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Message-ID: <47492asstr$1082103002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} NEW Playing the Game III: The Competitive Edge, Ch. 22
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Date: Fri, 16 Apr 2004 04:10:02 -0400
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And the journey continues...

Enjoy!

RCM

Rev. Cotton Mather
Senior Pastor,
Church of the Erotic Redemption
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ReverendCottonMather/www
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I'd do it all over you**

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<1st attachment, "CE22.txt" begin>


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Welcome to the Church of The Reverend Cotton Mather. This
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(copyright 2004, Rev. Cotton Mather)

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THE COMPETITIVE EDGE:
PLAYING THE GAME, BOOK III


by Reverend Cotton Mather




- 22 -

BOUGHT AND PAID FOR IT ALL



Second semester started out a little easier for me.  My living
arrangement improved with Westy training and traveling so much.  It
was almost like I was living by myself.

Unlike the rest of his pledge class, who were activated at the end
of the first semester, Westy was still on probation with the Sig
Taus.  His behavior and his attitude kept him from being lifted to
full brotherhood, and I knew he was pissed off about it.  I didn't
care.  I was still hurting over my own immaturity.  I didn't have the
time or the energy to concern myself with Westy's.

Once everybody else got back to school, Eddie and I met again with
the team co-captains to continue working on our spring schedule.
Jesse brought in the worksheets he and I had worked on over break,
and he spread them out for everybody to see.

Bryan looked over the proposed travel schedule, and then looked up
at Jesse.

"You and the Little Head figured this out?" he asked.

We all looked at him strangely.  "The Little Head?" queried Jesse.

Bryan nodded his head in my direction.  "The Little Head," he
confirmed.  "It's what he's been using to think with."

Rick brayed out a sharp laugh.  "Good one, Bryan," he said.  And,
just like that, I had acquired myself a new nickname.  In a short
amount of time it was shortened to just "Head," but it managed to
spread out from the team to other acquaintances.  I was not at all
happy about it, but I couldn't deny its appropriateness.  Before long
almost everyone I knew was calling me Head.

At least it wasn't shortened from "Shithead," I reminded myself
sourly.  It wasn't until several weeks later that I came to realize
it could just have easily come from that moniker.

Eddie and Pick put in our applications for the tournaments and
clinics we had chosen.  Our first event was the first weekend of
March in Miami, so Pick began our practices early in February.  We
started right in with our Alpha-Omega scrimmages, only this time Pick
mixed up the teams and the lineups on a biweekly basis.

"Ain't nobody needs to get comfortable out there," was how he
explained his reasoning for changing things up so much.

In truth, it seemed to me he was working on bringing the team back
together as a whole after the fall fiasco, and taking away even the
dividing loyalties of Team Alpha vs. Team Omega was one of the ways
he was trying to accomplish this goal.

For myself, I was enjoying my time on the field, whether I was
playing back or, as I found myself occasionally, playing forward.
Jesse wasn't as comfortable when he was assigned a defensive position
for a few days, but I liked the change of being able to challenge the
goal instead of defend it.  It brought another new perspective to my
appreciation of the way positions were played, and I tried to build
on my newfound knowledge.


_________________________________________________________________


Jesse, Spencer, Bryan, and I spent quite a bit of time playing two-
on-two during January.  It kept us sharp, and kept us fit.  Other
than the time I spent with a soccer ball, or my time with Eddie, I
lived a hermit's life.

I had salvaged my grades during the first semester by doing well on
my finals.  I didn't want to fall behind like that ever again, so I
spent most of my spare time on my books.  It took my mind off my
troubles, and it kept me on the straight and narrow.

What it didn't do was address how I was going to repair all the
personal relationships I had so spectacularly fucked up.  My attitude
was akin to hoping that if I ignored it all, maybe it would all go
away.  Wishful thinking worked like that; real life rarely did.

Spencer and Jesse both tried to get me to go out, but the most I did
was grab a burger somewhere with one or the other of them.  There was
nobody else I wanted to talk to, nobody else for me to see.  As hard
as they tried, I resisted even harder.  I knew it was pissing them
off a little, but in my poisoned mind I didn't see any reason to
change.

It all came to a head over the long President's Day weekend in
February.

I got back to my room after soccer practice on that Friday night,
tired after a long week.  I was not looking forward to another
dreary, lonely weekend, especially a long one.  At least classes got
me out of my dorm room.

Westy was spending another weekend at the fraternity house, so I had
the room all to myself.  I had about a hundred pages to read over the
weekend, and I debated with myself about starting in on it or holding
off on that particular task until the next day.

Around eight, I was still undecided when my room telephone rang.  I
picked it up, and it was Jesse.

"You want to go grab a bite?"  He sounded like he wanted to let
loose a little.  Brittany, his girlfriend, was on a sorority weekend,
and he was a bachelor for the time being.

"Nah," I said.  I was a little bit hungry, but not enough to get me
to drag my sorry ass back outside.

"Yeah, you are," he said, seeing right through me.  "I'll be there
in about twenty.  Call Spencer, see if he wants to come."

Before I could protest, Jesse hung up.  I stood there, looking at
the dead receiver in my hand.  I mentally shrugged, and dialed
Spencer's room.

"Yo, dude, Jesse wants to get something to eat.  You interested?"

It was almost like he had been anticipating my call.  "You bet," he
said without hesitation.

"Come on down here when you're ready.  He'll be here in about twenty
minutes."

Okay," said Spencer.  He showed up at my door about ninety seconds
later, his warm-up jacket slung over his shoulder.  Quick, I thought
to myself as I let him in.  He's very quick to get down here.

We went down the stairs to wait for Jesse.  When he got there, we
headed over to Chaucer's, on University Avenue.  Parking was
sometimes a problem around there, so Jesse opted to leave his car in
the lot, and we walked the few blocks to the restaurant.

We found a big table and took it over.  Jesse ordered a pitcher of
beer, but the waitress still asked to see our driver's licenses.

"You must be new here," grumbled Jesse as he pulled his ID out and
handed it to her.  In the meantime, Spencer and I both took our
wallets out and shuffled through them, looking for our fake ID's.  I
handed her mine, with the unlikely name of Frank K. Luckie, but she
only glanced at the name for a second.  She was intent on examining
the birth date on it.  Since it said I was twenty-two, she handed it
back without a word and examined Spencer's.  His passed inspection,
also, though she did look at him a little suspiciously.  She returned
to our table with three mugs and a pitcher full of beer.  Jesse
poured us each a mug.

Holding his mug up, he said, "To a successful evening."

Spencer echoed, "A successful evening," but I had no idea what they
were talking about, so I just clanked my mug against theirs and took
a long swallow.

Just as the waitress was taking our food order, Jesse glanced up
toward the door and exclaimed, "Hey, there's some friends of mine."
He stood up and waved.  "Over here, guys!"

I looked up and saw Trent Abbott and Eric Johnson walking up to our
table.

"What the fuck?" I was shocked.  "What are you guys doing here?"

They pulled up chairs and sat down on either side of me.  "It's a
long weekend, and we decided to take a road trip," said Trent.

"Yeah," agreed Eric.  "Got a call about a friend of ours got a
proctology problem he needs help with.  Dude's got his head stuck
good and tight up his own ass."

"Huh?"  The gist of this conversation was escaping me.

Eric stared me down.  "I said, dude's got his head stuck good and
tight up his own ass."

"I heard you, I just don't know what you're talking about," I said
defensively.  It was unconvincing, even to me, and Eric didn't even
give it that much credence.

"By the end of the night, baby, you gonna know," he said.  He looked
around.  "What's a brother got to do to get a couple a mugs here?
We're dry as a bone."

Our waitress scurried over with two more empty mugs and set them
down.  She seemed a little flustered.

"What's your name, dolly?" asked Eric.

"Juney," she said, eyes downcast.

"You a pretty thing, Juney," said Eric with a smile.  He draped his
arm around her waist, and she moved quite naturally closer to him to
lean up against him.  "Do me a favor?  Bring us another pitcher?
This one gonna be empty by and by."

Juney turned three shades of red at Eric's compliment, and she
practically skipped off to get his beer.

"How the hell did you do that?" asked Jesse with a laugh.  "She
didn't even ask to see your licenses."

Eric shrugged expansively.  "Sometimes you just gotta sweet-talk
'em," he said by way of explanation.  I was of the opinion that Eric
could get away with sweet-talking Juney, but I seriously doubted if
any of the rest of us could have managed it.

Juney returned with the pitcher, and leaned down over Eric's
shoulder to set it on the table.  She paused there, pressed just a
little against him, and she glanced back at him, as if looking for
his approval.  He smiled at her, and she blushed again, and stood up.

"Sweetheart, could you fetch us some menus?  We been drivin' awhile,
and we got some... hungers."  Eric looked at Juney seriously, and she
nodded quickly, and practically ran over to the bar to grab some
menus.  She returned and handed them to us with a smile, saving her
warmest smile for my man Eric.

Juney left us for a moment to look over the menus.  "Dude, you are
going to get yourself in so much trouble," said Trent, but he was
grinning.

"Nah," said Eric.  "You just got to know when to turn it up, that's
all."

"So, tell me again why you guys are here?" I asked as we were
studying the menus.

Eric nodded in Spencer's direction.  "Mr. G. called us up, told us
you was hurtin'.  We all decided you needed some... intervention."

"Intervention?  I don't..."

"But first things first," Eric interrupted.  "What we really need to
do here is eat some of this fine food Juney is gonna bring out for
us, and then we are gonna get you drunk."


___________________________________________________________________



Three hours later, we were still at the table.  We had emptied eight
pitchers of beer, and were working on a ninth.  Juney had slipped us
a couple of free ones, and when she was done with her shift she sat
with us.  Spencer had moved over to make room so she could put
herself next to Eric, and we contributed greatly to the noise and the
atmosphere of fun that permeated Chaucer's that night.

I was happily sloshed, and much of the evening has been lost to my
memory, but nothing mattered much at that point.  I was with the best
friends I had in the world, and they were here with me.

Sometime late that night the three of us, Eric, Trent, and me,
managed to find our way back to my dorm room.  I crawled up to my
bed, Eric and Trent challenged each other to Paper/Rock/Scissors to
see who got Westy's bed, and the loser had to crash on the ratty
couch.  Eric won, and he hauled himself up and pretty much passed out
on top of Westy's blankets.

Much later, after we had fallen asleep, I was awakened by the light
coming on in our room.

"Oh, man, whoever that is, shut off the damn light," I moaned.  It
was like shards of glass being shoved directly through my eyeballs
and into my brain.

"Who the fuck is in my bed?" I heard Westy say.

I sat up blearily to see Westy standing by our desks, looking angry.
I could hear Trent snoring softly from the couch below us.

"What are you doing here?  You're supposed to be at the fraternity
house," I said.

"Fuck 'em," he said.  "I want to sleep in my own bed."

Without getting up, Eric muttered, "Ain't your bed tonight."

"Oh, yeah?  Says who?" challenged Westy, clearly angry.

Eric sat up and looked down at my roommate.  "Go back to your frat
house, frat boy.  Somebody else got claim to your nest tonight."

Westy grabbed for Eric's ankle.  "I don't think so, Goddammit," he
said.  He tried to pull Eric out of the lofted bed, but Eric simply
kicked Westy's hand away.  I heard Eric sigh, and then he lightly
leapt down and landed on the balls of his feet right in front of
Westy.  Eric showed absolutely no intimidation at all, even though
Westy had about two inches on him.  Eric looked strong and fit, and
he looked confident.

"Look, friend, you tole Porter you was gone for the weekend," Eric
said quietly.  "Ain't our fault you changed your mind."

Westy tried shoving Eric back, but Eric was not going to be moved
that easily.  His shoulder moved with the force of Westy's push, his
torso twisting, but his feet never moved.  What Westy's action did,
however, was wake Trent up, and get me down from my bed.  The four of
us in that small room took up just about every available inch of
space, and Westy was forced to step back away from the three of us.

Westy looked uncertainly at us.  "I don't like this," he muttered.

"I don't doubt it," said Eric.  "Just the same, you got a bed to go
to.  I suggest you go find it."

Westy grumbled darkly under his breath for a moment, and then he
decided he was in no position to press the issue.  He turned and
opened the door.  "Fuckin' soccer pricks," he muttered as he left.

I looked at Eric, who was watching Westy calmly.  "I don't think he
liked you very much," I said.

"Fuck him," replied Eric.  "He don't like anybody very much.  Except
maybe himself."

"Even so, he'll have more to say about this."

Eric merely shrugged.  "I'll try not to leave any skid marks on his
sheets."

"Oh, okay, that will make it all better," said Trent with a laugh.
"Now, if you don't mind, I have a dream featuring Christy Brinkley
that I left unfinished that I would like to get back to."

"Say hi to her for me," said Eric as he climbed back up into Westy's
bunk.  "I know she misses me."

I shut off the light and was asleep again almost before my head hit
the pillow.

I woke up sometime around noon the next day, feeling pretty bad.  We
had a practice at two, and Trent and Eric went over to Denny's for a
late breakfast while Spencer, Jesse, and I limped over to the
fieldhouse for two hours of practice.

I was really looking forward to a nap after practice, but my friends
weren't about to let me off that easily.  We grabbed a soccer ball
and goofed off down by the Lake Alice athletic fields, playing keep-
away along the sidelines of a couple of flag football games.  On the
way back to the dorm, we stopped and talked with some coeds who were
strolling along the Plaza of the Americas, a central gathering place
on campus.  Eric schmoozed the girls, and he dragged Trent and me
into the group and into the conversation by mentioning to them that I
had been a high school All-American.  It was embarrassing to have all
that brought up, especially in light of my problems at the end of the
season, but fortunately, soccer was not popularly followed.  The
girls were very impressed with the news, and apparently had no idea
about how our season concluded.

Eric ended up inviting them to meet up with us at Chaucer's, and
they cheerfully accepted.  We left them huddled together, talking and
whispering and glancing at us as we walked away.

"Dude, what are you doing?" I asked, once we were out of earshot.

"Hey, we're all single guys, just out to have us some fun," he said
expansively.

Trent just snorted.

Later that night, we gathered up a bunch of my teammates and took
over Chaucer's.  The girls from the Plaza showed up around ten, and
Juney was there, too, with a couple of girlfriends.  Luke Early got
lucky with one of the girls from the Plaza Eric had invited, and they
split off pretty early to go make their own fun.  Eric had Juney on
one knee, her friend Alicia on the other, and I had another of the
Plaza girls, an exotic little wisp of a thing who told me her name
was Chloe, hanging on my arm.

Sometime during that night I felt somebody grab my other arm, just
as I was lifting my mug up to my mouth.  Beer slopped out and hit my
chin, and I heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "Well, well, if it
isn't the famous Sean Porter."

It took me a moment, and I was none too happy to recognize Maureen
Saunders, the chubby girl with the bad complexion that Westy had
brought up to our room last fall.  She had an evil gleam in her eye.

She looked balefully over at Chloe.  "This your girlfriend, Sean?
Not much meat on her bones."

Chloe looked distastefully at Maureen.  "And you are?" she asked
haughtily.

"I'm his Number One Fan, and the girl he's going to marry," said
Maureen.  I jerked my arm away from her and stepped back.

"No fucking way," I spat.  "You really are a psycho, aren't you?"

"Seanie, how can you say that?"  Maureen tried batting her eyes at
me.  If she thought she was being alluring, she was horribly
mistaken.  Chloe stepped back with me, and was looking at Maureen as
if she was examining an ugly stain on her shoe.

"I'll tell you what," I said.  I was drunk enough I didn't care what
I said to her to drive her away.  "I'll just give Westy a call.
Maybe you can meet him over at Reitz in one of the men's room stalls
again."

Maureen stared at me.  "That's not nice," she said with a frown.

"Got your kneepads packed in your purse just in case?" I asked
cruelly.

"You're as much of an asshole as that asshole roommate of yours,"
she spat.

"Aw, gee, and I thought you were my Number One Fan," I said with a
fake pout.  I deliberately turned Chloe away, and we ignored Maureen.
She finally got the hint and left.

"Who was that unpleasant person?" Chloe asked.

"Somebody my roommate introduced to me," I said.  I glanced at her
mug, and saw it was as empty as mine.  "We need more beer," I said,
reaching for a half-full pitcher on the table.

About an hour later I was pretty sloppily drunk.  I was hanging on
Chloe, or maybe she was hanging on me, when Eric and Trent pulled me
up.

"Time to go, Head," said Trent.  He giggled, an incongruous sound
coming from my normally serious friend.  "Head.  What a great name."

"Why ish he calling you 'Head'?" slurred Chloe.

"It's a nickname he acquired playing soccer," said Eric.  Why did he
not sound inebriated?  He had to be as drunk as I am, I said to
myself.  "Dude thinks too much."

"Ahhh," said Chloe, her eyebrows rising up in a lubricated version
of understanding.

Eric pulled on one arm and Trent on the other.  I tried to cling to
Chloe, unwilling to part so soon, but my friends were insistent.

"Help!" I shouted.  "I just want a little more Chloe!"

As they pulled me toward the door, I heard Chloe answer, "And I want
a little more Head!"

The whole place erupted in laughter, but by then we were at the
door, and together the three of us stumbled out of Chaucer's, out
onto the sidewalk, and across University Ave.

'I don't think I can survive another night like this one,' I thought.

This time Trent took Westy's bunk, and Eric flopped down on the
couch.  Within seconds Trent was asleep, wet and bubbling noises
emanating from his mouth.  I marveled at how the room spun for awhile
before nearly falling out of my bed.  I climbed carefully down, made
my way slowly to the john, and noisily threw up in a toilet.

I think I fell asleep there for a few minutes as I prayed to my
porcelain idol.


_________________________________________________________________



Way too early the next morning I vaguely heard Eric stirring.  The
next thing I knew, both Eric and Trent were pulling me by my ankle.

"Nooooo," I moaned.  "It's Sunday.  Day of rest.  Leave me alone."

"Up, Soccer Boy.  You need a little purging," said Trent.

"I think I purged last night," I groaned as I tried to roll back
over and away from them.

"Nah, not that kind of purge," said Eric.  "We need to leach them
poisons from your system."

"Gimme a break," I said.  "You're the ones who introduced those
poisons into my system."

"Yup, and now it's our responsibility to remove 'em."

"It's torture, I tell you," I grumbled.  I knew by then they were
not going to let me go back to sleep.  Maybe if I bitched enough at
them they would have mercy.  "You're inflicting pain on a minor."

"Come on, Porter.  We ain't done yet," said Eric.

"What's next," I asked reluctantly.

Eric grinned happily at me.  "More pain," he said.


_________________________________________________________________



They visited an impressive amount of pain onto me.  They dragged me
out for a long run first, down Museum Road toward the golf course.
We paralleled the golf course all the way to 34th Street, and took a
breather by the 34th Street Wall, with its painted messages scrawled
all over.  I was hoping for a respite, and began walking back the way
we had come, but Trent and Eric had other plans.  They grabbed me and
steered me south, down 34th Street, past U-Village South to Hull
Road, over past the athletic fields, and back to campus.

By the time we stopped running and began cooling down, I was feeling
a little more human.  I didn't want to let my buddies know their plan
was working, though; I didn't think their egos would stand it.  So I
kept my mouth shut, and let them lead me back.

We ran up the three flights of stairs, and we all took showers.  We
got dressed and headed over to The Hub to get some food.

Finally sated, I sat back and contemplated my eating partners.

"What do you guys want to do today?" I foolishly asked.

Trent and Eric looked at each other.

"Glad you asked," said Trent.  He got up.  "Let's go change."

"Change?"  Uh-oh, I thought to myself.  What have I opened myself up
to?

Eric and Trent led me back to my dorm room.  It was starting to
accumulate a locker-room smell from our sweaty clothes that were left
piled on the floor after our run in the morning.  Trent and Eric both
pulled their duffels out and began to change once again, this time
into shorts, tee shirts, and shin guards.

I took a step back and held up my hands in front of me.  "No way," I
said.  "Sunday's a day off.  No soccer."

"Sorry, dude," said Eric.  "No rest for the wicked."

Trent laughed.  "Ain't nobody been wickeder than you lately, Porter,
so we've got a lot of work to do."

"I don't have a clue what you are talking about," I said, but of
course I did.  I was just dismayed that somebody else knew it, too.
Worse, he was willing to address the problem.  I was in trouble.

They were not going to let it go, so I resigned myself to an
afternoon of torture.  I changed my clothes and put on my shin
guards, socks, and soccer shoes.  I got a ball out of the closet, and
we all went back downstairs.

At one of the practice fields, I was surprised to see Spencer,
Jesse, and Bryan waiting for us.

"All of you are in on this?" I asked suspiciously.

Jesse shrugged elaborately.  "We're just here for a little three-on-
three," he said.

I knew then I was in for a long afternoon.  Three-on-three is
probably the most strenuous scrimmage lineup.  No keeper, just three
lined up against three, usually on a short field.  It was hard,
unforgiving, relentless, brutal, and absolutely the best scrimmage
scenario for tightening up your game.  Especially when you're playing
with these five guys, I thought glumly.

We lined up, Spencer and Trent and me against Jesse, Eric, and
Bryan.  Jesse tapped the ball over to Eric, and the game was on.

Ninety minutes later, we were all lying on the grass, exhausted and
wheezing.  I was a little surprised there wasn't blood mixed in with
the sweat soaking my shirt.  I could have sworn I had already sweated
out all the water from my body, despite downing two quarts of
Gatorade during our brief team switches.

"Kill me now," I said dully, my arm thrown over my eyes.

"Nope," said Trent.  "We're saving that particular pleasure for
somebody else."

I looked over at him from beneath my arm.  "What are you talking
about?" I asked.

Trent was on one side of me, and Eric was on the other.  They both
turned and sat facing me.  "Are you sufficiently exhausted, Porter?"

"What do you mean?"  I couldn't remember when I had been more tired.
Even my legs, in superb shape, were shaking a little.  "Yeah, I'm
tired," I said.

"Tired enough not to argue when we point out what a piece of shit
you've been lately?"

It seemed like maybe I was too tired to argue.  I knew I should have
been angry at Trent's question, but I just couldn't summon the energy.

"Dude, you got some phone calls to make," said Eric.  "I think
you're ready to make them."

"Who do I have to call?" I asked, even though I was afraid of the
answer.

"Your parents, first off," said Eric.

That was unexpected.  "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," said Eric.  "As Ricky Ricardo says, 'You got some
asplainin' to do.'  And you might as well start there."

"Shit," I said.  I struggled to sit up.  "Is that what this weekend
is all about?"

"Well, partly," said Spencer.

I looked at him in surprise.  "All of you?" I asked accusingly.  Et
tu, Brute?

"It was also a chance to get together and have some fun," said Trent.

"So, what is it going to be?  Are you going to drag me, kicking and
screaming, to the nearest telephone booth?"

"Oughtn't be necessary to do that," said Eric.  "You know you done
her wrong, you know you got to make it up somehow."

I hung my head.  "Yeah, you're right," I said desultorily.  "It's
tough to know where to start, though."

"That's what we're here for," said Trent quietly.

I looked up at all my friends there, and saw them a little
differently than I did before.  Why couldn't I see it for myself?
Why did it take all of them?  I didn't know.  But I had some bridges
to rebuild, and they were right: there was no time like the present.


________________________________________________________________



The first call, to my mom, was painful.  It was a disjointed,
uncomfortable call, but it ended up with both of us in tears,
apologizing to each other.  It was cathartic, to say the least.

I sat in the phone booth at Reitz, shaking and sweating after
talking with her.  My friends were standing around me, giving me a
silent show of support.  They could easily have slipped off and
continued with their own lives, but they were still there with me,
still there for me.  It was a lesson I would never forget.

There was no question in my mind I had to call Kayla, and I had to
do it right then.  Even if I was able to talk my friends out of
letting me slide, I knew I would never be able to gather up the
courage to come back here another time.

Eric silently handed me two dollars in quarters, and I dropped one
into the slot and dialed.  Kayla picked it up on the second ring.

"Hello?"

She didn't sound nearly as miserable as I felt.  No wonder, I
thought sadly.  I had been blaming her for three months now.

"Hi," I said.

Silence.  Then, just when I was wondering if she was even still
there, she said quietly, "Hi."

I took a deep breath.  "I was wrong," I began.  "I'm so sorry for
everything I did, and for everything I didn't do."

Silence.  I ventured on, into the unknown.

"Everything went wrong for me back then, Kay.  I could either blame
myself, or I could blame somebody else.  I took the chicken's way
out, and you were the easiest target.  It all hit the fan, with Coach
and with the team, and my life went into the crapper for a long time,
and I had to have a scapegoat, and it was very shallow of me,
immature, and I can't apologize enough."

Silence.

"Kayla?  Are you there?"

"I'm here, Sean."  She sounded sad.  "Thank you for calling, and
thank you for apologizing, because you're right.  You were completely
unreasonable.  I'm glad your friends have helped you."

She knew about my friends coming down?  I looked at the group
standing around me in surprise.

"Will... will you write to me again, Kay?  I promise I'll answer
every letter."

Silence again.

"What can I do to make it up to you?  I love you, Kay."

That broke the silence, but not the way I wanted.  She started
crying.  "I really thought you did," she whispered.  "I know now you
only thought you loved me."

"Kay, that's not true.  You know I love you..."

"Do I?"  She said it so softly, I almost didn't hear her.  She took
a big, hitching breath.  "I don't think you're ready for a committed
relationship, Sean."  She sounded so serious, more serious than I had
ever heard her before.  It scared me.  "I love you so much, but I
can't stand this... treatment.  This lack of respect.  For me, for
us, for what we had together."

"I'll do anything you say, Kayla.  Anything to make it better..."

"I'll write you, Sean.  But we will have to talk when you get back
for the summer.  I can't live like this."

My heart soared.  She said she'd write!  "That's great, Kay..."

"But, until then," she continued, "you need to live your life, and I
need to live my life."

"Wh... What?  What do you mean?"

"We'll talk when you get home, Sean.  But right now, I'm not your
girlfriend any longer."


__________________________________________________________________



I needed a shower.  Hell, I needed a drink.

Somebody had ripped my heart out and threw it on the floor, still
beating, not realizing yet it was just a piece of meat.

My friends were all as supportive as they could be, but this was a
disaster of my own making.  I slumped as I hung up the receiver, and
the five gathered around me seemed to understand what had just
occurred.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," said Jesse.

"Nothing for you to be sorry about," I said.  "I bought and paid for
it all.  It's mine and mine alone."

"Even so," offered Trent, "I feel bad about the outcome."

"You had no way of knowing," I said.  "I know you guys were doing
what you could to help me."

"It ain't how it was all supposed to turn out," said Eric sadly.

I dragged my sorry ass up out of the stool in the telephone booth
and stepped out.  "Come on, you guys," I said with forced gaiety.
"Let's get cleaned up and find something to do.  No classes tomorrow,
remember?"

Bryan clapped me on the back.  "Good effort, Head," he said.  "You
did the hard thing.  Too bad you had to take it on the chin when you
did it."

"Fuck it all," I said.  "Live today, die tomorrow.  Let's go, okay?"
And I led my friends back outside, out of the walls that wanted to
close in on me, and into the betraying sunshine.

"Hey, let's go back to the apartment," suggested Bryan.  "We can
order up a pizza, crack open a couple of beers.  Maybe there'll be a
dirty movie on Showtime or something."

"Sounds good to me," said Eric.

"Yeah," I agreed.  "Pizza and beer and naked women.  No better way
to spend a Sunday night."

Spencer, Eric, Trent, and I headed back to the dorm.  We all wanted
to get cleaned up and changed, so we agreed to meet Jesse and Bryan
at their place in about an hour.  I was glad to have my friends
around me.  If I had tried to make those calls on my own, I would
have wanted to finish the job Jilly Del Toro's knife had started,
what seemed like a lifetime ago.  Even so, it was an effort to get
clean clothes on and join my friends again.

The four of us walked over to the apartment.  Jesse was waiting,
beers on ice in a cooler on the porch, and he handed us each a can as
we came up the steps.  We popped the tops, silently clinked our cans
together, and drank them down.

By the time the pizza guy got there, we were into the last of the
case of beer.  I was feeling maudlin, but the guys kept me from
slipping into miserable melancholy.  We demolished the two pizzas,
and opened a second case of beer.

Nothing decent was on the tube that night, and after flipping
through the channels several times, we decided to hit University Ave.
to see if we could find anybody.  We decided to walk, and we ended up
at The Purple Porpoise.

We elbowed our way up to the bar and stayed there until a table
opened up, off in the corner, and Spencer took off to grab it.  We
managed to gather up enough chairs, and we brought a couple of
pitchers of beer over and sat down.

It was my third night of drinking, and I really wasn't in the mood.
I just didn't drink that much normally, and this much partying was
wearing thin.  I was sitting against the wall, watching the crowd,
thinking about just packing it in and going back to the dorm, when a
familiar face slowly materialized on the periphery of the impromptu
dance floor.  I didn't pay much attention to it until the face, with
a small pixie body attached to it, launched itself at me and landed
in my lap.  She had to push Spencer and Trent out of the way to get
to me, but she didn't seem daunted by the challenge.

"Hello, Sean Porter," she said.

I heard Eric laugh.  "You got them falling out of the sky, Porter?"
he asked.

"Hiya Alex," I said.

"Who are your friends, Sean?"  Alex wriggled just a little, getting
more comfortable.  She was acting like we saw each other every day,
when, in actuality, I hadn't seen her in months.

"Alexandra Wallace, meet Trent Abbott and Eric Johnson.  They're
friends from home.  Trent goes to South Carolina, Eric's at Maryland.
Eric, Trent, this is Alex."

"And I've got somebody for you to meet, too," Alex said.  She sat up
straighter and waved into the crowd.

I looked over toward where Alex was indicating, and I saw a very
pretty girl with ash-blonde hair.  The girl began making her way over
to our table, and I had the opportunity to watch her.  She was taller
than Alex, but still a little shorter than average.  She was very
nicely proportioned, and she walked over with reserved confidence.

'Christ, Porter, you just got done with a long-distance breakup
call, and already you're drooling over a new chick,' I admonished
myself.  My hormones didn't listen to logic, however.

When the new girl got to our table, Alex, without getting up,
introduced her.  "You'll have trouble remembering all the names, but
here they are.  This is Bryan, and Jesse, Spencer, and Trent, and
Eric, and I'm holding down Sean.  Everybody, this is my friend, Erin
Hughes."

"Sean?  I like that name," said Erin with a secret smile.

Bryan, ever the gentleman, scrambled up and offered Erin his seat.
She thanked him, and he took off in search of an empty chair to bring
back.  He squeezed in, right between Spencer and Erin.

"Are you a Junior?  I don't remember seeing you around before,"
asked Jesse.

Erin laughed.  "No, I'm just a lowly freshman," she said.

Alex wriggled against me some more, perhaps unconsciously, and
perhaps hoping to feel a reaction.  I was so weary of my female
troubles, I couldn't even manage a thrill out of having her on my
lap.  'You really are pathetic, son,' I said to myself.

"Do any of you know Sydney Robbins?" asked Alex.  She looked around,
but we all shook our heads.  "Anyway, she's a sophomore living on
Erin's floor in the dorm, and she introduced us.  We've got some...
common interests," she continued.

I looked at Erin, and then at Alex, but neither of them was going to
expand on what their common interests might be.  Oh, well, my cynical
side said.  They will let us know when they want us to know.

Alex turned to me and looked at me from about six inches away.  "Why
so glum, chum?" she asked.

I really didn't feel the need to do a barroom confession, so I just
said, "It's nothing."

She wiggled her butt against my legs.  "You've got a bony lap, pal,"
she said.  "You need some fattening up."

Now that made me laugh.  "Did you ever think maybe it was your
skinny butt that needed padding?" I asked.

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm petite," said Alex with a mock frown.

"Petite, sweet, and so good to eat," Eric murmured, but he didn't
say it quietly enough.  We all heard it, and the guys burst out
laughing as the girls both turned beet red.  Eric, a little
embarrassed, quickly stood and made a show of looking for Juney,
waving an empty pitcher in his hand.

"That was a little bit nasty, Sean's Friend," accused Alex.  Then,
to me, she whispered, "And I kind of liked it."





(Continued in Chapter 23)


(Erin Hughes makes her appearance by the grace of God and Nick
Scipio.  Thanks, Nick!)
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