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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <RevCottonMather@excite.able.boy.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2001 13:23:08 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game  11/30 (mf rom)
Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2001 17:10:06 -0500
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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
story is the sole property of the author, and may not be copied or
downloaded for the intent of profit. Permission is freely given for
anyone to download or copy for their personal pleasure or use, as
long as there is no intent to charge money or barter for the
privilege of acquiring this material.

(copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

E-Mail all comments to RevCottonMather@excite.com
Don't be shy!  I enjoy hearing from you.

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PLAYING THE GAME
by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 11 -

THE MOTORCYCLE PROMISE


By the time I dragged myself out of bed the next day, it was almost 
noon.  I had a soccer game, and after that I was supposed to go over 
to work with Davey and Kip again.  I called Molly while I was eating
a bowl of cereal for breakfast.

"Hi," I said when she answered the phone.  "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great," she said.  I could almost hear her smile in her 
voice.  "A little sore, but even that's going away.  How are you?"

"I'm a little tired, but I'll be okay.  I've got a soccer game this 
afternoon, and then I have to go over to the Wilkinsons.  Are you 
doing anything tonight?"

"I was going to go over to Tessa's.  Want to come along?"

"Sure," I said.  "What time were you going?"

"We're going shopping this afternoon, but we should be back around 
5:00.  Ummm...Sean?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Bring along a couple of those...things you got yesterday, okay?"

It was a good thing I was sitting down, because my knees turned to 
water as soon as she said that.  "Yeah, of course," I said. 
"Anything you say."

"Good.  Just remember that, and you'll get along with this Irish lass 
just fine," she said with a laugh.




The soccer game was a laugher.  I was playing with a club team that 
consisted of guys from all over our area, not just from our community.
The team we were playing was just a pickup team thrown together for 
the summer league, and they were not very good.  All summer long I
had played just about every position on the field, including keeper,
but I was learning that I really liked playing defense, and especially
right-side defense.  My coaches discovered that I had a knack for
stealing the ball more often on the right side, and I would streak
up the sidelines until I was past the centerline.  Depending on how
my opposition reacted to this intrusion, I would either continue down
the field, switching positions with my right midfielder, or I would
loft the ball across to our offensive players in the middle, and let
them take over.  Against teams with weak midfielders, I could make it 
almost all the way down to the penalty line before crossing the ball, 
and a couple of times I was able to waltz the ball in and score from 
the side when the defense was still scrambling around trying to cover 
all our players down the field.  At any rate, the coach pulled most
of his starters, me included, for the entire second half, because we
were already up 6-1 by halftime.  Even so, we ended up winning 9-3,
and I was feeling pretty good.

I went right from the game over to meet Davey and Kip.  We warmed up 
and stretched, and played Heads-Up for about 15 minutes.  After
taking a drink break, we started on a game of Keep-Away, with me in
the middle.  The boys were still prone to standing to wait for the
ball, instead of moving to it on a pass, and I hoped that Keep-Away
would make them see why they had to move on the ball.  Passing into
open space, give-and-gos, and leading the receiver were still too
advanced for these little guys, but they were working hard toward
being better soccer players.  I knew that when the fall season
began, they would be more skilled than most of the other kids in
their age group.

We ended up playing Heads-Up on the way back to their house again. 
As we got there, Lori opened the front door to let an older man out.
He was dressed in a dark suit, and was wearing a loud pink and yellow
tie.  He shook her hand, walked down to his car parked at the curb,
and drove away without a second glance at the boys or the house. 
Lori, as usual, invited me in for lemonade while Kip and Davey ran
upstairs.

"I hate having to do some of these grown-up things sometimes," she 
said, almost to herself, as she poured four glasses of lemonade over 
ice.

"What do you mean?  Is it something to do with that guy who just 
left?" I asked.

"That was my insurance man.  He was dropping off more papers for me
to look over.  Just when I think I'm healing, something comes up to
open up old wounds," she muttered.  Tears were starting to form in
her eyes, and her lower lip was trembling.

I stood up, alarmed, and put my arm over her shoulder.  "What's the 
matter, Lori?" I asked concernedly.

She dropped her head to my shoulder and sobbed.  Her shoulders were 
shaking, and I could feel, underneath the weight of her hair, that
the skin on the back of her neck was hot to the touch.  After a few 
moments she collected herself, straightened her shoulders, and gave 
me a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thanks, Sean, for your support."  She moved over to the counter and 
pulled some tissues from a box and wiped her eyes.  She stepped back 
to the table and sat down heavily.

"My husband died last year," she said quietly.  She was looking down 
at her hands as they methodically tore apart the tissues.  "He was in 
a motorcycle accident just about a year ago, over Labor Day weekend.  
Massive head injuries, internal bleeding, broken leg, two broken
arms, punctured lung.  They had him on a... m...machine for five days,
until they finally said that he was brain-dead and would never
recover.  I...I told them to pull the plug, and he died an hour
later.  He was 26 years old."

She looked up at me then, and the tears started running down her face.
"Don't ever get on a motorcycle, Sean.  Promise me.  My boys love
you, and I won't have them go through something like that ever
again, if I can help it.  Promise me, Sean."

Her eyes were pleading as she looked at me miserably.  It wasn't a 
real big stretch for me to make such a promise, since my mom and dad 
already had forbid my older brother Michael from ever riding one.  I 
knew my turn for the "No Motorcycle" lecture at home was next.

"I promise, Lori.  No motorcycles."

She looked at me for a moment more, perhaps gauging my sincerity, 
before finally nodding, accepting my promise.  She picked up the 
scraps of tissue to wipe her eyes, until she finally realized that
she had torn them into useless bits.  She got up and took a handful
more from the box on the counter, and crossed over behind me, and
wrapped her arms around my neck, hugging me fiercely from behind.

"Thank you, Sean.  I don't know what I'd do without you.  I can't
tell you what a huge difference you've made for me.  And for my
guys," she added.  She let go and came back around to sit at the
table again.

Her eyes were still red, but she was much more composed now.  
"Anyway," she continued, "since then, I've had to do more of the 
grown-up things that Tom used to take care of for us, and I don't
like it.  But I do it, because the boys need me to do it.  But
really, Sean, I'm still just a kid at heart.  I'm really not that
far from being a teenager myself, at least in my own mind," she said
with a rueful smile.  "I know you probably think of me as being
older, but I'm really not."

"Actually, I don't.  When I first met you, I thought you were the 
babysitter or something, maybe a college kid working for the
summer," I said.

She blushed just a little.  "Thanks, Sean.  Even if it's a little 
white lie, I appreciate it.  Are you sure you don't have a
girlfriend?" she asked teasingly.  "I may just claim you for my own, 
then."

Now it was my turn to blush.



(Continued in Chapter 12)

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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