Football and the Willows

When I was younger I never thought of myself as a writer as I have no talent for writing fiction. My attempts at prose usually broke down after a few paragraphs. However, when cleaning up some old papers the other day I found this short story I had written Feb 28, 1978.   I thought it rang true about being sixteen. 


   It was a lousy idea in the first place. As much as I was a fan of our football team, I really didn't know any of the players very well and some of their fans even less. But I was determined to go to this game as it was a make or break it one and I felt the team fires burning in my bones, or so I thought.
   Penticton was thirty miles away so the team was traveling by bus along with the cheerleaders, and the rest were obliged to find their own ways. I hung around as everyone was gathering at the school parking lot after dinner, looking for a friendly grade twelve who would take an extra passenger.
    It was dark earlier now, soon to be November, and the evening air was tinged with the smell of burning leaves. I hesitated. Maybe it was a nice evening for a walk. It felt like too much to summon up the courage to ask and as I shrank back into the shadows a kind voice came from behind me asking,  "Do you need a ride?"
I immediately regained my composure and turned to answer Ellen who always seemed to take an older girl's interest in me.
   "Yes, I said"
   "Then let's go. Doug has room"
   He sure did. There was just Ellen and me. Maybe Ellen liked him but felt the need of another person. Anyway, the arrangement seemed to suit us all and I settled into the back seat.
   There wasn't much to see, just occasional twinkling lights and since Doug and Ellen seemed interested in their own conversation, I was left to my own thoughts. They weren't many. I kept asking myself what I thought I was doing, maybe my English essay needed retouching and then in some quiet moment I knew that I was probably more interested in team player number eleven than the game. Good heavens. Why was I pursuing him I wondered. I had only met him briefly at summer camp, a nervous, high-strung character and I certainly wasn't the rock of Gibraltar. Maybe I thought I was. Oh, well, this was the important football game ....my thoughts were interrupted by Doug calling to me over his shoulder
   "Look under the front seat, Marnie There's a bag, a little one. Could you get it for me?"
   "Sure" I replied as I fumbled around in the dark and at last drew out a not so little plastic bag and handed it to him.
   "Thanks" he said and turning to Ellen he winked and said he'd managed to get some that morning.
   Some of what I asked myself.
   "Here", he said again and I was handed back the bag."Hide it, I wouldn't want the cops to find it if we get stopped" he said.
   Good heavens, I thought. Could it be? Oh, no, it is! What would my father say if we were caught and I shrank back into the car seat extremely nervous. What had I done? Here I was in the middle of nowhere expected to stand guard over a bag of marijuana and a fair sized one too.
   I held my breath, metaphorically speaking, until the car was safely parked near the playing field. I hopped out with barely a civil word of thanks and hurried to find some familiar faces of classmates.
   The game had already begun, an eerie playing of shadows darting under the humming outdoor field lights. I could hear the curses of the players as they slipped on the muddy turf.
   It was a bad game. The slippery field slowed the play down and a lot of our players got injured. At one point more people were watching the outskirts of the park where the kids from the rival schools fought and beat on each other. I felt sick. We lost the game completely and now our team was eliminated from the play offs.
   "Are you coming Marnie" called Ellen from an already running car.
   To say the least it was a gloomy ride home. I didn't even mind sharing the car with our illegal stowaway.
   Now what, I thought, and joined in the the general lamentations. I felt part of the conversation and the return ride home was passed quietly in conversing. If only the evening had ended thus!
   Back at the school when the equipment was put away there were immediate plans for a party.
   "Meet you at the Willows" I heard someone call out as they left.
   "Where are the Willows?" I asked Ellen.
   "On the outskirts of Kelowna, we usually meet there." Aha, I thought picturing a nice old type cafe, a haunting ground for the gang. Maybe I could go. Here's my chance to talk to #11. He can't ignore me now. Maybe he will be glad to have some company.
   Hurriedly I ran over to the phone and after waiting my turn I dialed home.
   "Carol" I said "We lost the game. Some of us want to go to the Willows for awhile to wind down. Can I go?
   "Sure" she said "but don't be late.
   "Oh, no, " I said. "I won't."
   Putting down the phone I roared outside, saw my object of pursuit and ran over.
 " Hey, Clarke, can I come with you? "
   "Oh, Hi" he said hesitating to answer. "Sure, I guess. How are you? I haven't seen you for awhile." He didn't add that he had been avoiding me. He'd been rashly romantic the past summer. I suppose he figured he could write all those gushy letters to me as long as I was at a distance. My sudden decision to come to school in Kelowna had fixed that. I think he felt surrounded and wisely laid low all fall. So much for a someone, somewhere far away, to dream about when things got dull. Here I was in living color!
   Again he hesitated, fumbling nervously for a cigarette. "I'm in a bad mood" he said, "but come on" and he headed for the parking lot. I watched his thin retreating figure, the glow of his cigarette in the darkness, and gritting my teeth I ran after him.
   Here I go again, I thought, tagging along in typical little sister style.
   I found myself jammed in a car with nine other people. No one said much. There was a certain deadly mood about them all. I didn't know anyone and kept quiet. We soon left the lights of the city and turned down a windy country road. It was dark and only a few farm house lights glowed. Here I go again I thought. A few twinkling lights and a strange road. With one final turn we bumped down to the end of a road then into a small clearing surrounded by trees. We jerked to a stop.
   "Where are we ?" I asked Clarke.
   "The Willows!"
   "The Willows" I repeated very carefully. Oh, what was I going to say to Carol.
   Doors opened, I stumbled out in the general rush for fresh air and stood beside the car blinking until my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Everyone had seemed to disappear.
   "Have a beer" Clarke said pulling one out of a case he held under his arm. And opening it he handed me one.
   "Thanks" and we stood drinking in silence, leaning against the car.
   Gradually the night noises became audible. I could hear the trickling of a creek nearby, the woosh of automobiles passing by on the road we'd come off and the murmured conversation coming from the edge of the clearing. Clarke lit a cigarette. I could hear him inhaling, the glowing ember flaring up and then dulling.
   Suddenly more cars drove towards us and people burst out of them, talking loudly, calling to each other, clinking bottles together and laughing.
   I shivered. Clarke ground his cigarette out  and roughly grabbed my arm, leading me to the group of noisy partiers. He dropped my arm, and muttering something disappeared towards a white van. I stood unnoticed and thankful to be so. I could feel my face reddening as anger began throbbing inside of me. I paced away from everyone, gulped my beer and felt my ire rising.
  Damn him, I thought. Damn them all. I stamped my foot. Misery swept over me, then anger, I flung  my empty bottle into the bushes and stamped towards the white van. I paused, then taking a deep breath I knocked on the door.
   It opened and the light went on. A bleary pair of eyes looked out. 'Yeah?"
   "Is Clarke there?' I asked.
   "Yah, sure, come on in."
   I determinedly sat down beside Clarke. He grinned lazily at me and as if to explain my presence he said 'Uh, this is Marnie" I gradually became aware of the pairs of eyes acknowledging his words. Everyone was silent. What was it, I thought and squirmed a little.
   "Hey," Clarke stuttered over towards me. "Hey, have you ever toked?"
   "Toked? No", I said and knew it was the wrong thing to have said.
   "Hey, you guys did you hear that? We've got someone here who's never smoked and he started drunkenly groping for another beer.
   "Roll one up, Gerry" he hiccuped over his shoulder and I felt trapped. Trapped like an animal in a cave, part of a circle that was slowly closing in on me.
   Clarke, I cried inside, don't be this way. You're not this ugly, are you? Are you? and no-one answered, not even myself
   Gerry carefully rolled a joint. Conversation resumed. And slowly the match lit up the "white cigarette" and one by one it was passed along.
   My throat went dry. "Hey, Clarke," I said, "Let me have a beer. I gulped some down and then it was my turn. I trembled and took the joint.
"Breathe her in and hold it" said Gerry.
   I did and closed my eyes hoping everything would go away. Clarke took it from me and with the ease of much competence toked and passed it on. Round and round it went, smoke filling the air, heavy and acrid.
   I looked around. A strange euphoria seemed to fill the van, and they were no longer wild eyed. Now only bleary, bleary bleary and turning sideways I passed out.
   'Hey, kid" and someone was shaking me. A door opened and Clarke helped me stumble from the van. The cold night air hit my face and I gasped, breathing long deep breathes.
   "Lets walk"  and together we put one foot in front of the other. I shook my head and waited for things to focus right.
   He led me over to a log and we sat down. I looked at him, watching the shadows on his face. He was at ease, a little tired, and the hassles of the evening weren't haunting him anymore. I sighed. He looked very gentle. Maybe I'm the ugly one I thought and miserably leaned against him.
   "Clarke?
   "Yeah?"
   "I think I should go home".
   "Yeah." But we didn't move.
   Honk. Honk. And suddenly car lights swept down the dirt road from the highway. "Hey, you dirty freaks" a voice yelled and I felt everyone spring to alert.
   "It's the Kelowna High gang. They don't love us very much, damn greasers" and with that Clarke grabbed my hand and we headed for the nearest car. Engines started up, people ran from every direction and shouts ensured between the rival schools.
   "Hey, Immaculata lost, eh. Toooo baaad.  The voice sent shivers up my spine. I pictured well greased figures with chains.
   Hurry, I thought, and jammed into the white van
   I could hear our kids hassling the greasers and without looking back we wheeled out onto the highway and everyone started to laugh and laugh and laugh. It echoed in my ears as we floated down the highway.
   "Where do you live?" called Gerry from the front seat. As directed he pulled up in front of a tidy residential dwelling and I issued forth and waved them to the end of the block, tires squealing in the 2 a. m. morning.
   "Bye", I said  "Bye," towards the retreating van and the streets swallowed it from my sight. I sighed as I turned towards the house.
   Well, stupid, I said to myself, if these eyes of yours ever focus it won't be on another football game.

In Kaslo Africa

In memory of Fr. Herman Engberink SMA  Dec 16,1919- Oct 3, 2010

 It has been many years
Since we set foot in this little town
Its access a winding road
Narrow at times in the driving
We have traveled these past five weeks
On this our last visit
We pray for you, dear friend
In this tiny mission church
With tears and memories
The hard times of those years ago
When your kindness kept us hopeful
Now your passing from this life
Sends grace and peace swirling
In this sunlit October time.

In October the sunlight is warm
Until suddenly the shadows go chasing
Up the tall mountains across the lake
With autumnal golds fading
In the evening light outside this church
The chill in the breeze
Quick to descend as we watch
The sun retreat for another day.

I remember the times we went together
Across this valley
Wild places you loved with company
Explored with great adventure
Oh missionary to Africa
All those years
Whose love affair with the
Dark continent began
When you were six
How you labored long
To build the Faith into vibrant form
Walking miles to serve and
Call into being the hungry souls
You found.


And when at last you came to our shores
To shepherd in a wilderness
More trees than people
More doubt than faith
You gave us your last working years
A warm beacon of truth
A kind heart with firm intention
A mind that served the living Tradition
Not afraid of wolves
Brave unto old age and sorely missed
When you returned
Home to Holland
To wind down these last ten years
Still at last
You who loved the open spaces
Eagerly explored the beauty
And sat with us in this little town
Down to dinner one autumn
Such a feast we shared that day.

We have traveled here today
With a priest from Africa
A shining star of his culture
Gracing the mystery of Faith
We treasure this short time with him
A gift happily bestowed
Yet again.

We sit in the same restaurant
As all those years ago
Your presence now unseen
But keenly felt
Your death from a good life spent
Shines on this present time
Love passes onward in journey
Vibrant in the evenings time
And even in the darkness
When we step into the night
The wind blows cold off the lake
 Moonlight filling the starry sky
Africa lives within our hearts
Warm with the exchange across
Timeless miles to go.

The Wind at Will

A song for fra Matthieu

 Alas, the North wind has returned
With it's chill in the air
Freezing suddenly all kindness
As the time for the South wind
Marks in departure
Whose warmth has beckoned us
Into clear sun light sparkling
Dappled on the waters
With rays falling in beams
Through the greyness of clouds
Filled with deep silence
All growth strong and outward
Living creatures we have become
One to another
The flowering warmth in
Human compassion
Our hearts safe to wear
Upon our sleeves.

The North wind has returned
My limbs begin to stiffen
Turning into the stone cold statue
Alone on a city street
Midst the busyness of traffic
Blowing wind swept in green park lands
The sunset barely reflected
On the polished shell that now descends.

Do not be sad my heart for
Inside the sparks fly upward
From the hearth fire in my soul
Burning deep with friendly glow
Even above the mountains
Where the wind moves mysteriously.

When the North wind will finally
Depart to be no more
Has been written in
A book I cannot read
Present time for future need
Still I give thanks
My voice quiet within
The South wind's warmth that
Binds us as friends
Like the stars that shine
Each unto the other
In distant brightness
Across the evening sky.

St. Teresa Slips Through Time

Pope Gregory XIII declared
A new calendar in 1582
To bring Easter into alignment
With nature's own sense of timings
To begin October 4th of that year
Eleven days would disappear
At least in Catholic countries
The Protestants crying foul
Until another route brought
Them into planetary position
The Orthodox remaining
Behind in Julian fashion.

It was late on Oct 4th 1582
Or early the next morning
St. Teresa said to her Beloved
"it is time to move on"
And bidding farewell she
Went forth to meet Him
Whom she had always sought
Time now leaps forth with her passage
October 15th having just begun.

Ingenious she was to slip between
These calendar changes we have now
In the twinkling of the old into new
The fourth followed by the fifteenth
Henceforth to be known as her feastday
As I kick through the leaves
This October 5th, golden now
The season releasing its leafy garments
Strewn in almost reckless abandon
On the street as my footsteps
Loud in the dryness of the leaves
To the church as darkness gently falls
The red and blue sanctuary lamps
Flicker in the solemn time spent

I follow Teresa in my thoughts, she
My mentor from beginning times
Guiding my steps along the way
That has often been perilous and steep
I cheer her passage between time's reckoning
Looking up into the clear night sky
In the silent homeward walk
A shooting star across my horizon
Heading west bright and swift
I sense her spirit waving in the glimpse
From beyond this vale of time.