It was the middle of August, in a flash. Skid, Geri, Gary, Sanders, Darren and Carl helped the church custodial position be as easy as it could have been. They were hard on me in the beginning, giving me the hardest assignments, hazing me. But as the summer went on and I hadn’t quit the job, they let me take on the smaller tasks, like cleaning. They even respected me by the end.
“Joe, you have sure got a strong back!” Skid exclaimed one evening in July as with sun burnt faces we lifted the two-ton stereo boxes and carried them into the churches’ storage closest.
The longest days were always the days following large church celebrations where an enormous stage was set up outside on the campus lawn and contemporary Christian bands were invited to play.
Yet it all was over now. And I knew driving away in the beat up Ford truck on the last day, I had managed to make friends out of older men who probably thought me a joke.
Coleridge College opened its doors in just week, and Monica’s anxiety was in full throttle. I was nervous, but not nervous in comparison to Monica. She had another year in high school and was worried about the long distance and fewer hours we’d get to talk or see each other.
“Do you think they will let you have nails to hang picture frames? Did you check with your roommate about him bringing a mini-fridge? Common Joe, you have to care more than me. This is your college experience!” Monica would rant. Her rants were always about me being a slacker, but I knew her enough that I understood where her anxiety was really coming from.
Out shopping for dorm bedding and office supplies, Monica exploded in frustration because I couldn’t choose a color for my bed-spread.
“Hmm. I think blue works?” I said, doubtfully.
“Joe, you can pick your own damn blanket. I’ll wait for you in the truck.” She stormed off.
I picked the blue blanket and road home in silence, Monica crying sheepishly trying to hide her tears. When we got home, she quickly hugged me before running to her room where she sobbed.
I unloaded the truck bed and walked into the guest room. The yellow guest room had been filled on all sides with the college dorm supplies. Besides one small path to the unmade bed, the floor was completely covered. It felt as though I was stock-piling an odd assortment of objects, each unrelated to the other. There was a shoebox full of pens and pencils beside three multi-colored bath towels, and the bath towels were next to the new package of underwear I knew I couldn’t live without. Small piles made up one big pile. I laughed at the thought of a summer flood where all the hard work and money would be lost as the large pile was lifted off the floor and would eventually drift out of the house.
I threw the new blue bedspread down into the pile and hopped onto the bed. Yet, before I could get to sleep the guest-room door cracked open and Monica came in. She carried her brown and pink leather bible that had been bent and torn at the edges.
“You okay, I asked?” Knowing that her carrying the bible was an obvious sign she wasn’t.
She sat down at bed’s edge, flipping on the light as she made her way to me.
“You told me you believed in God, right Joe?” Monica asked quietly.
“I think I do. I know the stories. It just hasn’t been real to me, yet.” I replied.
“Well, I was reading, again. I read the story about Abraham and Sarah and how they waited so many years to have a child.” She said.
“Yeah, I think I know it. Their son was Isaac, right?”
She nodded.
“They waited years before God ever fulfilled his promise and gave them kids. But God still fulfilled His promise.” She said, tears welling up.
“God promised me that we would be okay, even after you got to school. Even if it is years before we see each other everyday again, I want to believe he is right.”
I kissed her forehead, asking her if she wanted to take a walk around the neighborhood. It had become a routine of sorts. After work and dinner, we would take a stroll around Church Hill Dr. and walk towards the highway before turning around and coming back home. We walked and talked about dreams and hopes.
We both wanted kids, just different amounts of kids. We both wanted to live in cities, just different cities. We imagined ourselves as a nuclear family, one I had never seen and Monica had barely had herself.
We talked about God and how Monica believed and wanted me to believe. I just hadn’t reached a point where I had seen enough of life to know God was real. Sure, I was safe from any of the abuse or neglect I experienced in my own home. I was safe even after moving away from home, and had received my acceptance into a university. But I still doubted. I wanted to believe simply, like Monica. I felt like it could be comforting and helpful. But it wasn’t within reach, yet.
I think I saw Him, though. God, I mean. I thought I had seen Him everywhere. Street lamps cast shadows in such a way, that I had to take a moment to find my breath. A sunrise or sunset was more beautiful than any painting I had ever seen. Someone would say something profound, and I’d later find out they quoted a Christian author or thinker, or the bible itself. I was lost in what I knew had to be a God, but didn’t experience him like Monica did. It made me terribly sad.
But that night, we walked and talked and made our way back home as if I wasn’t going to leave in a week. We planned dinners and dates. We knew days we would FaceTime each other. And when we got back to the porch and walked into the yellow-crowded room, she was smiling her freckled radiant smile. That smile was worth more than gold.
