by Chana Keefer
He put on a big smile and yanked his head at a couple of guys who grabbed the nearest female and joined in. That broke the ice for more couples and soon, to my relief, we were less conspicuous.
“Happy?” He looked a bit put out.
“Almost.” I pulled him out of the dance area. “Good night, Devin.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I’m lookin’ out for your reputation. You gotta play the field; it’s your duty.” I patted his shoulder. “Besides, I’m tired so… ”
“But, how do I reach you? We could have dinner, do a movie…”
“Look,” I sighed and took his hand to lead him away from the crowd as he received several slaps on the back from his “brothers.” They probably assumed I couldn’t wait to get him alone. Whatever.
We reached a spot where we could talk without shouting. I decided to be blunt. “You don’t want to date me.”
“What is it? You only date famous musicians?”
“I’m just not…your type”
“My God! You’re gay?” He faked horror.
“Nope. Just terminally boring and I don’t drink so we’d have nothing in common.” I decided to dive into brutal honesty. “Here’s the deal-breaker. Sex is out ‘til I’m married so....”
Devin slapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror. “Dear God! An abstinent!” he shouted.
“Would you shut up?” Curious stares turned our way. “So you know I’m a freak. Go back and tell the guys it’s not you, it’s me.”
I actually believed, as I left him standing there, that would be the last of my dealings with Devin Graves, but two nights later I received the first call. I was stationed back at mom and dad’s house and staying up late to continue filling in my new journal. I hadn’t noticed it was past midnight until the phone rang. My parents had been in bed for hours so I dove for the phone in the hope of not waking them.
“Hello,” I said expecting a wrong number since no one we knew would call at this hour.
“Esther? Izzat you?” A voice slurred.
“Devin?”
“Hi Darlin’,” he drawled
“You sound drunk. Where are you?”
“I’m uh… emme see…. I’m in um, my ‘partment, yeah.”
“How did you get this number?”
He giggled a little before answering, “One my guys found it fer me. I jes wan talk to you, at’s all.”
“Look, it’s late. Sleep it off and we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
“But I wanna talk now!” he whined.
“Devin, is anybody there with you?”
“Uh, no.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, hoping it was safe for him to be alone.
“You ask me what I’m doin’ if football duzzin’ happen. I dunno, ‘cause I don’ wanna do nuthin’ else.”
I didn’t know you could be inebriated and panicky at the same time. Was this more than alcohol? “Devin, listen to me. Do I need to call someone for you?”
“I’m fine. Jes wanna talk...”
“You haven’t had anything besides alcohol?”
He did his best with mumbled replies to convince me he was safe, so I relaxed…just a little.
He rambled about football awhile, trying to get me to assure him he would play on a pro team. I truly didn’t think he would remember this conversation so I told him what he wanted to hear. I thought he was about to fall asleep with the phone in his hand when he drawled, “I’ve jus’ gotta keep provin’ it.”
“Proving what?”
“He kept sayin’ I am, but I’m not!” His voice got louder. “I was just too little. Like ta see ‘im try it now. I’d kill ‘im!”
“What are you talking about?”
I heard him weeping. What was I dealing with here? “Devin. What’s going on?”
“I don’t wanna see ‘is face no more! I see ‘is face when I sleep. He would ‘allus wait ‘til I was ‘sleep.” He was crying again. The picture was becoming clear. My stomach twisted as I listened to his childlike fear.
“Esther?” Mom’s sleepy, concerned face poked in the doorway of my room. “What’s going on?”
“Devin. Listen, Devin. You’re all right now. No one’s there. You’re all right. I need to call someone to help you. Give me your address.”
“No, don’ want no one… I’m fine.” He refused to give me his address, whether from failed memory or stubbornness, I couldn’t tell. Finally, he started to sound groggy again, but continued to mumble, “I don’ wanna see ‘is face… ”
By this time mom was sitting on the bed and I took her hand for courage.
I quoted the twenty-third Psalm in a slow, soothing voice. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want… ” I could tell by his ragged breathing he held the phone close.
“He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.” His breathing took on a deep, regular rhythm. By the time I got to, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” I almost thought he was asleep because he breathed so slowly. “And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever,” I finished.
“Devin?”
There was a hesitation, then, “Yeah?”
“Can you sleep now?”
“Yeah.”
“Then hang up. I’ll pray for you.”
“Yeah.” I heard a click.
I turned to mom whose eyes were wide and let out the huge breath I’d been holding the entire time. We were both shaking.
“Who was that?”
I explained the new acquaintance with Devin as well as the conversation we’d just had.
“That young man has real problems, Sweetie.”
I told her I’d try to convince him to seek professional help. That satisfied her enough to go back to bed. I was suddenly exhausted but I prayed for Devin before closing my eyes. It was nice to have someone besides Sky on my mind for a change.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Devin incident felt like a dream when I woke the next morning. I swung by campus to dig up his address and check on him.
When he answered the door with a beer in his hand and a curvy female at his side, I couldn’t have felt more foolish. Obviously, he was finding ways to cope. I was able to orchestrate a private conference with him, without his buxom companion. His explanation of, “Look Esther, everybody gets a little crazy when they drink,” made me realize I wasn’t going to accomplish much.
“Listen,” I tried again, “You really scared me last night. Maybe you drink too much. There are support groups…”
“Stop it.” The smile was gone. “That’s the last thing I need right now.” Devin spoke more quietly as his friend peeked out the window. “I’m probably just nervous because training starts next week. Gotta prove I’m the best.”
This was getting nowhere. “Look, you have my home number. My dad would be glad to talk to you, okay?” I turned to go.
“Hey Esther,” he called, “Um, thanks anyway.” I rolled my eyes in frustration as I headed to my car. What a waste of time.
I pulled into the Winn Dixie on the way home to secure a couple items for the fried chicken dinner I’d asked mom to fix. Waiting in line at the check out counter, I absent-mindedly scanned the headlines of the magazines and noticed, on one of the more reliable publications, a headline that brought my world to a screeching halt.
“SKY AND KARINA TOGETHER AGAIN!”
I stared, dumbfounded, at the picture accompanying the headline. Yep, the gorgeous, supermodel ex-wife clutched Sky’s arm—perfect, flowing blonde hair, perfect teeth in a blinding smile, revealing clothing hugged glossy, bronzed skin, and perfect proportions. I felt sick.
The checkout lady cleared her throat so I tossed the magazine on the conveyor belt while my mind raced. Somehow the groceries were secured and one foot was placed before the other to the solitude of my car where I opened the magazine to get the “full story” of a couple of paragraphs and several large photos.
Obviously, the two had renewed relations at Sky’s
New York concert, posing for photos at a high-profile restaurant and a nightclub. It was all very trendy and jet set, just the sort of life one would expect of beautiful people out on the town.
The real kicker was a quote from Karina. “We’ve both had a chance to mature. It’s time for a fresh start.”
The tiny flame of hope I had harbored over two weeks of no communication fizzled and died.
The headline might just as well have read, “Country Girl is A Fool!” or “Esther Collins—Dreamer!”
If not for the ice cream melting with the groceries, my parking lot pity party would have been the event of the season. I’m not sure how I drove with my mind entirely detached, but soon I wandered in the front door, deposited the groceries on the kitchen table with a vague greeting and made it to the bathroom floor to sit in stunned silence.
Fifteen days, (not that I counted or anything) with absolutely no word from Sky and now this. Well, that certainly answered the question “What have you been up to?”
I thought I was handling the whole incident well, getting on with my life, not dwelling on the time with Sky to the exclusion of responsibilities. It was obvious now how much I had hung my hopes on a continuing…something…with him, no matter how improbable. The magazine article simply stripped away my delusions to reveal what felt like a gaping hole in my heart. I could only conclude that our weekend, (okay, more like twenty-four hours) had been merely a distraction from a rigorous concert schedule, a brief warm-up act for the main event.
I wanted to escape to the solace of the fields, but where could I go that didn’t remind me of him? He had invaded my secret retreats. That wasn’t fair.
The walls of the house closed in, stifling and breathless. I couldn’t face my parents so I exited through the garage door. Big mistake. The ghosts of our garage rendezvous assaulted me. What had been up with that? And I had bought it all. Hook, line, and sinker I’d believed every word and action.
I reached to open the door only to realize I stood on the very spot of our most passionate embrace. Sliding to the floor, the scalding tears came. “What an idiot!” “What a fool!” The voices in my head attacked from all sides, pecking like birds of prey. Hard, wracking sobs shook my body. What a joke! To think I’d actually believed I could protect my heart, that I’d been careful. Well, guess what? My heart had a mind of its own because it was shredded over a man I knew for less than a day.
I don’t know how long it was until mom found me sobbing my guts out in the garage floor. I didn’t hear her open the door and I hardly even noticed when she touched my shoulder.
“Sweetie,” she said in a soft voice, “I saw the magazine. I’m sorry.”
“I’m so stupid,” I whispered between sobs. “What did I expect?”
She put her arms around me and did her best to absorb the hurt as only a mom can. Somehow her sympathy just ripped the dam wide open.
“Supper’s ready if you want to join us,” she said finally when I must have been close to dehydration.
“I can’t.”
When mom headed inside, I slipped out.
Making my way to the fence, I sat facing the setting sun. Sammy discovered me and stoically positioned himself at my feet. I fondled the remaining lump behind his ear. He was always the best company when I hurt—no questions, no suggestions.
It’s so amazing, when I feel my life is over, how the world moves on in spite of me. The breeze blew, the sun shot dazzling rays beneath the building clouds, barn swallows dove and chased each other like mischievous bats, horses and cows grazed.
It was kind of insulting, but my little drama wouldn’t shake the earth or reverse the poles or even give our colt, Sugar, one moment’s worry.
As I watched the breeze dart through the grass of the field I was reminded how things grow. The words “Unless a seed fall into the ground and die” came to mind. I knew many people would consider my situation foolish and shallow, something was dying inside. Was it a foolish dream, a hope, a delusion that needed to crumble to allow room for reality? I couldn’t put a proper label on it. I just knew my heart felt buried, shoved down into the darkness with no hope of ever seeing the light of day.
And yet… something kept me from just wanting to roll over and die. What was it? After all the tears and hurt, I didn’t feel empty. A strange, calming medicine wrapped around my shredded heart, numbing the pain. I was dazed and aching, but I wasn’t alone.
Sammy and I remained as the sun completed its exit. I buried my face in his fur, wishing I had never gone to that concert and could have remained blissfully ignorant of what I was missing.
Later, I slipped into the kitchen when I hoped everyone was already in bed. Dad sat at the table with the magazine in front of him. Oh great.
To my surprise, he put it aside. “I heard the church is needing some college kids to go along with the high school trip to Mexico. I told them I would mention it to you.” He pushed some information toward me, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and left. I glanced at the pages… definitely in the “think about it tomorrow” category.
Soon I was back in my room with the moonlight streaming in the open curtain. Pulling open the bottom dresser drawer, I found a bag under assorted pajamas and mismatched swimsuits. I pulled out the soft cotton pants and shirt from Sky. It was foolish and painful, but I curled up under the covers to bury my face in them. His face was so clear, I reached out my hands as if tracing those contours again. Hugging the soft clothes tight, I fell asleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Soon, I forced myself to stop counting the days and weeks since I had last seen him. I inquired about the mission trip and ended up signing on to help maintain order with the fifty or so Jr. and Sr. High-aged kids—as if that was possible.
The group held a couple of practices for the short dramas we would do to help bridge the communication barrier.
Before I knew it, I was going over the checklist of essential items like Band-aids and bug repellant in preparation for the next morning’s flight.
The following week opened by eyes in a huge way. The areas where we set up our dramas and aided the small medical team were close to tourist hotspots, yet I had never imagined such poverty. The “homes” were nothing more than lean-tos of trash and scrap materials. At first I wondered why there were no trees in these areas until I realized they used every available scrap of wood for shelter.
The children’s shy smiles and dark, innocent eyes melted me. Often I found myself surrounded by a laughing group of them trying to understand their rapid Spanish as they attempted broken English phrases.
At one home, the owner had a native coatamundi, a small mischievous animal something like a raccoon crossed with a monkey. I never would have remembered its name if one of the boys in our group hadn’t suggested it sounded like “wad of undies.” We all laughed as the wad-of-undies discovered the snacks in our pockets and convinced us to share.
Sitting back, watching the children play with our mischievous friend, I paused to add a “time in a bottle moment;” the first, I realized, since I had been with Sky.
Their homes were hovels, their sewer ran, open, down the middle of the street, and the landscape resembled a war zone, yet the moment’s beauty overwhelmed me.
Though I’d never been so dirty, hot, and tired, and my stomach rebelled against something mysterious, It felt good to be doing something that mattered.
It amazed me to find the return home more of a culture shock than going away had been. I grumbled at American overabundance, with children screaming if mommy didn’t buy what they demanded, after seeing such contentment and hope in the faces of those who had nothing. Were they the poor ones?
I had been back in the country only two days, sitting up late to fill in details of the trip in my journal, when the phone rang. A woman’s shaky voice asked, “Is this Esther?” When I answered “yes,” she identified herself as Devin’s mother.
“Devin’s been in a car accident.” Her tearful voice broke my heart. “He keeps ask
ing for ‘Esther’ and we’ve had a bit of a hard time tracking you down. Can you please come see him?”
I rushed to the hospital, wondering how bad the accident had been and, honestly, why he would ask for me.
When I got close to his room, several young men from his fraternity and the football team paced the hallway and spilled out of the waiting room. Shane’s red head was a bright spot in the drab surroundings as he approached with a serious expression on his usually smiling face. He led me to a quiet spot to fill me in.
Devin had been on a bit of a binge for the past two days since his knee had been re-injured in practice, possibly blowing his chance to play his last college season. In a fit of anger, he drove away from his parents’ home, drunk. His knee made it next to impossible for him to drive properly.
They assumed he fell asleep and crossed the median on the highway, sliding across oncoming lanes of traffic. Luckily, traffic was light and he didn’t hit anyone head-on, but his car slid through the guardrail and down a hill where Devin, not wearing a safety belt, ended up through the windshield.
Shane led me to a beautiful blonde woman who stood outside Devin’s door. “Are you Esther?” she asked, coming to take my hands in hers. I nodded as she gave me a hug. “I’m Carol, Devin’s mother. Thank you so much for coming. Every time he wakes he asks for you.”
She led me into the small room where Devin lay surrounded by chrome and tubes. His model-worthy face was a maze of sutures and bruises with one eye completely swollen. His large form, which dwarfed the hospital bed, was covered in bandages. A wave of helplessness struck me. What could I do here? Devin’s mom led me closer to his bedside with trembling hands.
It looked like Devin was sleeping so I touched his arm to see if he would come ’round easily. His swollen eye opened slowly with a grimace of pain, no more than a slit. When he saw me, he gave a slight smile.
“Hey you.” I tried to mask my shock. “Ever heard of a ‘designated driver’?”
“I really f… screwed up this time,” he winced. I was amazed he could even talk with all the bruises and lacerations on his face. I offered him a drink from the cup of water and straw on the bedside table. I didn’t know what to do since everything seemed painful for him.
