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Message-ID: <30930asstr$992794203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RevCottonMather@excite.com (Reverend Cotton Mather)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 17 Jun 2001 11:40:00 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Playing the Game 011/? (mf rom) by Rev. Cotton Mather
Date: Sun, 17 Jun 2001 12:10:03 -0400
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Church of The Right 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)
------------------------------------------------------------------------



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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