Bridge to a Distant Star

by Carolyn Williford

  Beth gave her a look of astonishment as she wadded up the wrapper and tossed it toward the trash can. “No way.”

  “Seriously. He’s got nice blond hair.”

  “But he scowls all the time, Michal. And he’s such a … such a hunchback. Honestly, the way he skulks around the campus. Gives me the creeps.”

  “I know you won’t believe this.”

  “What?”

  “Stephen is more spiritually mature than Allistair.”

  Beth laughed, scoffing. “Now you’re really losing it. Allistair’s what? President of the student body?” She scrunched her pillow, molding it just the way she liked.

  Intently chewing on a nail, Michal merely nodded.

  “And he’s on the best ministry team?”

  Michal popped the finger out of her mouth, studying the nail’s ragged edge. “Told me they’re off to Georgia and North Carolina over spring break. He’s in the quartet. I’m pretty sure he preaches, too.”

  “I know he does ’cause he’s taking Homiletics. All the guys in there are required to preach at least five times.”

  “How on earth would you know that?”

  “’Cause I tried to sign up.”

  “For Homiletics?” Michal’s mouth dropped open. “No. You never told me that. Girls aren’t allowed, are they?”

  “Apparently not. They wouldn’t let me in, anyway.” Beth yawned. “I’m getting sleepy. Hurry and tell me about your date with Allistair before I fall asleep.”

  “Not gonna be any date.” Michal opened her notebook for New Testament, ruffled through the pages. “I’m really wondering if Allistair’s a fake, Beth. You wouldn’t believe what he said about today’s chapel speaker.” She noted Beth’s eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open. “Beth?”

  When there was no answer, Michal sighed, concerned that Beth wasn’t studying for the exam. She chewed on the nail again—Michal reverted to the childish habit whenever feeling anxious—and studied until it was time for dinner. Noting Beth was still sound asleep, Michal tiptoed out the door, meeting her suitemates in the lounge.

  Samantha gave Michal a look. “Beth not going with us?”

  “She’s sleeping. I think she’s sick again.”

  No one commented, but the quick glances indicated the four of them had discussed Beth earlier.

  Eager to change the mood, Ruth gave Michal a friendly shove. “So are you going to tell us now about Allistair?”

  “Yup.” But she stubbornly remained silent.

  “Well?” from Ruth.

  Samantha gave Michal a playful smack on the arm. “Michal.”

  She glanced around, checking out who might overhear their conversation. “Let’s wait until we’re seated in the dining hall, okay? I don’t want anyone else to know about this.”

  Jenny shook her head in amazement. “Anyone else on this campus—well, maybe not Beth—but anyone else would just die to have everyone know that …”

  Michal cut her off with a fierce glare.

  “Okay. I’m not saying it. But you are the only one who would freak out like this.”

  As they entered the spacious dining hall, Michal pulled back from the group, hesitating. After all these months, she was still intimidated by the scene before her—the mass of students milling about, filling the vast room with a rush of bustling energy. In their midst were large bars offering everything one could ask for: salads, breads, sandwiches (cold deli, or a hot sandwich made to order), varied full entrées, one bar devoted entirely to pasta and pizza, and lastly, the dessert and drink bars.

  Walking into that dining hall presented Michal with a multitude of choices she’d never had to face before, dozens of possibilities she couldn’t even have imagined in Ethiopia. The result was almost overwhelming. As she stood in the doorway, momentarily frozen, she observed students walking in confidently, with decisive purpose. They hurried to the salad bar or were quick to peruse the entrées, choosing one easily. Others ordered sandwiches with apparent aplomb, pairing bread with meats cooked a certain way.

  When Michal was a child back in Addis Ababa, she wouldn’t have been able to conceive of this much food in an entire city—let alone in one room. And the variety was still nearly beyond her comprehension. Her diet in Ethiopia had been consistent and predictable: wot (a stew), yams, taro, a cabbage like kale, squash, peppers, onions—often wrapped and baked in the ensete leaf (termed “false banana” since it resembled the banana plant). Corn was a rare luxury from their family garden. There was no such thing as choice. You ate what was placed before you—gratefully. Or rather: You acted that way.

  The staple bread of Ethiopia had a tough, dense texture and was made from the ensete plant. When Michal first stood before the bread bar at McMaster’s, she’d sucked in her breath in amazement, eyes roaming over the display of bagels, yeast rolls, sweet breads with nuts, biscuits, cornbread, luscious sourdough loaves, and French baguettes, everything from plain white to healthy multigrains. She’d felt uncomfortable and guilty, thinking of her family and the villagers back home. Living with … so little.

  But that was nothing compared to the waste she observed daily. Michal knew her views on what students flagrantly threw out wouldn’t be appreciated; she kept those thoughts to herself. At the same time, she was careful to eat whatever she put on her plate—which made her selections that much more cautious and deliberate. Along with the entire dining hall experience, the process of selecting food was harrowing for Michal.

  It was also the perfect setup for major teasing.

  Suitemates razzed Michal mercilessly about how she came to a complete stop when she first walked into the dining hall. How she then proceeded to advance in slow motion, waiting timidly for others to move out of the way. About her tendency to choose only the familiar, to approach the least crowded bar, choosing small amounts of what she could easily get to. Michal was always the last to arrive at the table with her very predictable food. No custom-made hot sandwiches. She’d invariably have the smallest portions. And she ate every bite, leaving her plate conspicuously clean, another mine for significant unwanted attention.

  By the time Michal made her way to the table, Samantha was already primed and grinning.

  “Did you see the spiral-sliced ham, Michal?” She held up a forkful. “It’s got that maple glaze on it—yum.”

  She gave Samantha a vacant look. “Ham? Where was that?”

  Samantha giggled while Ruth poked her with an elbow.

  “Hey. Cut it out. I’m only pointing out the obvious. It was over on the entrée bar, silly.”

  “Oh, so that’s what everyone was hovering around.”

  Samantha started to make another comment, but Ruth kicked her. “Ouch. All right, already. So tell us about Allistair, Michal. You’ve kept us in suspense long enough.”

  “It’s nothing. He just asked me to the basketball game.”

  Several looks of obvious envy—and exclamations.

  “But after chapel, he said what Reverend Coleman shared was—” Michal leaned into the center of the table and whispered, “pure crap. Honest, that’s a word-for-word quote.”

  “I took a cut today. Sounds like I missed something good. What on earth did this Reverend Coleman say?” Amy asked, amusement coloring her words.

  Ruth was indignant. “He’s a missionary. To Chile.”

  “Uh, okay. So did he show slides of a sunrise and sunset?”

  Amy’s sarcasm was lost on Ruth, who responded with horror at Amy’s audacity to ridicule a chapel speaker, let alone a missionary. “No, he didn’t.”

  “He said we should all be open to becoming missionaries,” Michal pointed out. “That we should date only those who feel called to be missionaries too.”

  “You know, I gotta tell you. I’m confused. ’Cause he made it sound like all of us shou
ld go to the mission field.” Jessica put her hands on her hips and tilted her head, smirking as she looked at each of them. “So … if all of us go overseas to the mission field, then who’s left here? Who supports everyone?”

  “Jess, you know that’s not what he meant. Not technically.”

  “You’re called to go back to Ethiopia, aren’t you?” from Ruth.

  “Definitely,” Michal answered.

  “Well, it’s pretty clear to me you can’t go out with Allistair.” Ruth’s declaration set off a firestorm of discussion.

  “What? That’s stupid,” Samantha railed.

  “Just because Allistair didn’t agree with Reverend Coleman doesn’t mean he’s opposed to being a missionary.”

  “Actually, he told me he believes we’re all full-time missionaries,” Michal interjected.

  “What on earth does that mean?” Jessica looked confused again.

  “A missionary can be anyone who tells others about Jesus. We’re all supposed to do that.” Ruth was currently taking a class on missions and sounded a bit condescending.

  “But isn’t there a difference when it’s vocational missions?” Jenny asked. “As opposed to having other jobs—like us, since we’re … you know … students right now? We’re not full-time vocational missionaries.”

  “Then Michal can still go out with Allistair.”

  “No, she can’t.”

  Michal broke into the argument, stating firmly, “I told you, I’m not going out with him anyway.”

  Samantha’s face lit up, and she whispered, “Well, speaking of you-know-who. Announcement,” she trilled, in a singsong voice. “He’s headed our way this very moment, eager listeners.”

  Before Michal had a chance to mentally prepare, Allistair was casually resting his hand on the back of her chair. “Do some studying this afternoon for your exam?” He glanced up at the girls gathered around her, nodding his head in greeting. “Hey.” The twinkle in his eyes hinted he was getting a kick out of their interest.

  “Yeah, I did and—”

  “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven. Never dated an MK before. Something tells me I’ve got a lot to learn.” And with that, he turned and was swallowed into the crush of students milling around.

  “Well, that’s the way to tell him the date’s off,” Samantha offered, dissolving into giggles that pulled in everyone else, enjoying the joke at Michal’s expense.

  Chagrined, Michal attempted to defend herself. “He didn’t give me a chance, did he?”

  “Seems to me you didn’t exactly try to find one either.”

  Michal held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. So I didn’t do the right thing. I should’ve said no first thing this morning.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Amy mused, shrugging her shoulders. “So Allistair didn’t like the chapel speaker. Why not find out what he disagreed with? Maybe you’ll find you and he don’t see things so differently, after all.”

  “Whatever. I can’t back out now. Well, I need to get back to studying. Anyone else ready to go back to the dorm?”

  “I’m going back for dessert,” from Jessica. “Chocolate cake.”

  “There’s chocolate cake tonight? I didn’t see that …” Samantha mumbled as she followed Jessica, leading the entire group toward the dessert bar.

  Though Michal was tempted to follow, she declined, and was hurrying down the path toward the dorm when she sensed someone falling into step beside her. Stephen.

  Shyly, she grinned up at him. “Hey, Stephen.”

  He gifted her with one of his rare smiles, the dimples making their appearance. Michal had to remind herself, Close your mouth, dummy, the transformation was so amazing.

  “I um … I was um … was kind of wondering …”

  Michal waited, thinking she should obligingly help Stephen finish the sentence, but she had absolutely no idea what he was trying to say. So she fixed on him what she hoped was an encouraging look.

  “I was wondering if you’d want to study together. Tomorrow night. For the New Testament exam.”

  Suddenly panicked, Michal was at a loss for words. How on earth could I possibly tell him I have a date? She could feel her heart pounding. Sensed the awkwardness of her silence. After we shared our similar commitment to studies.

  Taking Michal’s silence to mean she wasn’t interested, Stephen backtracked. Tried to save face. “Oh, um … you know. It’s not … well, you probably need to study on your own.”

  He was already speeding up in his haste to get away. But she grabbed his shirt sleeve. “No—it’s just that I can’t. I would’ve loved to, Stephen, I really would. But someone else already asked me to—”

  “Study with them,” he interrupted, avoiding Michal’s eyes. Briefly glancing at her once more, he bravely ventured, “I understand. Another time maybe?”

  It was a lie, really, to let Stephen believe that. But she grasped the substitution Stephen had offered as a way out of a dilemma. With a measure of guilt, she answered, “Yes, I’d love to study with you, Stephen. I really mean that. After we get back from spring break?” Michal smiled, and realizing that she still held onto his shirt, let go, flustered.

  Stephen nodded solemnly, apparently believing her. But he didn’t utter a word as he took off at a trot toward the library.

  When Michal got back to her room, Beth was busy studying, sprawled out in the middle of her bed. She glanced up at Michal, grimacing. “Hey. Come join the torture.”

  So the two of them dove into their study notes together, sharing points and quizzing each other until they’d covered the material. By the time Michal needed to move on to other subjects, she felt fairly confident about taking a few hours to attend the basketball game with Allistair. Yeah, I feel confident about taking the test, she thought to herself, but not at all confident about being with Allistair. “What was I thinking?” she mumbled out loud.

  “What’s that?” Beth didn’t take her eyes from her book.

  “Oh … nothing important,” Michal answered, sighing. “Nothing at all.”

  At six thirty the next evening, Michal peeked out her door to discover every one of her suitemates waiting outside, demanding to be let in. She slammed the door shut, stubbornly insisting, “Go away. I don’t need your help getting ready. I’m already dressed.”

  She could hear Samantha groan loudly. “That means she’s wearing exactly what she wore all day long.”

  “I heard that, and I am not!” Michal yelled, crossing her arms, staring at the door as though facing her friends.

  “So what did you change? Your socks?”

  “Just as long as she didn’t change her mind.”

  Michal could hear them tittering at each others’ wit. Which drew a pantomimed laugh from Michal—and then a real one from Beth. She was having a great time observing the scene from the comfort of her bed, leaning back against the headboard, books scattered around her again.

  “Come on, Michal. Open the door. We only want to help. Please.”

  Against her better judgment—and lamenting to Beth, “I know I’m going to regret this”—Michal opened the door about an inch and peeked out again. “What exactly is it you want anyway?”

  Matter-of-factly from Ruth, “We just want to check your outfit.”

  “And your hair and makeup,” Samantha added.

  “I don’t—”

  Their patience exhausted, all three pushed the door open and plunged into what sounded like a military inspection.

  “Oh, you’re not wearing that blouse. Absolutely not.”

  “You don’t have any makeup on at all, do you? Not even lip gloss.”

  “What did you do to your hair? Besides nothing?”

  “Take those stinky sneakers off right now.”

  Beth broke out
in a fit of laughter, holding her side as though it hurt.

  “My sneakers do not stink. I wash them all the time.” Michal gave Beth a look of deadpanned insult. “And thanks for your support, roommate.”

  “Hey, you’re all on your own. It was your choice to go out with the most popular guy on campus.”

  “That’s why this will be the last time I go out with Allistair Fuller.”

  Samantha had disappeared into her room and was gathering makeup. Jessica was literally yanking the maligned sneakers right off Michal’s feet. And Jenny was holding up a blouse she’d already chosen from her own closet, singing its praises, sounding like a used car salesman.

  Resigned, Michal accepted that doing what they wanted was ultimately easier than fighting. And by the time she’d “passed inspection”—she had to twirl in front of them as they nodded their heads in approval—the call came from the lounge. Another freshman, nearly breathless, voice full of wonder, proclaimed, “He’s here. I mean … you know. Allistair’s here.”

  Michal nervously walked down to the lounge, and as she rounded the corner, she saw Allistair turn toward her, smiling broadly. He gave her a quick perusal, one swift assessment from head to toe. “You look great.” Politely holding open the door, he gestured with the other hand. “Shall we go?”

  Michal was surprised how easily they slipped into conversation; they chatted about spring break, how excited they were to get away for a while, the churches where Allistair’s team would minister, what it was like on a traveling ministry team. Despite her resolve to remain detached, Michal was interested in what he’d be preaching on, and impressed by it too. And at Allistair’s urging, she talked at length about Aunt Sarah. How she also grew up in Ethiopia, but was the only sibling not to go back to Africa.

  “Why was that?” Allistair asked.

  “I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know because I’ve never asked,” Michal confessed, realizing she hadn’t shown much interest in Sarah’s life. “I guess I’ve been pretty self-centered that way. Never realized it till just now.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean it that way. I was just being nosy, that’s all.”