Chapter Eight
Goodbye
I had to do it. When he called me that night, I told him about the note I found on my bed.
“My mom was pretty mad that I got home after 2 o’clock the other night.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah. I’m grounded.”
“Grounded? I haven’t heard that word in a long time.”
“Me neither. This is the first time I’ve ever been grounded!”
“I’m the bad guy?”
“It gets worse,” I said. “My mom said she wants us to tell Bob that we’ve been hanging out.”
He waited.
“You’re joking, right?”
“No.”
“Mimi, I can’t tell Bob.” He laughed but sounded concerned as well.
“I know, but why?”
“I just can’t. I don’t think that it’s a good idea.”
“Well—you see—my mom said that if you don’t, then she would.”
There. I said it.
I honestly believed that he would say OK. I imagined us making plans to meet with someone at church, sitting down together in an office with Bob and the senior pastor, praying together and receiving a blessing based on the fact that our courtship was pure and wholesome. But Paul’s response surprised me.
“No, she can’t. Would your mom do that?”
“I don’t know. She was pretty serious, but I don’t know if she would actually do it or not. But what’s the worst that can happen?”
“Tell her … tell her …”
“What?”
“Talk to her for me, would you? Tell her not to tell the church.”
“I already begged her. She’s unpredictable sometimes. I don’t know what she will do.”
“Shoot.”
He didn’t call me for a couple of days. I had so much work to do for my debate that it didn’t bother me too much. But I can’t lie. I was thinking about him every moment of every day. I remember catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thinking, my head is truly in the clouds.
Friday evening I wondered if I should give him a call. My debate had gone extremely well that morning, and I wanted to tell him all about it. And now that the project was over, I could spend as much time as possible with Paul before he had to leave.
I called him.
“Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a few days. How are you?” I asked.
It warmed my soul to hear his gentle, raspy voice.
“I am packing my clothes right now.”
“You’re packing already? When do you leave?”
“Just a few more days.”
“Wow. So are you feeling OK about going back to the ministry?”
“I just have to make it to June.”
“That’s great. Will you be back for my graduation on June 11th?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.” He seemed less vivacious than normal. “It depends on how long it takes me to finish my responsibilities—paperwork and cleanup and stuff like that.”
We sat in uncomfortable silence.
“So what did your mom say?” he asked.
“I don’t think she has said anything.”
“Didn’t your mom tell you that we talked?”
“What? No! When did you talk to her?”
“Wednesday.”
“She didn’t tell me anything about it! Did she call you, or did you call her?”
“I called her. I wanted to apologize to her for keeping you out late and just explain things.”
“Oh my gosh, I am so embarrassed. Was she cool? Is everything cool?”
“You should ask her about it.”
I wondered what that meant.
“OK.”
Then I was dying to get off the phone and talk to my mom.
“I gotta go, but I wanted to tell you about my debate today.”
“How did it go?”
“So good. The class was 30 percent pro-life before the debate, and 75 percent pro-life after the debate! Can you believe that?”
“Great job!”
“My partner, Kevin, and I got an A. That means I’ll get at least a B in AP government! Did you know that colleges count AP grades as one grade higher? That means I’ll get the top academic scholarship at APU!”
“Your partner was a guy?” he asked. I thought it was a funny response.
“Yes.”
“Does he have crush on you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure he does. A lot of guys have crushes on you.”
“That’s not what I want to hear. I only want to hear about one guy. That’s all that matters to me.”
“Miriam, you are in the Lord’s hands. That’s what I like most about you. You’re his.”
He didn’t say Mimi. He said Miriam.
I ran downstairs to ask my mom what she said to Paul over the phone. I approached her abruptly, interrupting Wheel of Fortune.
“Why didn’t you tell me Paul called you?”
“Hold on Miriam. Wait for the commercial!”
I waited, pacing back and forth behind the couch.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”
As soon as the commercials came on, I grabbed the remote and pushed mute.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I guess I thought you would talk to him about it.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Well, he was very polite. He said he wanted to apologize. He was sorry for keeping you out late. And that was about it.”
“That’s all? What else did he say?”
“Miriam, I don’t remember every word.”
I wanted to punch her in the face. Maybe then she would remember. I wanted to pull my hair out.
After a moment, she remembered more. “He wanted to make sure that I was not going to talk to the pastor about you two.”
“And?”
“I told him I wouldn’t, but I wanted him to do it. He didn’t seem to think it was necessary, and I said that if this relationship is God’s will, he would do it.”
“Mom! Why did you say that?”
“That’s what I said. That’s it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She lifted her glasses and found the mute button, pushed it three times, and Pat Sajak’s voice thundered in the living room.
I stomped upstairs. My heart was seething with frustration. It was bursting with all the love I couldn’t give to Paul. I resorted to the next best release: writing. I started writing letters to him, letters that I could mail to him to let him know that I would be faithful to him and to God. I wrote poems and songs with tears falling all over the paper.
I will not be a mere flower
Busy with bees
and soon to wilt
I will be a cactus
With your water
And wait patiently
Here in the desert
The weekend went by slowly. I have to admit I was a little bit depressed that I didn’t see him for four days.
When Sunday morning arrived, I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep. Two hours later I looked at the clock and rubbed my eyes. I got ready slowly, applying my makeup just right and braiding my hair to make it look extra pretty. I drove to Coral Café, which was the hang out spot after the youth service.
When I first arrived, I saw a lot of familiar faces, but not the one man I was looking for. Why wasn’t he there? Was he avoiding me? Didn’t he want to see me? Suddenly I felt a deep, gloomy void in my chest. I didn’t order any food. I couldn’t even think of eating. I sat at a small table with a few friends and listened to the end of their conversation.
Then he arrived.
I got really nervous. I had to bury my natural desire to catch his eye, wave, or yelp in excitement. I didn’t know what to do, so I put a piece of gum in my mouth and acted indifferent.
After saying his hellos, he sauntered over to my table and stood talking with a few people. At the same time, the girls at my tabl
e got up to leave. I looked around. It seemed like everyone from our group was on their way out the door.
I got up too. I stood there casually for a moment, and just as the last person turned around to leave, Paul drew close to me and placed his hand firmly on my lower back.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi.”
The impression of his touch was instantly etched into my body’s memory.
We left the restaurant together. In the parking lot we waved to a few people who were driving away. Paul said he had to go too.
No! I thought.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I have to get home and finish packing. I leave for Portugal in four days.”
“Are you going to get something to eat here? I’ll stay with you.”
“No, no, my mom will have lunch ready for me when I get home.”
I pouted.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said.
“You will? You mean that?”
“Of course.”
“Well,” he glanced back to his car, “I better get home.”
My body cried out for him to touch me again.
But instead of taking a step toward him, I took a step away, hoping he would follow me to my car.
He didn’t.
“Bye, Paul.”
“Bye, Miriam.”
I turned and walked a few more steps, and then I turned to him again.
“Will I see you before you go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Will you call me?”
“Sure.”
We both got into our cars and drove away.
Over the next few days we hardly talked—just a few short conversations over the phone, and that was it. He was gone.
My nose stings and pulses, no release
For you
Here? In class?
Thoughts bounding
Reaching for
You
And you bury so deeply
And so quickly
My heart. Beating, beating, beating
You bury it
But you must
Hear
It screaming!
Goodnight to My Thoughts of You Page 9
