward and re-slammed me into the locker. But it didn’t hurt much.

            “Hey, you want to see something neat!” I said with wide eyed cheerfulness. Then I waggled my eyebrows up and down.

            This comment threw him off. He was expecting fear, despite the fact that only a few months ago, I had disabled him and his three friends, causing the other three chums to restrain themselves from taking a turn themselves.

            “You see, the thing is,” I continued as I slowly, imperceptibly lifted my left hand over the top of his arms, distracting him by my words. “We’re teammates now, and I appreciate you welcoming me to the team and all, but I don’t even know your name.”

            “I ain’t welcoming you. I’m about to…”

            With sudden quickness, my left hand gripped his thick left wrist. I rocked to the right, then pendulum swung hard to the left, yanking him of balance. His face was moving quite fast as my right elbow smashed hard into the side of his head. He dropped like a two hundred and eighty pound sack of potatoes. If there was such a thing.

            There were ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the dozen or so men that witnessed it. Then they became excited, and all kinds of chatter erupted. I heard things like ‘did you see that?’ and ‘who is this guy?’

            “What’s going on in here?” the head coach’s voice boomed into the room. Then his eyes went to the groaning heap of man on the ground. “What happened to Jenkins?”

            “He tried to start a fight with the new punter,” a chuckling voice offered. It turned out to be the starting quarterback that spoke. “And the altercation lasted all of thirty seconds with Jenkins flat on his back.”

            “What do you have to say for yourself Boyle?” the coach asked, looking sternly at me, but I detected amusement on his countenance.

            “It’s Burl, Sir. Loyd Burl.”

            “Jenkins slammed him into the locker, then they exchanged a few words, and the next thing we knew, Jenkins was out cold,” the quarterback explained. He was clearly the leader of the team, and I liked the feeling that he had my back.

            “Once again Barns, what do you have to say for yourself?” the coach asked.

            “It’s Burl, Sir, I…”

            “No fighting in my locker room, period,” the coach barked. “So once again, what do you have to say for yourself, Burns?”

            “You’re getting closer, Sir, but my name’s Burl. I guess I don’t like to be touched, Sir,” I replied with shrug. “At least not aggressively. It seems instinct takes over, and people get hurt.”

            “He’s got that right.” It was one of the daring half dozen from the concert night. But he was one of the three that hadn’t tried to accost me. He told the crowd what happened that night, but saved face by declaring he told his friends to leave us alone. He and I did become friends besides teammates, and he later confessed to me that he only thought they should leave us alone but didn’t vocalize it. He felt ashamed and I assured him that I would keep it to myself.

            Although in the moment I had been uncomfortable at being accosted after barely joining the team, it turned out to be a blessing. Jenkins ramming his head into my elbow made me a hero of sorts. Jenkins had been a polarizing teammate, and not a very good player. He had relied on his brawn, and was otherwise, shall we say, clumsy. His attempted pummeling of me was the last straw for the coach, and he was cut from the team.

            My biggest challenge in learning to punt with a team in a game situation was the receiving of the ball in my hands in the first place. The football seemed like a cannon ball being shot from under the center’s rump at first.

            The second challenge was kicking the ball as a two hundred and something pound defensive lineman came rushing at me. But although not passionate about sports like the rest of my family, I had played a fair share of ball games growing up. Plus I had a decade plus of practicing martial arts. I am also very coordinated, so I adjusted pretty quickly.

            The highlight of my new extracurricular activity had to do with my girlfriend. At our first game, which was also the home opener, Catalina Clutterbuck was in the stands with Kyle and Mona, cheering us on. Not only that, she was wearing my away jersey. I was so pleased to see that beautiful young woman wearing my number thirteen jersey with the name Burl above it on the back.

            My first couple of punts were nothing to write home about. As a matter of fact, speaking of home, I had told no one, not even my mother that I was on the football team. Like I said, I adjusted to game punting rather quickly, and since our offense was less than stellar, I punted often.

            Our third game into the season was against another team with an inept offense. Believe it or not, it turned into a punting duel, of which I ended up the victor. In the second quarter, I boomed one way over the receiver’s head. He muffed it while running backwards, and we retrieved it on our own four yard line. A couple of sacks later, and backed up to our own sixteen, we were still in field goal range.

            In the third quarter, a shotgun snap went over our quarterback’s head on our own forty yard line. In an attempt to pick it up on the run, he accidentally kicked it driving the ball twenty yards further back. Then when he tried to pounce on it, it squirted from beneath him going another five yards before the other team recovered it. They ended up tying the game with a chip shot field goal.

            With twenty-two seconds left in the fourth quarter, I had aimed the football toward one of the pylons. It couldn’t have turned out better. We had them pinned on our one yard line. The next play, our defense got us a safety. The final score was more like a baseball score at 5 to 3, us.

            I was carried off of the field on the shoulders of my teammates. A photo of this was taken and made the front page of the sports page of our local newspaper in the Sunday Gazette. I had actually just arrived at my parent’s home to take my mother to church. One of my brothers was there, and I was just in time to witness him spit coffee all over the image of me being carried off of the football field.

            My father was quite pleased. However, I was mildly chastised for not telling them that I was on the team. My parents didn’t miss a single game the rest of the season, home or away. My entire family was even present at the final game when three different NFL scouts were in attendance just to witness me punting a football. My father was as proud as if I had been a Super Bowl MVP.

            As for Catalina and me, our relationship progressed nicely. But I’m speaking optimistically. Cat was periodically moody. There were even a couple of times during the course of the rest of 1987, when she didn’t get out of bed for a couple of days due to depression.

            On that last day of the football season, she was in a volatile mood. Our team had finished four and eight, obviously less than stellar, but I had had a great season! I had played well enough, as a punter on a junior college team, that NFL scouts had been sent to watch and speak with me.

            Cat had been truly happy for me. She had plied me with a passionate kiss after the game. During the season, I had refrained from all alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana. Cat, during the football season, had only seemed to increase using all three. This only intensified her mood swings.

            It is strange how you can come to know somebody so well, and yet have them remain a mystery. Cat’s Biblical knowledge had astounded me, yet she had frequently referred to herself as backslidden. She had expressed a desire to remain chaste yet had occasionally opened the door for us to misbehave. But trying to be a proper gentleman, I didn’t walk through.

            The first instance of this was on her birthday, when she had tried to place my hand on her breast. Since then there were at least a half dozen times when she was breaking down my resolve. Whether on purpose or just being naturally sexy, I didn’t know. It was part of the mystery.

            That evening after our last game, Cat and I went out partying with several of my teammates and our girlfriends. Kyle and Mona were there too. Mona was a bit of a wild child, and she had even dabbled for a time with exotic dancing. So when we stumbled upon a wet t-shirt contest, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when Mona said she was gonna sign up. I was stunned when Cat declared that she was too.

            I grabbed her hand and scolded. “Cat, what do you think you’re doing? Sit down.”

            “Let go of me,” she barked, causing people in the crowded night club to briefly turn their gaze on us. I let go and she stumbled into a table.

            I had never seen Cat drunk before, but she seemed so now. Not pass out intoxicated, but with an occasional slur and slight loss of coordination. Then something hit my naïve brain. Both Cat and Mona had worn white ribbed tank top t-shirts underneath fifties style, buttoned cardigan sweaters. We didn’t just happen upon this contest for chesty women, they had this planned.

            “Kyle!” I barked. “We have got to stop them!”

            “Are you kidding?” he said with a drunken, demonic grin. “We’re gonna get a fantastic show, plus one of our girls is gonna come away with the fifty dollar first place prize.”

            I put my thumb in the hollow of his collar bone and pressed harder than I had intended. “Ow, ow, ow!” Kyle bellowed.

            I released the hold. “Sorry.”

            “Look dude, I don’t know what you expect me to do. Quit being so uptight, it’s just boobs. Women in the jungle walk around topless all the time.”

            “Well, we’re supposed to be civilized here.”

            “Look, just go talk to her then,” he said angrily.

            “What are you so mad about?” I frowned

            “Wha’d ya think, I want see Cat’s…” He stopped speaking as my hand went back to his collar bone. He put up his hands in a stop gesture. I took his advice and approached Cat.

            I gently took her by the crook of the arm after she signed up. “Cat, let’s get out of here.”

            She yanked her arm free. “Let go of me.”

            “Why are you doing this?”

            “I want fifty bucks.”

            “How do you know Mona won’t win it?”

            “She promised to keep her shirt on, and we’re the hottest babes here?”

            “I don’t get it.”

            A mischievous grin appeared on her face as she removed her sweater. “Skin to win, baby.”

            “You’re not wearing a bra.”

            Just like that a switch was flipped. Her eyes became dark and mean while her teeth clenched. “How would you know? You never look there.”

            “Cat, you’re drunk, now stop it!”

            “Or what, daddy, you gonna spank me?” she let out a goulash cackle.

            “I don’t know you. I’m leaving.” I turned and walked toward the exit. I was bluffing. I intended to go outside, and if she didn’t show up in about five minutes, I would go back in and at least guard her from the ogling young men.

            Thirty seven seconds later, Cat came running or stumbling out of the night club. I breathed a sigh of relief, but then braced myself for more verbal combat. She carried her small purse, which told me she was prepared to leave. But she didn’t have her sweater which told me she wasn’t.

            “I have an ultimatum for you, Burl,” she said as she approached me. Then her teeth chattered in the crisp November night.

            “Where’s your sweater? It’s forty degrees out here.”

            “Mona’s got it since it’s hers anyway. Besides, I’ll be back in after a minute, after you refuse my demand.”

            “And that is?”

            “One of two things is gonna happen for me tonight. I’m either gonna go back in there and win fifty bucks or go back to your place and make love. Your choice.”

            “It sounds like blackmail, not a choice.”

            “No, it sounds like a woman who’s tired of having her advances rejected and ignored. I’m sick of the yins and yangs in life! He loves me, he loves me not. He wants me, he wants me not.”

            My brain was numb, I just stared at her for several seconds. Then her teeth chattered some more. She said, “Answer me now, or I go back inside.”

            I forced a smile. “As you wish.”

            We had just seen the movie ‘The Princess Bride’ the night before last for the second time. Cat loved it and declared it the best movie she had ever seen. ‘As you wish’ was something Westley had consistently told his love, Buttercup, before he became the Dread Pirate Roberts.

            A look of awe came onto Cat’s face. Then it crumpled in anguish as she covered it with her hands, went to her knees, and sobbing, began to recite, “I’m no good, I’m no good.”

            This reminded me of Barney Fife in one of the times he was drunk. But in that moment, I didn’t laugh. We both would laugh later.

            I helped her to her feet, put my jacket on her, and we walked five blocks to my apartment. This time my teeth chattered.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 6

Wednesday, July 29^th

HIS BANNER OVER ME WAS LOVE (Song of Solomon 2:4)

            I spun the football a few times in my hand, then got set, and boomed the brown ball high into the air with my foot. It went high, far, and you couldn’t have thrown a tighter spiral with your arm.

            The two assistant coaches that had acted like they had been indulging me with this try out and couldn’t get rid of me fast enough, now watched the ball sail through the air with their mouths hanging open. Then they both turned their gaze on me in disbelief.

            “Do it again,” one of them instructed me mildly as he tossed me another ball.

            I pretty much repeated the first performance. The other coach tossed me a third football. I was consistent. The next thing I knew the head coach was toward me grinning like a car salesman who had just sold a brand new Cadilac. He took hold of my hand and pumped vigorously, then jokingly said, “You’re hired!”

            An hour later, I was knocking on Cat’s apartment door. The keyhole darkened for a second, then a second after that, this image was replaced with Cat’s beautiful face. Below her face, her lithe body was covered with her Hooter’s uniform of a tight white top, orange shorts, flesh colored tights, white socks, and tennis shoes.

            “Happy 22nd birthday!” I told her while handing her the rectangle shaped object in my hand. It was wrapped with light blue paper and the images of her favorite cartoon character, Garfield the cat, where strewn about the gift wrap.

            She seemed almost to ignore the package and asked with eagerness, “So, what happened at the tryout?”

            “Oh,” I shrugged. “I made the team.”

            “Loyd, that’s fantastic!”

            I still didn’t understand why she was so eager for me to be on the football team. I was impressed though that she was more interested in me than her own gift. She frowned at it, even as she smiled. “Looks like a book, but it’s a little too heavy.”

            It was in fact a textbook I had bought at a library sale for a quarter for this very occasion. It was about ten by twelve, and a good two inches thick.

            “Go ahead and open it.”

            Her frown deepened. “It is a book… A textbook… On thermodynamics?”

            “You’ve always said you like to learn new things,” I told her with a straight face.

            She was silent, and her face became blank as she stared at it. As much as I loved Cat, I’d come to learn that she was sensitive, prone to depression, and her mood could turn on a dime. So I sped up the surprise. “Just open the book up in about the middle to get to your Craker Jack prize.”

            She looked at me hopeful now and cracked a little smile. She did as I instructed and an old gold-plated, heart shaped locket fell out. It was about an inch in size, and I had noticed Cat admiring it at a pawn shop. Another of the many things I had learned about Cat was that she loved antique shops and secondhand stores. I paid twenty-five dollars for it, and then twenty-five cents for the book to hide it in.

            “Oh Loyd, it’s beautiful!”

            “Just like you.”

            She kissed me on the mouth, letting it linger as if to say thank you. But then she actually said it. “Thank you! You saw me looking at it, didn’t you?”

            “Open the locket up,” I instructed. My roommate Kyle was still seeing Cat’s co-worker and friend, Mona. As a matter of fact, over the last few months, we had gone on about a dozen double dates with them. Mona had the ability to write very small, so I had her write Song of Solomon chapter one and verse two on the heart shaped piece of pink construction paper I had cut to the size of the locket.

            “Oh Loyd, you really get me!” I thought she said with a croaky voice, and the contradictory combination of a tear and a smile.

            “Did you say get me, or get away from me?”

            “Never, ever get away from me,” she giggled as she kissed me quick, throwing her arms around me and we hugged.

            Yet ‘never, ever get away from me’ didn’t hold true. Toward the end of the year, her mood would swing to the negative, and stay there for an extended period. It would not only cause her to leave me, breaking my heart in the process, but she left the entire state, moving temporarily to the west coast. But then she returned a few months later, and rapidly healed my injured heart. She also brought the surprise of a lifetime!

            My mouth took a notion, and decided to make audible a thought I was feeling, that I figured to intended to keep private. “I love you, Cat Clutterbuck.”

            She looked surprised at first. It was the first time I voiced this particular emotion that I’d been feeling for her for weeks. Then her eyes looked warm and loving, and a sweet smile was on her lips as she replied, “I love you too, Loyd Burl.”

            Although we had been seeing each other in a romantic sense, our relationship thus far was more like friendship in our behavior. We spent a lot of time talking. One of our favorite discussion points was our existence and it’s relation to God. I was always amazed at her Biblical knowledge and puzzled why she often referred to herself as backslidden.

            We did have periodic kissing sessions, but I let her dictate the duration and the passion. Upon giving her this gift, my news that I was on the football team, and mostly my affectionate declaration, our celebratory hug soon turned into indulging in a kiss. After a minute or two, she took my hand and led me to the sofa.

            Now I had always kept my hands to myself when we engaged in lip locks. So to my surprise, she took my hand and gently drew it toward one of her breasts. I in turn, slowly eased it away. This was difficult to do, as she was still in her Hooter’s uniform and looked almighty fine to a twenty-two year old heterosexual male.

            She stopped kissing me, her eyes were wide, and her gaze looked baffled. “Loyd, I was giving you an invitation to touch me there.”

            “I, I know,” I stammered. “But I’m respectfully declining permission.”

            “Why? The way you kiss, you’ve never seemed gay.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Do you not find me attractive?” she asked, even more puzzled.

            “No, no! I mean, yes, yes! I mean, no, yes you’re mind blowingly attractive.”

            “Then what is it Loyd?” she asked in a low inquisitive voice, as if she were a psychologist and I was her troubled patient. “From what I know of guys, and what I’ve experienced with guys, if you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Since we have been going out, we’ve done a lot of kissing now and then. That in itself is giving an inch, and not once have you tried to touch me. Now I just tried to get you to touch a private body part, something I’ve never ever initiated with a guy, and you reject me. So what gives? I not only offered another inch, that was a mile and then some.”

            “I would never reject you!”

            “You just did,” she said with both a frown and a little smile. I couldn’t tell if she was pleased with me or upset.

            “Like I said, I was being, you know, respectful.”

            “Why, Loyd? I gave you a green light to touch my chest, albeit through clothes.”

            “Not much clothes,” I laughed, this caused her frown to deepen, and her jaw clenched. “Look, Cat, I’m a listener, not a talker, so I’m pretty good at reading between the lines. Although you haven’t really talked about it much, I perceive that your really bad experience with a high school boyfriend had to do with something of a sexual nature. In particular, ‘no’ not ending up being ‘no.’”

            Her eyes got watery, and she looked away. I took her hand, and she returned her gaze to me. “Listen Cat, pulling my hand away is right up there with the most difficult things I’ve ever done. But what’s even more important to me is establishing what we have personally before we get intimate physically. If we do that, we can have both for the rest of our lives.”

            “It was my fault, too,” she said quietly.

            “What do you mean?”

            “It’s like what I said about giving an inch and taking a mile. You give an inch here and an inch there, and then you find yourself in a hotel room on prom night. You know something doesn’t feel right, out of control, very carnal, a false feeling of invincibility, a strong element of the forbidden, but everybody’s doing it, you know?”

            She looked at me like I was supposed to answer. “I don’t know, I didn’t go to prom. I hung with art nerds and stoners in basements.”

            “So you find yourself half buzzed wine coolers,” she continued. “Then mostly naked with your boyfriend, and you figure compromise. But he wants more. You’re scared and pleading ‘no!’ But then all of a sudden, something that was supposed to be a gift to your husband on your wedding night is taken from you forcefully.”

            “It wasn’t your fault at all,” I told her.

            “Did you miss the part about giving inch, after inch, after inch? It would be one thing to feel it wasn’t partly my fault if we were like you and I are. Then I could call it rape if you got forceful.”

            “I still do call it rape! Even if both are completely, you know, birthday suit and all… Or I guess it’d be less… You know what I mean!”

            “Loyd,” she said with a sad countenance. “My point in bringing this up is this. I’m not a virgin. If you feel like we’re courting, and it’s leading to marriage, and you’re wanting us to save ourselves. Well, the plain truth is you’re not getting someone who has been chaste.”

            “Even if you can’t get past the notion that what happened was partly your fault, God forgives. Don’t you believe that?”

            She nodded, looked even sadder. “When I was freshman at Whitney, I acquired a second boyfriend, and we eventually started having sex.”

            “So how many guys have you had sex with then?” I asked, feeling my toes curl. It felt like none of my business, plus I didn’t like the jealous feelings that were tormenting my mind.

            “Just the two. Once with the guy at prom, and regularly with my second boyfriend.”

            “What happened to him?”

            “We saw each other for about a year and a half. After I started my sophomore year, he got cut from the football team and dumped me like yesterday’s trash. Then he went back home to California. My friends used to call him the sexy surfer. In my mind he was the self-centered surfer.

            “It’s funny, after losing my virginity at prom, I thought, well, no point saving myself anymore. But then after Bruce dumped me like I was nothing, I decided I wasn’t going to be anyone’s plaything anymore either. So since then I’ve dated a dozen guys and had sex with none. But if you’re a pretty little thing, but don’t put out, you’re not worth a studly man’s time.”

            Bruce again! To that point I had never really known a Bruce. But now between my co-worker Becky’s Bruce, and Cat’s ex, I was beginning to not like anyone by that name.

            “Is that why you wanted me to try out for the football team? You like football players?”

            She laughed. “No, of course not! I’ve just been around the game, and you have an extraordinary talent at kicking that ball. Trust me, I’ve been to a lot of games, and I’ve never seen a ball punted as far as you can. Who knows, maybe you could do it in the NFL.”

            “Unlikely,” I replied as we began to silently gaze at each other.

            She stepped up to me with a sultry smile, wrapped her arms around my neck. “I don’t know how important marrying a virgin is to you, Loyd. I don’t really understand your scruples. You come from a religion that has a history of misdeeds. I come from a background of adherence strictly to the Bible. Yet it seems you’re the saint, and I’m the sinner.”

            “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God, Cat.”

            “The problem is, I’m ready and willing to fornicate with you right now.”

            “I better go,” I replied, understanding more than some just how Joseph must have felt while fleeing from Potiphar’s wife. Not that I am at all comparing the character of my beloved Catalina to the adulterous Egyptian official’s wife. Only the fleeing from an alluring woman.

            As I reached for the doorknob, she grabbed my free hand. I turned to her. “I know who you are Loyd Burl.”

            “Yeah?”

            She stepped up to me, misty eyed, and sweetly smiled. “You’re Loyd Burl, the most honorable of men that I have ever met. And being a waitress, I’ve seen a lot.”

            “I know who you are Catalina Clutterbuck…”

            She put a finger to my lips. “I told you I don’t like Clutterbuck.”

            Once again my mouth spoke without my full consent. “Then how about Catalina Burl?”

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 5

Monday April 6, 1987

LOVE IS AS STRONG AS DEATH, JEALOUSY AS CRUEL AS THE GRAVE (Song of Solomon 8:6)

            Is love at first sight a real thing? Is it actually possible? Does it mean that you’re in love when you can’t stop thinking of somebody? Or would just knowing somebody for only a matter of days be infatuation?

             It was the day after Cat and I kissed for the first time. We also shared a second, third and fourth. Each one lasted a little longer. Then Cat giggled, gently pushed away from me. “We better stop or I’m gonna have to take a cold shower.”

            She was gonna have to take a cold shower? If that were true, I would need a polar plunge!

            I had twelve stops on my afternoon delivery schedule. I was sitting at a desk in the warehouse, putting my invoices in order. My mind’s eye was replaying Cat’s and my face merging, bringing me the most thrilling moment of my life, when a familiar, and to me melodic, voice interrupted my daydream.

            “Penny for your thoughts,” Becky said with a smile.

            “Huh?”

            “I want to know what has you in a trance and grinning from ear to ear.”

            “Oh,” I chuckled a little embarrassed. “I was just meditating on one of my favorite Bible verses.”

            “Oh yeah, what is it?”

            “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for his love is better than wine. That’s from Song of Solomon, chapter one and verse two.”

            “I see,” she replied with a puzzled frown.

            “I met this girl a few days ago, and we seemed to hit it off pretty good this weekend. She told me this Bible verse, and yesterday, well, we put it into action.”

            All of a sudden, Becky’s smile seemed forced. Was it my imagination? I didn’t think so. Could it be she was jealous? I wouldn’t think so. But then it even faded as she bent over to retrieve her low heeled pumps from under a shelf of fan belts.

            Weather permitting, Becky always went for a walk during her lunch break. Usually she went with a female coworker or two. But this day she was alone. She pulled up a chair and sat only about five feet from me as she changed from sneakers to dress shoes. “So tell me about her.”

            So I related everything, from our first meeting at Hooter’s when she very coldly rejected me to our putting Song of Solomon chapter one and verse two into action. To my surprise, Becky didn’t seem all that happy for me.

            As a matter of, she did something she frequently did when her marital problems led to separation, and then divorce. She pursed her soft looking lips, twisted them to the right, and appeared to chew on her cheek.

            “Is something wrong?” I couldn’t help asking.

            She looked startled, and then emitted a fake laugh. “No, no! I’m happy for you. It’s just… well… I’ve sometimes wondered if you were gay.”

            It felt like I blushed for some reason. “What, just because I haven’t dated much?”

            “It seemed like you didn’t date at all.”

            “I’ve gone out on a date at least once a year.”

            She laughed. “Not only that, I kind of thought you and your roommate might be an item.”

            “Kyle!”

            “Yeah,” she shrugged. Then she winced and rubbed her neck and shoulder. “Between you not dating and Kyle seeming a little, well, light in the loafers, I just put two and two together.”

            “Believe it or not, Kyle has always been quite good with ladies.”

            “Really?” she frowned.

            “Yeah, he’s got charm, charisma, or something. As a matter of fact, he’s responsible for setting Cat and me up.”

            She shrugged, and then winced again.

            “Your neck bothering you?”

            “Yeah, I guess it’s tension.”

            Becky and I had become close enough, and comfortable enough with each other over the last couple of years that I walked behind her and began massaging her shoulders.

            “Mmm,” she purred. “That feels good.”

            “What’s causing the tension?”

            “Bruce and I had a fight to start the weekend,” she explained, referring to the guy she had been dating since her divorce. “I actually told him I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

            “If it’s okay to ask, what was it over?”

            She put her hair in a handheld ponytail and closed her eyes. I leaned toward her and sniffed the rose fragrance of her shampoo. I was a little surprised that my new infatuation with Cat hadn’t diminished my attraction to Becky all that much.

            “The longer we’ve been together, the more he’s revealed himself to be the jealous type. Friday he got into a snit because he thought I was too friendly with a convenience store clerk. That coupled with the fact that his kids don’t like me, I had enough. So our date ended before it started. But we both brooded Saturday, but then made up Sunday. We had a long talk and he apologized. He explained that his ex-wife had cheated on him, so it tends to make him sensitive to his woman being friendly with another man.”

            “I see,” I replied, feeling my jaw clench. I had only met Bruce twice and wasn’t impressed. He struck me as a Tom Selleck want to be. He strutted like he was the world’s gift to women. His jealousy probably stemmed from not believing a woman would find somebody besides him attractive.

            “Believe it or not, my ex-husband and I never really fought. We just gradually developed this distance between us. I know he felt something like shame for not being able to get me pregnant… I don’t know.

            “Anyway,” she continued with a conspiratorial whisper. “I had always heard that make up sex was incredible but had never experienced it until last night. It was good, really, really good. Ouch!”

            “Sorry, I guess that was a little too hard.”

            “No, that’s fine, no pain, no gain. Can’t expect knotted muscles to break up without a little discomfort. So, did you and this Cat woman do more than kiss?”

            “No, we’ll be saving sex for marriage,” I replied, intentionally giving her a subtle rebuke for being intimate with a man she wasn’t married to.

            Oh the ironies of life! The dynamics of my feelings for Becky had in fact changed since her divorce. One of the things that drew me to her from the start was her old fashioned values. But as I got to know her, it seemed to be a facade created in my own mind. I guess you could say I put her on a pedestal.

            My first disappointment was discovering that she smoked. Yet I myself back then was an occasional smoker, especially of a certain illegal plant. Another ying to the yang of this thing was I enjoyed watching how daintily she lit a cigarette. Also, watching her inhale deeply and blow out a stream of noxious fume was sexy. Not to mention the pinks and reds of her lipstick left on the filters.

            The second was actually her divorce. I came from a conservative family, and back then, for us anyway, there was still a stigma with a divorcee. On the other hand, I was glad she was single, but this also caused a recurring fantasy. It went something like: ‘Loyd, now that I’m single, I must admit that I’m in love with you. I know you are a very principled young man, but would you please spend the night with me?’

            My standard reply: ‘Well Becky, I must admit that I’m in love with you too. For you, and you only, I will violate my ethics. But only if you promise to marry me.’

            ‘Oh Loyd! I would be honored to be your lawfully wedded wife! I just didn’t think it possible, what with our age difference.’

            ‘Age is only a number, my dear.’ Then I would kiss a woman for the first time.

            But that could never happen now, for I had been in a deep lip lock with Cat, and it was wonderful! So why hadn’t my feelings for Becky dissipated? They had only shifted, and the undercurrent of my desire changed to something, I say this with shame, more carnal.

            That brings me to my third disappointment regarding Becky. I had thought we shared similar values. For as youths, I at one time considered the priesthood, while she considered the life of a nun. So imagine my surprise while eavesdropping on her conversation with another female co-worker.

            On only her second date with Bruce, they had shared a bottle of wine over dinner, of which she had most since he was driving. She had praised him for how responsible he was for not driving drunk. Responsible my foot! He had plied her with alcohol in the hopes of getting her in bed, and it worked. When she began to detail their night of passion, I had to relinquish my invasion of privacy.

            “Refraining from sex until you’re married?” she had asked a little surprised. “You two are talking marriage already?”

            “Oh, no, no” I replied. “But given what we’ve talked about so far, I get the feeling we will be waiting. She has a Christian background.”

            “So is she Catholic?”

            “No, but I’m hoping she will convert.”

            I didn’t know it at the time, but this couldn’t have been further from the truth. During our courtship, we would have intense, mind exercising discussions on history and religion. She taught me things that shook my faith and enlightened me on how ignorant I was when it came to Biblical doctrine. It was I who ultimately converted to her belief system.

            “I guess I’m a little surprised that a Hooter’s waitress is that devout.”

            “That’s pretty judgmental.”

            “Well, come on, Loyd! Forgive me, but when I think of a Hooter’s waitress, I think sexy and chesty, not someone who’s a wholesome Christian.”

            “Well, full disclosure, she says she’s a believer, but back slidden.”

            “What’s back slidden?”

            “It’s, you know, not a practicing Christian.”

            “But practicing enough that she won’t have premarital sex?”

            “Well, it’s complicated. She had something bad happen to her with a high school boyfriend.”

            “Was she date raped?” she asked sympathetically. And that was one of the reasons I loved her. Becky truly cared for other people.

            I shrugged. “That’s my guess, but she hasn’t really talked about it.”

            “Can you get a little more on my shoulder blade?”

            She not only pulled her blouse off of her shoulder and onto her upper arm, she yanked her bra strap off her shoulder with it. Whether she was trying to be alluring or did it innocently, I didn’t know. But alluring it was!

            I had just began to comply with her wishes, when a male voice barked, startling us.

            “Becky, what’s going on here?” Bruce had demanded. He stood in an open overhead door, holding a bouquet of flowers, and glaring at us. “Hey kid, get your hands off my woman!”

            Although a hairy chested, mustachioed, macho man who wore a gold chain around his neck, he wasn’t any bigger than me. Yet I could tell he was a bully. Although I would have loved to break a bone or two, and punch a nose, I wasn’t about to fight in my workplace.

            However, I didn’t even have time to take my hands off of Becky. She arose quickly and declared, “He was just taking a kink of my neck, Bruce.”

            “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

            She snorted. “Bruce, Loyd’s a college kid I’ve worked with for a couple of years now. He’s like a little brother to me.”

            A little brother? Oh well, I had Cat, and she had Bruce. For the time being anyway. I left them to discuss their relationship issues and prepared to leave on my route.

            For anyone familiar with the old detective show Peter Gunn. I used to get frustrated when Pete would mosey along on his way somewhere, and not look around at his surroundings. Next thing you knew, some enemies were pummeling him.

            So on my third stop, I come out of the back door of a truck shop, and into a shaded alley. Would you believe Bruce followed me? Fortunately he didn’t sucker punch me or anything. His goal was to frighten me. It didn’t work. Just the opposite occurred.

            He was pretty strong. I’ll give him that. His right hand grabbed a fist full of my shirt, just below my left shoulder, causing me to drop an alternator my customer had returned. Bruce talked through gritted teeth like Dirty Harry, and I could smell stale coffee on his breath. “I’m gonna tell you something once. You keep your distance from Becky, or I’ll hurt you bad.”

            He also said something derogatory about my desires for her, but I want to keep this story as clean as possible.

            “You want to see something neat, Bruce?” I asked extra cheerily.

            This response threw him off. He was expecting fear, not a clown. No sooner did his teeth unclench and his brow furrow, when his hand, joined at the wrist, twisted in an unnatural position. Now his expression turned to a grimace, and his throat produced a groan as he went to one knee in front of me. I put my mouth to his ear. “Listen Bruce. I don’t like to be violent, but I’m rather good at it.”

            He took a feeble swing toward my groin, so I put a thumb in the hollow by his collar bone and pressed hard. This is quite painful. Go ahead, give it a little try in your hollow by the collar bone. He emitted a loud howl. If someone in the shop had not been using a pneumatic wrench on a truck wheel, somebody would have heard.

            “Stop, please, truce, truce!”

            “Bruce wants a truce? Okay. I’ll leave you alone, you leave me alone. But I’m gonna tell Becky what creep she’s dating. If you hurt her, so help me… Are we clear?”

            “Crystal,” he barked, straightened his jacket in a huff, gave me the stink eye, and left. However, down the line, he wouldn’t keep his word. No surprise, how can you trust a smarmy creep?

            As I drove to my next stop, I marveled that I had never used my karate skills in an actual threatening circumstance. But now, for the second time in three days, I had put them to use. I was starting to feel like it would become a regular thing.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 4

Sunday, April 5, 1987

A FRIEND LOVES AT ALL TIMES (Proverbs 17:17)

            As my custom was, I drove my 1980 Ford Courier nineteen miles to my parent’s home in Cedar Rapids every Sunday. I would pick up my mom in my little pickup, and we would go to church. Then we would return to the house I grew up in and have lunch. Often a brother or two would join us.

            Upon returning to campus, my mind kept playing and replaying all of the dialogue I had with Cat. When I returned to my apartment at 2 pm, my roommate Kyle had just gotten out of bed, stumbling to the coffee maker as he scratched himself. It wasn’t a pretty sight. Yet it was he that was critical of me just one day ago for arising from slumber during a PM hour. I told him as much.

            “There is a clear difference, my good man,” Kyle told me. Then making a face, he released some flatulence, causing me to take a couple steps back from him. He continued, “I was up into the wee hours of the morning engaging in passion with a lovely female. You my friend had been up into the wee hours of the morning reading.”

            It was true. I had acquired a book called ‘Mere Christianity’ by C.S. Lewis, and I couldn’t put it down. I pursued the matter no further. I grabbed a white laundry bag that held a half dozen footballs, and headed to a field that used to be Whitney College’s practice field before they built a new facility. Thankfully, the grounds keeper kept the old one mowed.

            The field was behind a couple acres of woods with a trail in the middle leading from the road to the semi secluded field. I frequently retreated there to kick my footballs. It was peaceful and quiet, and I only saw other people from a distance walking to various buildings on the campus. But on Sundays, I rarely saw another human being while abiding there.

            So imagine my surprise when a person emerged from the woods right when I booted my third football high into the air. She was easy to spot in her bright orange shorts and white top that said ‘Hooter’s’ across her chest. You guessed it, it was Catalina Clutterbuck.

            With mouth agape, she watched the football I had just kicked sail high and far through the air. I watched her watching the oblong object. I was so stunned to see her standing thirty feet from me in this semiprivate spot, I didn’t know what to think.

            “Hello, Pebble,” she said.

            “Hello, Pebbles,” I returned. Trying to hide my sudden panic at the surprise of seeing her here where I have never encountered another person before, I resorted to humor. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

            To my chagrin, she didn’t laugh. She put her hands on her hips in a scolding posture. “Trying to discover why I watched you cross the road with a white bag hanging from your shoulder and entering into some woods.”

            “I give up,” I replied with sheepish grin.

            Obviously she had worked the lunch shift at her restaurant. I recalled our conversation about her, although seeming prudish, working at a place where she had to wear a sexy uniform. She had deferred it from being sexy to appearing athletic. Fair point, it did consist of sneakers and gym shorts. But as I gazed at her in the warm afternoon sunshine after a crisp morning, you could not deny the sensual aspect to the uniform.

            “By the way, would you mind calling me Cat? I don’t mind my work nickname, but I’m also not crazy about it.”

            “Same here,” I told her. “Call me Loyd or…”

            Shyness stopped me from adding other possibilities. But she urged it out of me, saying, “Or what?”

            I shrugged, “How about Stud Muffin?”

            To my delight, she laughed. It was a nice laugh, and it lit up her lovely face from the dark brooding countenance I had thus far become familiarized. She asked, “How about M and M?”

            “M and M?” I frowned. “Like the colorful chocolatey candy that’s very sweet?”

            “And has nuts in the middle.”

            “You mean peanut rather than plain.”

            “No,” she said, snatching a football from my hands. Grinning she said, “By M and M, I mean Mystery Man.”

            “I’m no mystery man,” I chuckled. “I’m a simple man.”

            “Simple my foot. I admit you had me thinking that when I agreed to go out with you. Then last night, you fearlessly do a Chuck Norris imitation. Now I discover that you’re actually on the football team.”

            “Last night I wasn’t fearless, and I’m not on the football team.”

            She frowned. “So that kick I just saw that went around sixty yards was a fluke?”

            “Well, no.”

            She tossed me the football. “Kick it again.”

            I got nervous at her demand, and observational critique. I shanked the ball. It didn’t even go twenty yards forward but went thirty yards sideways.

            “So it was a fluke,” she said with a touch of merriment.

            Embarrassment made me a little feisty. I picked up another football and boomed a high spiral almost seventy yards.

            “So tell me, M and M. Why do you practice kicking footballs if you’re not on the football team?”

            I shrugged. “I enjoy it. I like the exercise. Plus, growing up I acquired a football every Christmas right up until high school. So, I figured I might as well make use of them.”

            “Well let me tell you, a boyfriend from high school played football, and I dated a guy that played football for Whitney for six months. I’ve seen football. So let me tell you, you have a special talent!”

            I never thought of myself as the jealous type, but I guess I was. I had resented my co-worker Becky’s husband. When she divorced and began dating what I perceived as a controlling, macho prig, I hated it. When I overheard her talking lingerie purchases with another woman, I felt sick. So when Cat mentioned former boyfriends, I felt serious agitation.

            “Well, thank you, Cat. Two of my brothers have observed me kicking and told me the same thing.”

            “So why don’t you try out?”

            “I’m just not interested. Forgive me, but I’ve gotten my fill of macho jock types just from my family. I’d rather just focus on my artwork.”

            “You’re artist?”

            “Yeah, I told you I’m an art student.”

            “I thought you meant like art history or becoming an art teacher.”

            “Well, that too. Most artists can’t make a living off of it.”

            “What kind of art do you do?”

            “Mostly painting and drawing.”

            “Me too!” she cooed. “I want to see your work!”

            “I want to see yours!” I declared.

            “I bet you do,” she replied, her voice sultry, her eyes teasing. Then her face became serious, as if she regretted being flirtatious. “Did I see you leaving town around nine this morning in a little white truck?”

            “Well, yeah, I did leave town around nine this morning in my little white truck.”

            “Where were you going?”

            “Aren’t we nosey?” I teased.

            She didn’t seem to find my comment funny. She shrugged. “I just thought you might have another surprise up your sleeve. I mean, last night you do a really good Chuck Morris imitation. Now this afternoon I find you on this hidden field kicking like an NFL punter. So yes, I am curious what surprising thing you might have been doing in between.”

            “Nothing surprising,” I shrugged. “I’m from Cedar Rapids, and every Sabbath morning I go back home and take my mother to church.”

            “That’s very sweet of you,” she said with a genuine smile. She even touched my arm, but then her expression became serious. “But today is not the Sabbath.”

            Since we had first met only days ago, she had looked at me like I had two heads on more than one occasion. Now it was my turn. Puzzled, I asked, “What do you call it?”

            “The venerable day of the sun,” she replied merrily. “Also known as the first day of the week. Also known as Sunday.”

            “Yes,” I replied as if I was talking to a child. “And to most of the world it is known as the Sabbath.”

            “Most of the world be wrong,” she replied lightheartedly as she poked me in the chest. “The Sabbath is the seventh day according to the ten commandments. Do you know who wrote the ten commandments?”

            “Of course I do. God wrote it with his own finger.”

            “Correct, so how did most of Christendom end up keeping Sunday instead of the direct command of God?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Well I’ll enlighten you, Brother Loyd,” she said cheerily.

            I didn’t like her calling me brother, when I wanted to be her lover.

            “Roman emperor Constantine made Sunday as the Sabbath prominent in 321 AD, when he made Christianity a legal religion. It wasn’t long after when the dark ages began, and this religious and political power put people to death if they didn’t follow their dictates. Look it all up in the encyclopedia.”

            “How do you know all this?”

            She shrugged. “My mom is pretty religious. She made me go to church with her, so I guess I picked up quite a bit.”

            “But you’re not religious?”

            She shrugged, and then shook her head. “I guess you could say that I lost my way.”

            “Why?”

            “Something happened when I was in high school.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            “Why?”

            A pained look came onto her countenance. “Let’s just say I’m not as pure as the wind driven snow, and it wasn’t necessarily my fault. Let’s say that’s the reason I come across as a witch and am very cautious with guys. So, you wouldn’t understand.”

            Her eyes began to fill with liquid, and she looked away from me. I then told her something I had never told anyone before. “Can you keep a secret?”

            She looked at me with a blank expression. A tear popped from her left eye and ran down her cheek. She shrugged. “Yeah.”

            “When I was an altar boy, a priest had me undress with him.”

            She looked stunned. “And?”

            “I fled before anything happened. But it left a scar, a deep scar. And it shook my faith.”

            Cat stepped slowly to me and said in a hoarse whisper, “I had a feeling God sent you to me.”

            We hugged then, and it felt really good. The feeling I had was more on the side of love, rather than sexual. But there was that sensual aspect. She looked almighty sexy in that Hooter’s uniform. I’d like to tell you she smelled like roses, but the predominant fragrance was burgers and fries. But it still felt beyond good! Other than the thing that was between us.

            I don’t mean the little bit we had confided to each other. I had nonchalantly picked up a football during the course of our conversation, and it pressed against both of our stomachs as we embraced.

            We held each other for a good minute. Then Cat snatched the ball from between us and took off running. I gave chase, and after about fifty yards, my arms wrapped around her, both of us laughing. I let her go, and our laughter evaporated into serious expressions.

            Before things could get awkward, Cat groping for something to say, asked, “Do you have a favorite Bible verse?”

            I took a breath and blew out a nervous sigh. “Right now I’d have to say Song of Solomon chapter one verse two.”

            She smiled and said, “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—for his love is better than wine.”

            So I kissed somebody on the lips for the very first time.

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?

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

CHAPTER 2

Saturday, April 4, 1987

AFTER THE FIRE A STILL SMALL VOICE (1 Kings 19:12)

            “I got you a date with Cat,” my roommate Kyle told me with delight.

            “What are you talking about? Why would I want to date a Cat?” I asked with a frown.

            “Not a furry feline, you idiot. I’m talking about Catalina.”

            “Who’s Catalina?”

            “You know that Hooter’s waitress you asked out the other day.”

            “Oh, you mean the snobby girl that looked at me like I had two heads.”

            “No, I mean that hot chick who reconsidered.”

            I am a rather shy person, especially around beautiful women. I tend to get tongue tied very easily. As a matter of fact, approaching Catalina in the first place was unlike me. But that’s how strong my attraction to Becky was, and Catalina looked like she could have been her sister.

            “Why would she reconsider?” I asked skeptically.

            “It seems Mona convinced her that you’re a gentleman.”

            “That’s why she reconsidered?”

            “Not exactly,” Kyle replied with a wince. “I won four tickets to the sold out country jamboree concert tonight.”

            “Tonight? Tonight’s only a few hours away. Plus, I don’t like country music.”

            “It’s not my fault you slept until noon. I won these tickets calling into a morning radio show and had these double date plans worked out before sleeping beauty woke up early this afternoon. As far as country music goes, you may not like the music, but you’ll like the arm candy you’ll be escorting.”

            I felt a surge of butterflies in my stomach before I replied. “It’s true that this Cat woman is beautiful to gaze upon, but she seems to be witchy to the max.”

            “Dude, she not only agreed to go out with you, she said you were cute and seemed sweet.”

            “She really said I was cute?”

            “Yeah man! I heard it myself over the phone as Mona pleaded with her to go out with you.”

            “Pleaded!”

            “No, no, I miss spoke. Just talked her into.”

            “Talked into! How exactly did the cute part come up?”

            “Well, when she reluctantly gave in.”

            “Reluctantly!”

            “Dude, do you want to go out with a hot chick or not?”

            “I don’t know. In light of her agreeing to see me, her initial rejection scares me.”

            Kyle looked at me sympathetically, and then spoke to me softly and slowly, as if trying to get something across to a child. “Listen old buddy. As a rule, Cat not only doesn’t date guys she serves at the restaurant, she has never dated a guy that has stepped foot into Hooter’s period.”

            “Why?”

            He shrugged. “It seems she thinks all guys that come into Hooter’s are creeps on some level. She believes their motives are primarily lust over the food.”

            “She’s a waitress there! She puts on that uniform and puts herself in a lustable position!”

            “Dude, I didn’t say she wasn’t a hypocrite.”

            “Why does she even work there?”

            “Well, I’m gonna guess a Hooter’s waitress gets better tips than just about anywhere else. But maybe you’ll find out when you get to know her.”

            “I don’t think I want to get know her.”

            “Oh, but I think you do, my dear friend.”

            “Why do you want me to go out with her so bad?”

            “Because I think you two are right for each other.”

            “Is that so, Cupid? Would you mind telling me why?”

            “Several reasons. One, I’ve never seen you ask a girl out. Two, I’ve never seen you go on a date. Three, you’ve never brought a girl back to our bachelor pad. And four, I happen to know that at one time you aspired to become a priest, thereby you would be taking a vow of celibacy. In turn, the lovely Catalina is chaste.”

            “She is? A Hooter’s waitress? How do you know that?”

            “See, you’re stereo typing just like she did. She confided to Mona just last week that she broke up with the guy she had been seeing for the last six months primarily because he was pressuring her to go all the way. Plus, Mona has caught her more than once reading a little Bible she keeps in her purse. I happen to know you frequently read the Bible. Don’t you see, old chum? I could start a match making business, and you’re getting my services for free. So how about it? Why not give the lovely Catalina Clutterbuck a chance? She’s giving you one.”

            I nodded reluctantly. Catalina wasn’t the only one. With great hesitancy, I said, “Okay.”

            Five hours later, Kyle and I entered Mona’s apartment. Mona was petite with long corn silk blonde hair with intense light brown eyes. She had a vibrant, bubbly personality and her cheerful smile probably won her more tips than any other waitress.

            Catalina’s long auburn hair was down, as she aimed her cool gaze on me. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a very soft looking white sweater. My breath caught at her beauty. It was as if the actress Diane Lane and I were looking at each other. Without even speaking, I could feel my tongue knot up, but managed to breath a ‘hello.’ She grunted a ‘hi’ as we shook hands, and her hand was surprisingly cold and limp.

            To my absolute horror, we had barely set foot in the apartment when Mona said, “You two make yourself comfortable. Kyle and I will be back in a few minutes.”

            “Where are you going?” Catalina asked with wide, concerned eyes.

            “We have to get… something,” Kyle stammered before the door slammed behind him.

            Catalina and I looked at each other. She looked angry, and I felt frightened. So I suppose I looked scared as well. She took advantage of my vulnerability.

            Catalina snorted and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t know why I agreed to this.”

            “Me neither.”

            She looked taken aback. “What do you mean, you asked me out the other day?”

            Her snooty attitude was making her unattractive, and therefore loosening my tongue. “It’s true, I did. You see you reminded me of a younger version of someone I’m quite fond of.”

            “A little advice when pursuing a woman. A lady will not be impressed that your interest in her is because she reminds you of someone you would rather have.”

            “Thanks for the advice, but your similarities stopped with how you look. As soon as you spoke, I knew your personalities were different.”

            “Meaning?” she asked with squinting eyes. If ever someone had lazers for eyes, it was Catalina Clutterbuck. The weird thing was how such pretty eyes could look so mean.

            “It’s as simple as she’s warm and friendly, and you’re cold and unfriendly.”

            For a second she looked hurt, and I almost apologized. But then the defiance doubly returned. “So why didn’t you ask her out instead of me? Or did she say no?”

            “She’s married. Or was, she’s going through a divorce. She’s also eleven years older than me, and we are co-workers.”

            “Where do you work?”

            I told her, then asked. “Speaking of work, why do you work at a place known for its young lusty waitresses in sexy uniforms when you resent guys, you know, lusting after you.”

            “For one thing, I don’t mind guys admiring my, um, attributes. I just don’t like them hitting on me or asking me out. Most of my customers don’t.”

            “Sure, because they probably hear you speak before they have an opportunity and noticed that your personality is the opposite of your appearance.”

            Not only did I get the lazers, her jaw tightened. What got in to me? I didn’t talk this hostile to anyone, let alone an exceptionally pretty girl.

            “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

            “Pretend all you want.”

            “As for the uniforms, they are of an athletic nature, right down to the tennis shoes.”

            “Give me a break, athletic?”

            “Speaking of tennis,” she continued with a stiff face and bitter tongue. “Put any of our waitress’s in a tennis outfit, and she’s probably even more, as you say, lusty.”

            “Fair point,” I replied mildly. “Look, it seems you and I both don’t want to be paired together. You want to go this concert, and I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint Kyle.”

            “Disappoint Kyle? Why would you disappoint Kyle?”

            “He literally begged me to go to this thing,” I said with a chuckle. But then I immediately regretted my words when I saw the incredulous look on her face.

            “You seriously had to be begged?” she asked aghast.

            “It seems like you did too. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Whatever that means.”

            “But my situation is different.”

            “What? Like you’re better than me?”

            “Yeah, I guess so,” she replied with a shrug, and as if I wasn’t being sarcastic.

            “Aren’t we full of ourselves.”

            “No, you’ve got to understand something. I’ve never ever went on a date with a guy that I know has come into Hooter’s.”

            “Wow, you must want to go to that concert pretty bad.”

            “I don’t want to go to that stupid concert.”

            I was stunned, my mind whirled with the reason why, so I voiced it. “Given the very little I know about you, Clutterbuck, why are you here?”

            She looked at me with wide, cautious eyes. It was so much better than the cold, witchy lazers. Then she bit her thumb, and I got a lump in my throat. She was adorable! “Would you call me crazy if I told you I think the Lord wanted me to go out with you?”

            “No, I wouldn’t call you crazy, but I’d call me curious.”

            “You believe in God, right? Mona told me you were kind of religious.”

            “Yes, I believe in God,” I replied a little baffled. I sure didn’t expect our cantankerous conversation to do a complete one-eighty and end up in a spiritual discussion.

            “Well, I heard a still voice, you know, like Elijah. I couldn’t get you out of my stupid mind for some reason.”

            I frowned, wondering if I should be flattered or insulted by that last sentiment.

            “Anyhow, I kept thinking about how Mona said you were different, coupled with, well, I hate to admit it, but you are pretty cute.”

            It felt like my cheeks were coloring. I also sensed that my tongue which had been loosened by her snootiness, was tightening up from her now open, friendliness. She leaned toward me, and although a shy fellow by nature, she had me intrigued and I leaned toward her.

            “So I’m pondering whether to give in and go to that lame concert thing. I’m praying over and over as I’m doing the dishes in my apartment. When I finish, I go to my Bible, open it up, and do know what verse my eyes land on?”

            She looks at me as if waiting for an answer. How could I possibly know? So although my tongue now feels like it has been injected with Novocain, I say, “Wah-wah what?”

            She didn’t seem to notice my nervous response, or so I hoped. She pulled out a Bible from her oversized purse. She opened and flipped through pages. She handed me the Good Book, and I took it from her, hoping my fingers wouldn’t tremble. It was opened on the book, the Song of Solomon, chapter one.

            “Read verse two,” she said.

            It read: Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—For your love is better than wine.

            I looked up at her. I was both excited and terrified. She was staring at me with intense, but warm eyes. She slowly licked her lips, not trying to be sensual. She seemed to be in deep concentration before she said, “Loyd, I think I’m supposed to get to know you.”

            My heart rate had increased so much, I’ve always wondered how I didn’t pass out.

LOYD BURL AND THE HOOTER’S GIRL

PROLOUGE

June 25, 2024

FOR WHAT IS YOUR LIFE? IT IS EVEN A VAPOR THAT APPEARS FOR A LITTLE TIME AND THEN VANISHES AWAY. (James 4:14)

            Time is deceptive. How can it move so slow and yet so fast? How can you remember so many things throughout your life, and yet ask, where did the time go? I shook my head as I read her tombstone. Thirty-five years ago she had been murdered. Killed by jealousy. Stabbed more than a dozen times in chest and abdomen.

            1988 had started me on an eventful year. I was in love with two women, and I was drafted into the NFL. I was an aspiring artist, born into a family of sports fanatics. My brothers, cousins, father, and uncles were all bigger, faster and stronger than me. Most had played college sports at some level. But it was I, nicknamed Pretty Boy Loyd by one of my brothers, that made it to the top echelon of sports. For I was employed as a punter by the Chicago Bears for more than a decade.

            I suppose you could say I had a type. For both of the women I was in love with in 1988 had auburn hair, and large, lovely green eyes. I put my arm around the thirty-five year old woman standing next to me. She had large, lovely green eyes just like her mother. But I guess because of my blonde hair, my daughter’s hair was a golden-red.

            “It’s so weird,” my daughter said quietly. “The mother that birthed me, and the mother who raised me sometimes look like the same person in pictures. Did you ever date anyone besides my two moms?”

            “I guess sort of, but not really. Your mother was the first woman I ever kissed.”

            “Which one?”

            “You know the story… Your mother.”

            She laughed and bumped her hip into mine. “Tell me about 1988 again.”

            “Well actually, I met your mother in 1985. But I met your other mother in 1987.”

            “Okay, so tell me about the 1980’s.”

            I gazed up into a big tree and watched the wind rustle the leaves. “Once upon a time, long, long ago…”

CHAPTER 1

Wednesday, October 31, 1984, to April Fool’s Day, 1987

            “Wow,” my voice emitted, unable to contain its awe of the beautiful woman to whom I was just introduced. She wore a short purple dress, and her shapely legs were covered by pink tights. A light purple band held in place her silky dark red hair. “You’re Daphne from Scooby Doo.”

            Her eyes twinkled, and she aimed the most beautiful smile at me as she extended her hand to shake mine. “Actually I’m Becky. I’m just dressed like Daphne for Halloween. The rest of the mystery gang is around here somewhere. Gary Middleton even brought his Great Dane with him to be Scooby.”

            I was a freshman a Whitney Junior college, and it was my first day at my part time job as an afternoon parts delivery person for a truck dealership. Becky Dankworth wasn’t exactly my new boss, but she was the person who invoiced my deliveries, causing us to see each other on a daily basis.

            “So you’re a Weasel?” Becky asked me with mirth in her tone.

            “Excuse me?”

            She laughed, and that beautiful smile was aimed at me once again. “I was a Weasel a decade ago. Back then our sports teams were less than stellar. So instead of the Whitney Westar’s, we started calling ourselves the Weasels. We even had shirts made.”

            “Oh, you’re graduate of Whitney college then?”

            “No,” she replied, shaking her head, and showing me the wedding band on her left hand. “I got married after my sophomore year. I was actually a parts runner like you back then. But I went full time after I got hitched.”

            I don’t know why I felt a surge of disappointment when she told me she was married. After all, she was almost thirty, and I was still a teenager. But as we got to know each other, and became friends, there was an undeniable chemistry between us that transcended work buddies. There was an ever so subtle, extra friendliness, if you know what I mean?

            Yet we were both moral people. I had been an altar boy, who was even considering the priesthood. But then a priest who got fresh with me, soured my devotion. Becky, at some point in her girlhood, had considered becoming a nun.

            Anyway, over the next two and a half years, I saw Becky’s lovely smile less and less. Then one day I noticed her wedding band was gone. Not long after that a breakdown on my delivery route got me back two hours later than average. Becky was the only one left at the office. That’s when I noticed her quietly weeping at her desk.

            “Are you okay, Becky?” I gently asked.

            Even though I was quiet, she jumped as if a firecracker had suddenly exploded by her desk. “Oh my goodness, you scared me!”

            “Sorry.”

            “No, that’s alright, but I thought everyone was long gone,” she replied, wiping quickly at her eyes as if to hide the fact she’d been crying.

            “I broke down and Gary had to come out with a different van for me to finish my route.”

            “I see.”

            An awkward silence ensued, then I became bold. “Look, I know it’s none of my business. But I’ve noticed that you’ve been awfully sad lately. Now I just found you crying.”

            She gave me a hard cold stare and Loyd Burl felt his toes curl. In the time I had known Becky there had never been a crossword or an unfriendly look between us. Although we had gotten to know each quite well, we had never gotten, shall we say, personal.

            But the panic I felt led to me to do just that. I went on one knee in front of her and took her left hand in my right. “Look, Becky, I care deeply for you. It hurts my soul to see you in such pain. But I also understand if you don’t want to talk about what’s going on. On the other hand, if you do, I’m always available for you. Okay?”

            The glare left her face as her eyebrows arched. Her chin got that cottage cheese look as her lips tightened, and then her lower lip trembled. A sob she had been holding back suddenly burst from her mouth. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and we stood, embracing each other as she cried into my shoulder.

            I turned my head and most of my face became buried in her silky dark red hair. I breathed in the scent as I gently rubbed her back. I wanted to hug her pain away. Yet it was because of her pain that I found myself connected to this woman I was so infatuated with.

            I could smell the faint rose fragrance of her shampoo, mingled with the scent the Salem light 100’s she began smoking a few months ago. When I mentioned what seemed like a new habit of smoking, she had shrugged it off, telling me she had stopped and started smoking several times over the years. But I now knew her relapse was due to some inner turmoil.

            Back then I was myself an occasional smoker. But what I smoked was usually wacky tobacky, rather cigarette tobacco. On more than one occasion when Becky and I chatted in the break room, she would snuff out her cigarette and go back to her desk. I would pick up the butt, eye the pink or red of her lipstick and place it between my lips, relishing the moistness her own lips had left on the filter.

            “Sorry,” she choked as she finally pushed away from me. She sat back and crossed one shapely leg over the other. The split on her denim skirt rode high up on her thigh, but she did nothing to correct it. Always when she sat, she would tug her skirt down. Always! This was a habit of hers whether it needed to be or not. Believe me, I studied her pretty thoroughly.

            She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Forgive me, but I took this opportunity to examine her legs. Her chair was now turned the opposite way from her desk, and her shoes were underneath it. I was gazing at the red of her painted toenails that you could see through her sheer black nylons when she abruptly lifted her head, saying, “How embarrassing!”

            “Yeah!” I blurted. “I mean no, don’t feel that way. You know… Whatever you’re going through… You know, it’s…”

            “My husband and I are getting a divorce,” she said quickly.

            I refrained from saying ‘that’s wonderful,’ and replied, “I’m sorry,” instead.

            She nodded, and then opened up a verbal flood gate. She told me how three or four years into their marriage they decided to have kids. That she had always wanted kids, lots them, four or five. But after a year of being off of birth control pills, no children were forth coming. It turned out the problem was with him.

            He took it hard, and his pride seemed to change his personality. He became verbally abusive. Then to add insult to injury, she recently discovered that he was having an affair with one of her close friends. A divorced mother of two.

            She was willing to forgive, and suggested counseling. But he wanted a divorce, and the two adulterers intended to marry. Instant family she supposed. I wondered if my own infatuation with Becky was a type of adultery. You know, like when Jesus said if you look upon a woman to lust after her, you’ve committed adultery in your heart.

            I had certainly done quite a bit of lusting over a married woman. Although I never figured it would go anywhere. Right then I still didn’t despite her divorce, what with our age difference. She had recently turned thirty last spring, and I turned nineteen during the summer.

            “Can I ask you something?” she said.

            “Of course.”

            “How come you don’t have a girlfriend? I mean, you look like you could be Robert Redford’s son, and I bet you get a lot of female attention.”

            I shrugged. “I’m just picky I guess. And I haven’t met, you know, that special someone.” Other than you, I thought. But you’re married, for now anyway, and too old. “So, I figure why waste the time dating someone if it’s not gonna go anywhere?”

            “Most guys your age would say they just want, how should I put this? Some action.”

            “I’m not most guys. I don’t want to just use some girl for sex.”

            “Are you saving yourself for marriage then?”

            I shrugged. “At least for the woman I’m going to marry.”

            “You’re a special young man,” she told me with a look of fondness. “I’ve always known you were. I believe that special someone is out there for you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so picky and give a girl a chance.”

            How about you, I thought. Instead I smiled and nodded.

            “I’d love to see some girl sweep you off your feet. You deserve it!”

            It was almost as if Becky had uttered a prophecy. My roommate had recently started dating a waitress from Hooter’s restaurant. I had never been to the establishment, for I didn’t want to appear to be there to lust after the waitresses who were known for their chestiness and short shorts.

            But low and behold, Kyle somehow talked me into it. I was so glad he did! Becky had said I looked like I could be Robert Redford’s son. Well, Catalina Clutterbuck could have been Becky’s younger sister!

            The only problem, and it was a big one, Catalina put up a big time snobbish front. It was hard enough for me to talk to beautiful females. So when I approached her about a date, I was mortified when she looked at me like I had just vomited on her shoes. Which I actually kind of felt like doing.

SELFLESS OR SELL OUT?

CHAPTER 11

Tuesday April 29, 1980

I WILL MAKE YOUR DESCENDANTS MULTIPLY AS THE STARS OF HEAVEN (Genesis 26:4)

            Mary Jean awoke kissing the crook of her arm, gave a start, sat up, glanced at her clock, read a time of 6:08, and plopped onto her bed as she sighed heavily. Her head spun in confusion, what a dream!

            She usually didn’t remember her dreams, but this one was profound. She also didn’t know if it was the most wonderful dream ever or a nightmare. How could that be?

            She looked at the pillow where her left arm was cradled. That must have been what made the baby she held seem so real. Her baby! She looked at the crook of her right arm she had been kissing. That’s what had made the kiss from the man seem so real. That man was John! 

            She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as if he had really kissed her. And why had she been kissing him back? It had only been three days since he confessed a habit of looking at Playboy magazines. It had only been three days since he expressed a concern that part of his motive in his proposal to her had been inspired by the erotic photos of young women. It had been only been three days since she reared her hand back to slap him, but ran off instead, and out of his life for good. Or so she thought.

            The dream started with a visit from an angel of God. How did she know it was an angel? After all, Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). But she knew in her heart that this dream was from God, believing her connection with God through intense prayer told her so (1 Corinthians 2:13-16).

            The angel had explained that John had been dwelling in spiritual darkness for a long time. He had been hiding from God in religion for years. How ironic! And although outwardly disciplined in the morals common to decent men, he had secretly given in to the carnal lusts common to carnal men. The angel assured her that John had repented. His confession to her cleansed his heart, wanting no secrets, and freeing him to love her as a man of God should.

            The angel also explained that his sister had planted seeds of truth a decade ago. But pride and a judgmental attitude had been poor soil. Then along came the wholesome beauty that captivated his heart. Mary Jean became aware of the fact that his attraction to her, although there were certainly aspects of a physical nature, was primarily spiritual.

            “Your union will multiply your descendants as the stars of the sky,” the angel had told her delightedly as she waved a hand toward the heavens.

            “But how can that be?” Mary Jean inquired. “We are living in the time of the end!”

            “Ah,” the angel said delightedly. “We are all the family of God. And they who win souls is wise (Proverbs 11:30). Your offspring will lead many precious souls to Christ. Your influence has also watered the seeds in John’s heart, planted by his sister Abby. If you marry him, his family tree will bear much fruit. If not, he will ultimately decide against marriage, children, and remain in spiritual darkness, albeit through a religious veneer.”

            “But he’s so much older than me,” Mary Jean declared. “Why couldn’t the Lord yoke me with someone closer in age?”

            “No one in your sphere of influence was found worthy, save for John McQueen. A man who has aged well, is handsome, wealthy, and will be given a second lease on life through your union. His new wealth will be your shared children, which are of infinitely more value than his millions of dollars.”

            “How can these things be?” Mary Jean asked with a frown.

            The angel smiled, and as she touched her forehead said, “Be blessed, my dear child.”

            The next thing she knew, she was in a hospital bed, holding a baby. Her baby! John’s baby! A banner above a door read, ‘Welcome John Jr.’ Then the door opened, and in came the father, grinning from ear to ear. He sat on her bed, kissed their son, and then kissed her on the mouth. It wasn’t unpleasant, quite the opposite, yet after a few seconds of a dream induced lip lock, she had awakened with her mouth on her arm.

            After she rubbed sleep from her eyes, she recounted the last conversation she had with John. It was a rather heated exchange that she now regretted. But how could it be otherwise? This man, her fiancée, was old enough to be her grandfather. This age difference already bothered her. Then he admitted that part of his attraction to her might have been influenced on some level by an erotic magazine. A periodical whose founder boasted of bedding many of the young women that appeared in his magazine.

            Mary Jean sighed as she laid in bed on her back, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, as she listened to the even breathing of her sister sleeping. Then she replayed her last conversation with John. It started moments after they left his Pastor’s office and entered his car.

            “So I saw that money exchange between you and your Pastor,” Mary Jean said with a huff as she folded arms.

            “Yeah, so?”

            “So, what? Did you feel the need to bribe him?”

            “No… I guess I just wanted to ensure that we have no problems. We are going to want to marry fairly quickly. His old friend, who happens to be your Pastor, refused to marry us, and we are going to want to be married in said friend’s church. I simply wanted him to know it would be worth his wile.”

            “Well, it made me feel like I’m being bought after all.”

            “No, it’s not that at all.”

            “Is that right, not at all?”

            “Look, a man in my position greases palms from time to time. You could say it is sort of a habit of mine. When you have the means, it is simply a way of assuring you get what you want.”

            “Yeah,” she snorted. “It sure is.”

            “Look, Mary Jean, to be blunt, me slipping Reverend Paynton a Bengi cost me about as much as you giving a friend a quarter. Okay? If I was doing something covert, I would have asked to speak to him privately. The folded bill slipped by handshake was for any embarrassment he might feel. But just to be clear. I wasn’t hiding it from you at all. When we are on our honeymoon, you will see me grease a lot of palms. Our luggage handler, room service, meals, drivers. Do you understand?”

            Even though she nodded, she kept her eyes straight ahead as they drove.

            “Well, if you need to be in a snit, I might as well take you home,” John said.

            “No,” Mary Jean said mildly, touching his arm and smiling. “It’s a nice day. Let’s go for a walk.”

            Mary Jean and John hiked on the same trails they normally rode horses. Something laid heavy on John’s heart. He had felt the need to come clean with Mary Jean ever since his initial proposal. He had tried to tell himself that what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. But it was something he knew, and he wanted it out in the open before they said their ‘I do’s.’

            Not one typically to waste time, John broached the subject only fifty feet into their walk. “Mary Jean, I need to get something off my chest.”

            “Okay,” she replied cautiously.

            He stopped walking and faced her. Why did he feel the need to tell her this? Because of the old adage, ‘Can three people keep a secret? Yes, if two are dead.’ And he simply didn’t trust Max to keep his mouth shut. He had already told him more than once to not send anymore Playboy magazines. Yet they had still arrived via UPS afterward. What if more were forth coming after their wedding?

            He explained Max’s ‘gifts’ over the last decade. At first, she shrugged it off. After all her own father had hidden copies of the popular men’s magazine. She and her siblings had discovered them by accident while playing hide and seek. But her dad was less than a favorable example. Then a thought occurred to her, and she frowned.

            “Are you saying… You became interested in me, a much younger woman, because of looking at Playboy?”

            “Here’s the thing, but it’s complicated, and I don’t even understand myself,” he tried to explain. “You see, I don’t think I would have pursued you, and made the offer of marriage that I did without the influence of Max, and, well, Playboy. That said, and on the other hand, it was primarily your wholesome character that led me to choose you. Do you see?”

            “No, right now I don’t see beyond what you just said,” she responded angrily. “A girlie magazine lowered your decency instincts enough to offer a teenage girl a proposal of marriage.”

            “No, no, no! If that were merely the case, I would have pursued somebody like your friend Sylvia. You know, all voluptuous, tight pants, chest spilling out of her top.”

            This was when Mary Jean thought about slapping him, but merely told him that they were done, the intent to marry was off! She left him saying ‘but’ several times with his open palms out in front of him.

            Three days after Mary Jean declared the marriage was off, she went to John’s place in an attempt to put it back on. That’s how profound her dream was. She was relieved to find John saddling a horse when she drove up.

            “Saddle one up for me?” Mary Jean asked with a smile.

            “You bet,” John replied, returning a smile.

            They looked at each other for several seconds, then at the same time, they both said sorry.

            “I guess I put my foot in my mouth by trying to own up to my sins,” John admitted.

            “I’m sorry for acting in an unforgiving manner,” Mary Jean said.

            “Just so you know, I haven’t looked at, you know, an inappropriate magazine since before I met you at Abby’s the first time.”

            Mary Jean nodded. Then John asked, “So… Are we back on?”

            Mary Jean wrapped her arms around his neck, went on to tip toes, kissed him, and then asked, “What do you think?”

EPILOUGE

            Mary Jean and John resumed the rest of their courtship without incident. They had several premarital counseling sessions with both of their pastors. A few days before their small wedding, Pastor Kirk Samson, along with his old comrade Pastor Paynton, asked the engaged couple a question in Captain Kirk’s chapel.

            “What would you think of both of us performing the ceremony?” Pastor Samson asked.

            Mary Jean was wide eyed. “Do you mean it!”

            “Yes, my dear,” Captain Kirk chuckled.

            “What changed your mind about marrying us?” she asked.

            “I concluded that as unconventional as your marriage would be, that you two really do love each other. I still think you’re rushing things, but now that it’s crunch time, and you are going through with it… I want you to have my blessing.”

            John shook his hand vigorously, and Mary Jean hugged Pastor Samson fiercely. “Will you give me away, too?”

            “I’d be honored.”

            On June 8^th, 1980, John and Mary Jean McQueen were married. They honeymooned for three weeks in Europe. Two months later, they took a Caribbean cruise to celebrate the conception of their first child, a son they named John. He was actually named in honor of the comrade that saved John’s life during the war, and secondarily John himself. He was born March 8^th, 1981.

            On March 1^st, 1982, a second son, Jason, named after John and Abby’s brother who was killed in the war was born. This made for Irish twins.

            On February 25^th, 1983, a daughter named Mary Ellen was born. She was named after both her mother and maternal grandmother. Her birth made for Irish triplets.

            On July 8^th, 1985, another daughter named Erin after Mary Jean’s sister was born.

            On August 19^th, 1987, a son named James after the other brother of John and Abby who was killed in the war was born.

            Five children were fathered by John McQueen between the age of sixty-one and sixty-nine. He not only witnessed all five graduate college, he was alive to meet ten grandchildren. When John died one month after he and Mary Jean’s 40^th anniversary, all of his offspring were over thirty years of age.

WRITER’S NOTE

            Next week I will be starting a new story called ‘Loyd Burl and the Hooter’s Girl.’ This story will be told by Loyd, a mostly ethical seeker of truth. He will relate his testimony of being led toward a Christian conversion experience by a young woman who is a backslidden Christian, working as a waitress at an establishment known for it’s chesty and leggy servers.