Page 17 of Tastes Like Watermelon Moonshine
I just nod, not trusting my voice, or the tears welling up in my own eyes.
“Why don’t we get some pizza, watch a movie, do something fun.”
“Yeah, that would be nice, Dad.”
“Pepperoni, sausage and ham still your favorite?”
“Always, Dad.”
Part of me wants to call Coach, call Mom. Tell someone. But I’m a little envious. I want God to fix my problems too. But if I try to tell Coach I’ll fall apart. Calling either person will make me think of Raegan. And right now, I kind of want to put the thoughts of her away. Thinking about Raegan hurts, I miss her, and I wish I could change things.
God, do you only love the people who obey after they trust You as Savior?If He’s turned away from me, He’s probably turned away from her, too. So, I’ve ruined her life. I know that’s not what Coach taught me. “That’s not my God,”he would say. I know the truth. I know God still loves me, but why am I finding it so hard to truly believe?
Lights from the pool dance on the ceiling of my guest room. It’s kind of relaxing. I swipe through one last picture of Raegan and me before I drop my phone. I shove my hands under my head and take a huge breath.
Come on, God. Why can’t you work something for me and Raegan? Somehow You got Dad, so why not us?
How could it be that Dad finds God at the same time that I feel like I’m slipping away from God? I really am glad Dad changed, that he has a relationship with God. But I feel like God ripped away my relationship with Raegan, and exchanged it for my relationship with my dad. I know it isn’t true. Raegan and I made our choices and forced our relationship to where it is now. And I chose baseball. I had to. It was a once in a lifetime chance.
“Is there any chance, God, that you can fix things for Raegan and me?”
I roll over to my stomach and punch the pillow down so I can get more comfortable. My phone lights up with a notification. I prop it against the headboard and tap the screen to read the message.
Carson:
Happy Thanksgiving a day early. Miss you. Hope Atlanta is treating you right.
I miss the guy. Carson is a good friend. He wasn’t interested in friendship because my dad worked high up in a huge company, he was in it just to be friends. For the bond. For building each other up.
I wonder how things would be if I hadn’t left Clear Creek. What if I hadn’t been drafted? But I would’ve left for college anyway, would’ve gone to Georgia Tech in the hopes of getting drafted while there. I don’t know if small town living is for me. But I don’t think city living, especially not Atlanta, is for me either. Not anymore. I almost feel homeless. Lost.
If I'd stayed… Would Raegan and I not have had sex? Or maybe it still would’ve happened and we’d be getting married, or just doing it in secret and letting everyone think we were sticking to the boundaries we’d set. I hate that I didn’t feel the level of remorse that she felt. I hate how we ended it, that I didn’t run after her. Didn’t try to fix it right then.
I need to stop worrying. A lesson that Coach taught in youth group comes to mind.Worrying won’t make you taller. Worrying won’t make you stronger. Worrying won’t add to your life. It’ll only make you miss out on all the influential and important things happening around you. The moments that God could be using to build you and strengthen you. Those moments that might add to your patience, to your humility, to your endurance. The moments of real, true growth. Let God control it all. He will come through, always.
Laying here and thinkingwhat-ifsabout Raegan won’t change anything. It won’t get us back together. It won’t heal the pain. But going to God, and laying it all at His feet could, right? It should. That’s what I’ve been taught. Not instantly, I know that much. I want something to change. I want to feel God working.
I miss talking to Coach about all these doubts and worries. I miss the days when I felt like I was so close to God. The times when I felt like God cared about me.
I push myself to a sitting position and lean back against the headboard. Wallowing in pity won’t fix things, but maybe having those hard conversations could help in some way.
Clear Creek is one hour behind Atlanta, and Coach has always told me that no matter what time it is, he’d be available to talk. It’s only ten at night here, making it nine in Clear Creek, so there’s a good possibility that Coach is still up anyway. I tap his contact info in my phone before the doubts make me chicken out. I press the phone to my ear.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Austin!” Coach’s deep voice rumbles through the phone. It kind of feels like a warm hug from him in a way.
“Hey, Coach. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” I force the melancholy from my voice. I am happy. Dad found God, so that gives me a sliver of happiness.
“Where are you calling from? I haven’t seen your mom recently to ask if you were coming home or not.”
I lean back and the leather behind me squeaks against the wall. Mom’s work schedule has picked up recently, but I know the real reason I haven’t talked to her much is all my guilt and shame.
“I’m actually at my dad’s.” I don’t volunteer anymore info. I’m rethinking spilling everything to Coach. Do I want to do this?
“And how are things there?”
I look around the white room. Even though it’s the dark of night, the white makes it so light in here. “It’s very white.” I laugh. “Dad’s new house is modern and everything is white.”
Coach chuckles. “Could be worse colors. So, how are you feeling now that the season’s over? You find a good church? Make good friends?”
