Miracle Girl Part VI

 

          My goal is to be persistent but not pushy.  Mercedes starts showing up for class again, which makes it possible to make at least casual contact with her.  She doesn't seem exactly put off when I try to talk to her, but she doesn't say as much as she used to.  I'm encouraged by the fact that I'm making more consistent contact with her, but I'm going to need more than a couple minute's conversation if I'm going to change the course of her life.

          A few days later I find myself at another volleyball game.  It's the first sporting event I've been to in weeks.  I've gradually been losing interest in recreational activities, almost without my realizing.  It has never been quite so clear to me as it is right now how unimportant sports are compared to real life.  Twelve players, trying to hit a ball back and forth across the net as hard as they can.  Sometimes they win, sometimes they lose, but not matter how well or badly they do each year or how much energy they invest, the next season all is swept into the past and they start again from scratch.  It isn't just volleyball either.  I've stopped going to basketball and baseball games too.  It isn't that I dislike them now, there are just far too many more important things to spend my time on.

          This time I'm here because Brandon dragged me.  He says he's been feeling cooped up with pre-final stress and he doesn't want to go alone.  We end up sitting not too far from Mara, but even that idea isn't as exhilarating as it once would have been.

          She glances over and waves at us, so I wave back.  She calls out something to us, but I can't hear it over the din of the roar of the crowd mingled with the rhythmic thumping of the pre-game music.  Out on the floor, the opposing team walks out onto the court.  Brandon boos

          "Go back to where you came from!"  He calls out loudly.

           I'm interested to find that while the idea of verbally tearing down the other team is so much less appealing than before, I don't condemn Brandon for it.  There's far too much good inside him to let that one thing get in the way of my opinion of him.

          There is even more emotion rolling through the crowd than normal.  We are playing the No. 5 ranked team in the nation, and this is a big opportunity to make a name for ourselves.

          Our team starts out strong, but within minutes the other team hits their stride and we find ourselves trailing towards the end of the first set.  The line officials have it tough tonight; there are several hard calls within a few minutes that sends the fans into a stint of righteous indignation.

          "Are you blind, ref?"  Brandon yells after a particularly close call.  "There's no way that was out!"

          We battle back to tie the game at 25.  To take the set we have to win by two.  Brian Johnson, # 32 from opposing team, steps up to serve.  The fans are on their feet.  He takes a few steps back, hurls the ball up far in front of him, and sprints  toward the service line.

          Wham!  He leaps into the air at the last moment and his palm connects with the back of the ball.  It shoots across the net like a rocket and hits the ground, untouched.   They're up by one.

          The second serve is just as hard but this time #27 from our side  dives and gets under it, popping it up just enough for #56 to set up the spike.  Two players from the opposite side leap up to block it, but #64 pummels it between their uplifted arms.  The stands explode in cheers.  Tied game.  But wait: a late whistle, and a the call from the official.  A deafening roar splits the air, but this time not in triumph.

          "Net violation?"  Brandon screams.  "He never even touched it!"

          The anger and bad feelings permeating the air are too much for me.  I get up and leave.  Brandon doesn't even notice.  He probably thinks I'm just going to the bathroom.

          The silence in the hall outside is blissful.  My ears are ringing from the cries of the crowd, and I wonder how much hearing damage it's done.  I lean against the wall, breathing deeply, thinking about this strange person I've become, the one that's bothered by mildly bad sportsmanship and excess enthusiasm for things that don't matter much.

          I hear the door beside me open and close and I open my eyes, not even having realized until just then that I'd shut them.  It's Mara.  I straighten up slightly in surprise.

          "What are you doing out here?"  She asks.

          I shrug.  "It's just too loud in there."  She shrugs too, like she's agreeing, but her eyes are averted and she looks slightly uncomfortable.  That's a big change.  I've never known her to be unconfident about anything.

          "What's up?"  I ask.  She seems to lose the words for a moment, but somehow manages to find them again.

          "I was wondering if you wanted to see the new Captain America movie this week."

          If my mouth hadn't already been open, my jaw would have dropped.  She was asking me on a date?

          "Sure."  I think over my schedule.  I'm pretty busy this week with finals, but I should have time after my Anatomy presentation.  "How about Saturday at 2?"

          "Yeah, ok.  Meet you at the bell tower 15 minutes before?"

          "Sounds good."  We stand there, drenched in awkwardness, for a few more seconds.

          The door opens and Kyra bursts into the hallway.

          "Mara, where did you--"   She stops, an expression of horror on her face  "Oh, sorry."

          Her face is red, but she doesn't leave immediately.  She's having some kind of silent conversation with Mara.   Mara turns back toward me.

          "See you Saturday!"  She says, and slips back into the gymnasium.  Kyra turns to go, but in a flash of inspiration it occurs to me that this is the perfect opportunity to get some inside information that I might not be able to get another way.

          "How did you meet Mercedes, Kyra?"

          She pauses and turns back to look at me.  I notice dark circles under her eyes.  The week leading up to finals has been killer for her too, I guess.

          "Oh, we just met at a club meeting earlier this semester."

          That's a surprise to me.  Mercedes doesn't strike me as the type to be into extracurricular activities.

          "How is she doing?"

          "Same as always, I guess.  Her family is coming in this weekend to visit her."

          I don't let my emotions crack my face, but as Kyra leaves I slide my hands deeper into my pockets and cock my head up towards the ceiling.  Here is the chance I've been waiting for since the beginning:  the chance to change Mercedes' life forever.  With her family here in town, I have the unprecedented opportunity to help her make things right with them.  The question, just as it's been from the start, is how. 

          I take the question back to the volleyball court  with me, turning it over and over again slowly like a tool I'm considering buying.   I know in my heart that this is the most important decision I have ever had to make.  If Brandon notices that I'm not paying any attention whatsoever to the game, he doesn't comment.  Which is good because I couldn't even have told him the final score if he'd asked.

          An idea sparks up just as we pull into the parking lot of our apartments.  I push my homework aside and think through every detail, planning it all out like I've never planned anything before.  My roommates are making a lot of noise cooking dinner and it drives me outside, out under the stars, the same place I first made the decision to make a miracle of my life.  I sit down on a curb and stare out at the trail of lampposts winding their way up the road.  I have to be sure that every decision I make is well thought out, that there aren't any obvious misjudgments.  Sometimes the best solutions are the simplest, and that's the idea I've based my entire plan off of: simplicity and straightforwardness.

            After all my effort, what started as a classroom assignment has come to this.  There's no going back now.  To back out would be to shut down everything I've become in the last few weeks.  I don't want it to be just a spark in the pan.  I want it to be something more.  I want it to be a miracle.  I want it to last forever.  I exhale slowly, willing my lungs to pull the final dregs of doubt from my mind.  This will work.  It has to.  Everything I build my life around depends on it.  The day for preparation is past.  This is a day for action.  I lean back onto the grass of the park strip, letting my thoughts swirl mindlessly above my head like the steam rising from a kettle.  My thoughts grow hazier and hazier until without thinking my eyes close.  I don't hear the footsteps on the grass beside me a few minutes later, or see the violet eyes fixed on my upturned face.  Or maybe I do, because a smile crawls across my mouth without me even noticing.

Part VII will be posted on Thursday.