The other day I was exploring a neighborhood nearby when I suddenly discovered Pheasant Way. My mind instantly jumped back twenty-five years to when I was a sophomore in high school. I had met a girl named Connie at a dance in a nearby city and we struck up a friendship. Connie’s parents were divorced and she lived with her dad. Her mom lived in Utah. Connie was slated to visit her mom over a school break that year, and somehow the plan was hatched that I would accompany her.
We didn’t actually know each other very well. My parents had never met hers, but they didn’t seem to have a problem with me taking off with a relative stranger.
We arrived in Salt Lake City and Connie was quick to reconnect with the young women she’d met at church here during earlier visits. I, of course, tagged along.
These girls were amazing to me. I’d never seen such a sweet, vivacious group of teenage girls. They were wholesome and kind, pure and just good. I lost no time falling in love with them.
My two favorite new friends were Marcie and Becky and they were adorable. Since they were in school that week (their break didn’t coincide with ours), I attended classes with them at Cottonwood High School. Their high school experience was an extraordinary contrast with the one I was having back home, and for the first time I realized that school could actually be a fun, healthy place to be.
I loved everything about their world. I loved the camaraderie of the group; they had a cohesiveness that I’d never seen before. They enjoyed good clean fun everywhere they went. I noticed the generous way they were with each other, pitching in gas money for whoever happened to be driving, supporting each other in pursuits and struggles, cheering each person on in their lives. In short, they were happy. And I wanted that for myself. Desperately.
For reasons I never knew, it didn’t seem like Connie’s mom was very pleased with my being there, and so somehow I ended up staying with Becky for most of my stay. Becky’s father had passed away not too many years before, and her mother was raising their large, happy family (was it six or eight kids?) on her own. And they lived on Pheasant Way.
It’s hard for me to recall much of those years. I kind of lived in a haze. But all too soon my trip was over, and I was back in California. Once I’d had a taste of how life could be though, I started trying to figure out a way to make mine like it.
Even though my friendship with Connie faded after that, I kept in contact with Marcie and Becky. As soon as I had another chance, I bummed a ride back to Utah with a friend, and went to stay with Becky again. It was during this visit that I came up with the idea that I would just move in with them. They had a large home. I’m not much trouble. I’d pitch in and pull more than my share of the weight to compensate them. I could get a job to earn the money I’d need for my necessities and go to school. I doubted my parents would object. THIS WOULD totally WORK!
Amazingly, I think I went so far as to propose the idea to Becky’s mom, and she didn’t directly shoot it down. So somehow, I got it in my mind that I was actually going to just become part of this other family. That it was a go.
And I had no problems with this…which, in hindsight, is really an interesting insight.
Unfortunately, shortly after this visit, I was a passenger in a serious car accident while driving home with some teenagers one night. I missed the rest of my sophomore year, and a lot of my junior year. Which, in a way, alleviated some of the problems I was dealing with since I wasn’t in school any more. I spent many many hours hanging out in my room in the garage, feeling sorry for myself. And the grand plan of moving to Utah and living on Pheasant Way died.
It’s interesting how just seeing that street brought back so many memories of a time in my life that I generally don’t think about. Those were some dark days. But in the middle of that darkness, I saw light. I saw another side of life…a different way of living. And it made me hungry for more. I view that as yet another tender mercy of the Lord in my life.
Grateful for:
1) The Cottonwood High girls who welcomed this stranger into their lives
2) Good examples of others, everywhere.
3) Facebook. I found Marcie on there and reconnected. What a darling woman!
1 comment:
Blue, you are such a talented writer! You really have a talent for conveying emotion when describing your memories.
Post a Comment