From Last week…
As long as he thought about football, he didn’t notice the
sorrow so much. So that is what he did now. Ever since the first
day of spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried
himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.
Ever since the first day of
spring practice, Buzz knew this was a very special team. But Buzz buried
himself in his work. It was how he kept from obsessing about Christa.
With great senior leadership and
a very talented team the Warriors rolled into the fall with high expectations;
they were not disappointed. That year
most games were over by halftime and Buzz was regularly playing JV and even
freshmen to finish games. He was building a dynasty. The Warriors rolled
through the regular season and the playoffs without being seriously challenged.
The day of the state
championship, December 5th, was a perfect day for football, clear
skies, crisp air and an anticipation of a great game. With a conviction born of
hard work and flawless execution the team was peaking at just the right moment,
physically they were fresh and psychologically they were focused. Many of the seniors would be playing on
Saturday next fall so everyone was predicting a record crowd for the game. Buzz
dressed out as many boys as the rule book allowed, hoping to let every kid play
in the state title game.
Only one question troubled Buzz.
Where was Christa? In four months the only contact was a postcard with a
midtown Atlanta postmark that simply said, “I’m fine.” Buzz resolutely pushed that question from his
mind. He would deal with it later; he was determined to be in this moment for
his boys, school, and community.
The perfect season had a perfect
ending. The crowd of fans, scouts, and curiosity seekers watched one of the
best teams in high school football history perform perfectly. The lopsided 31-0
victory was the result of Buzz’s restraint and not the level of competition.
After the trophy presentation,
Buzz gathered his team in the field house.
Once the initial celebration and rowdiness had settled down he gathered
the team in a semi circle and told them, “There are no rearview mirrors on a
football helmet.” Then he paused, “But sometimes, it is okay to stop and look
back and enjoy the view.” With that, he turned the boys loose.
Later that night, while the
victory celebration continued down in the city square, Buzz sat in the seat
Sandy always sat in, the stadium dark and silent. Buzz sat alone, having the odd feeling of
being a stranger in his own program and his own town. Professionally, he had reached all of his
goals, but he felt utterly alone. For
the first time since she left, Buzz gave himself over completely to thinking
about Christa and the heart that was already broken and shattered. Buzz sat in the dark and cried; it was the way
he cried when Sandy died. When he was
done, he got up and went home-crying can accomplish only so much. He went to Christa’s room and began searching.
When he found the boxes of his trading
cards, he went to the kitchen table, made strong coffee, and started to work.
By noon the next day, he was walking
in midtown Atlanta. With a backpack full of trading cards, thumbtacks, tape and
staplers, he was leaving his picture in every sleazy bar, dive hotel, strip
club and bulletin board he could find. Painful as it was to consider, Buzz knew
that the big city had a way with young girls.
When he taped his last picture to a bus stop wall Buzz returned to his
truck and then to Greenwood.
In the ‘50s, the Regent was a
magnificent hotel, but now, like most of its patrons, it was a shadow of its
former self. It was the cheapest hotel
in the worst section of Atlanta. The Regent Lounge, located in the basement,
was usually the end of the line for exotic dancers, but tonight was amateur
night at the Regent Lounge and Christa needed money.
Christa was a shell of her former
self. She was thin, unkempt, and pale.
She went up to the desk clerk. “I need a room.”
Without looking up, the clerk
asked, “For an hour or the night.”
“How much for a week?”
“$150.00”
Christa calculated quickly and
sighed. “I’ll take one night.”
As the clerk turned to get a key,
Christa looked around. She glanced at the bulletin board with all its ads for
massages and call out service. But something in the back of her brain fired a
spark of recognition, the corner of something jumped out at her. She stepped over and pulled down a flyer for a
roommate. Looking at her was her dad’s face on a trading card, stapled a half
dozen times, the trading card for Coach Buzz Sawyer smiled at her.
“Where did this come from?” She
almost shouted. Heads turned. The clerk startled.
“What?”
“This picture. This card. Where did it come from?”
“I dunno. It’s been there a couple weeks. $25.00 lady.”
Christa didn’t hear him. She was
shaking all over and trembling so badly she could hardly grab the card to pull
it down.
“Hey, lady. The room is $25.00!”
Against her wishes, tears filled
her eyes and spilled over to her cheeks. She wiped her face with her sleeve and
turned the card over.
“Hey, you want the room or not?”
In the space for an autograph,
she read, “No matter what you have done
or become, I love you. Come home.”
“Hey, lady, I’m waiting.”
Everyone in the little town of
Greenwood knew it was going to be a tough Christmas for “Buzz” Sawyer. He decorated a little more than usual, hung a
few extra lights, had attended a few social events, but it was still very dark.
Even the Christmas Eve service didn’t
brighten Buzz’s spirits. As he drove
home, he made his plans to be at the office early so he wouldn’t have to see
families together on Christmas morning.
Buzz pulled into the driveway and
sat for a moment looking at the nativity scene under the spotlight. He was
flooded with emotions, of thoughts of Sandy and Christa, of the happiness of past
Christmases and the loneliness of this moment. Looking at the nativity as he
came up the sidewalk, he didn’t notice the Christmas envelope in the door until
he reached for the doorknob.
He took the envelope, planning to
open it another day. But it wasn’t sealed, it was already open. Inside, instead
of a greeting card, there was a picture-not a picture-but his own face on a
trading card.
Before he could process what this
could mean, Christa spoke.
“Daddy, I’m home. Is that okay?”
“Honey, as far as I’m concerned
there are no rearview mirrors on my heart.”
She fell into his arms. He hugged
her and felt her shudder with great sobs. And through the mist that filled his
eyes, it seemed that everything, even the nativity scene, was brighter.
I hope you have a blessed and bright Christmas
Charlie
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