Bridge to a Distant Star

by Carolyn Williford

  Just as quickly, he was gone. Sprinting toward his dorm.

  Michal put her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat of her flushing. It wasn’t her first kiss—but it nearly was. And the other hadn’t been that urgent or forceful.

  Her heart was pounding. But she couldn’t decide: Was it out of excitement? Or shock?

  On the bus to Fort Myers, Michal was still debating. Did I somehow convey to Stephen that I wanted him to kiss me? She shook her head, wondering, unsure of herself and the message that she’d possibly, unknowingly sent.

  The other questions in her mind, however, haunted her more: Will he do it again? And do I want him to?

  She leaned her head wearily against the window and soon went to sleep, dozing peacefully until excited exclamations awakened her, for they were approaching the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. Rubbing her eyes, Michal was mesmerized by the bold primary colors of several kite sails over the water. They floated gracefully on the breeze, bobbing now and then as those riding the sails steered them higher or lower. What fun that would be, she thought, envying the thrill of such a ride.

  It was a sunny day in Florida; the brightness made her squint even with sunglasses on. With only a few puffy white clouds marking a light blue sky, the sun was in its glory: Reflections on the tips of the spiking waves of the Tampa Bay sparkled like diamonds. A few of the ever-present scavenger seagulls winged by, and though Michal couldn’t hear them—the air-conditioned bus was closed tight—she knew they’d be spouting their typical raucous calls.

  Pulling herself straight in her seat, Michal spied an overhead sign saying the North Skyway Fishing Pier was one mile ahead. The landmark held dozens of cars, with even more people positioned around its railing fishing. A couple pelicans were sitting boldly atop the piers—eager to glean offerings from generous fishermen.

  The spans and massive cables of the bridge came into view next. The cables were at parallel diagonal angles so that they resembled masts from a ship and their accompanying extended sails. Painted a bright golden yellow, the result was an imposing, awe-inspiring structure. And then her gaze was pulled to the breathtaking scene before her. The bridge curved down to the left, water all around, where the South Skyway Fishing Pier extended off to the right. The city of Bradenton beckoned from the south—beckoning her personally, it seemed. She sat back contentedly and closed her eyes.

  It wasn’t long before the low hum of the engine and the gentle rocking of the bus soothed Michal back to sleep. The next time she was roused by commotion on the bus signaled their imminent arrival at the station. Fellow passengers were busy gathering their belongings; impatient children were hard-pressed to stay in their seats; and others were eagerly staring out windows, seeking familiar sights, pointing them out excitedly. Michal joined the latter group, eyes scanning the area for a glimpse of her aunt’s bright yellow sports car.

  The bus pulled to a stop, its brakes complaining about the imposition. At that moment, Michal saw her. She was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat over her short brown hair, a pair of denim capris with a crisp white cotton blouse, sandals. And she was waving like mad. Michal beamed, waving back.

  When the driver opened the door, the bus wheezed like an arthritic old man. Michal made her way slowly up the aisle, backpack hanging over one shoulder, a small purse strap over the other. Smiling, gracious, she waited for families to exit the rows in front of her. Generously volunteering to help those with small children. Since you never got anywhere quickly in Ethiopia, Michal had learned patience. To appreciate the road traveled as much as the destination. And to attend to the needs of people rather than a timetable.

  When she climbed down the steps, Michal was immediately enveloped into Aunt Sarah’s waiting arms. Her aunt gave the type of hug Michal had longed for all her life—one that her parents, for whatever reason, had never been able to give. Michal felt every contour of her aunt’s body fit snugly to hers. There was no shyness in this hug—only vulnerability, total giving, and the physical manifestation of unconditional love. It seemed to proclaim, “I will hold onto you until you say, ‘That’s enough.’” Aunt Sarah graciously allowed the recipient to set the agenda; that way, her niece received all she wanted and needed. Aunt Sarah made sure of that.

  When Michal pulled away, she looked into her aunt’s smiling face. “Welcome, my darlin’ Michal. I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to having you come back again. To come home.”

  It was exactly the right thing to say.

  Michal took in the bright, twinkling eyes and laugh lines around the wide, smiling mouth. She knew her aunt spent little time frowning or complaining. Instead, Sarah focused on finding the joys in life, seeking any excuse to burst out with a quick “Ha!” of laughter, searching out reasons to choose contentment and happiness. That bent gave her a nearly constant look of humor, like she was savoring a joke others hadn’t yet heard. Or expecting a cheerful surprise at any moment, one of mischievousness and fun. Children would follow her like a pied piper. And so would Michal.

  “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine—now that I’m … home. Aunt Sarah, thank you for allowing me to come. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this—ever since I left at Christmas, actually.”

  “Let’s gather up your bags and get outta here.”

  Waiting for luggage to be unloaded, Sarah and Michal stood side by side, obviously kin. They were the same height, holding themselves and moving in similar ways, and though Sarah’s hair was tucked beneath her straw hat, the escaping wispy curls were identical in color to Michal’s—only specked with white. They watched the proceedings intently with matching light grey eyes. Smiling and laughing easily. The only minor difference was the evidence that Sarah lived and gardened in Florida: Her freckles had blossomed in the bright sun and nearly covered her face. But anyone observing the two would’ve assumed they were mother and daughter.

  Unbeknownst to Michal, her similarity to Sarah disappointed her parents. They disapproved of Sarah for numerous reasons, so Michal’s resemblance to her aunt—in physical appearance and personality—was a constant reminder of the family’s “black sheep.” The two shared easy laughter, outspokenness, and stubbornness in holding on to bad habits. Like chewing nails. (A closer look at the two women would show both had short, uneven nails and a raw cuticle here and there.)

  So it wasn’t willingly that Michal’s parents sent her to Sarah’s over Christmas and spring break. Rather, it was a fait accompli … a consequence of their being far away in Africa, while Michal was in the States. The Reverend and Mrs. Michael McHenry would be spending the week fervently praying any influence Sarah had on their daughter would be minimal and short-lived.

  Suitcase finally in hand, Michal was delighted to see the convertible’s top down. Sarah tossed her hat and Michal’s suitcase into the trunk and asked, “Did I guess correctly you wouldn’t mind your hair getting blown?”

  Michal grinned back. “What do you think?”

  They laughed together, ripples sounding like echoes of each other as Sarah gunned the powerful car and steered into the line of heavy traffic. If Dad and Mom could see us now, Michal thought as they passed others like they were mere ants, attracting attention from the males they left in their dust.

  After dinner, Sarah and Michal sat contentedly in the Florida room, sipping iced tea.

  Sarah reached over to put her hand on Michal’s. Uncharacteristically, she had tears in her eyes. “Thank you for humoring a dried-up old woman, Michal. For keeping me company this week.”

  Michal put her other hand on top of her aunt’s, squeezing it. “Oh, Aunt Sarah. I love being with you. And you are not an old woman.”

  “Ha! You’re only saying that because I have a hot car. Makes you and me ‘eye candy’ for men.”

  “There is that.” Michal giggled but then grew serious. “But you also teach me so mu
ch, Aunt Sarah.” She felt her aunt’s calico cat, Mr. Grits—who’d been named after one of Sarah’s favorite dishes—rub against her ankle. She reached down to pet him, but he ran off, meowing indignantly.

  “So … you said earlier you were fine. But how are you really doin’, Michal?” Sarah peered into her niece’s eyes, head cocked at an angle.

  “How do you do that?”

  Sarah took a sip of her tea. “Do what?”

  “Take one look at me. And know stuff.”

  Sarah watched Michal smile warily—and yawn widely.

  “Oh, now there’s my keen ability to know stuff, eh? Keepin’ you up when you’re dog tired.” The thought suddenly dawned on her, “What time did you get up this morning anyway?”

  Michal stretched. “Wasn’t too bad. Three.”

  “Oh, gracious.” Sarah was immediately on her feet, gathering up dishes. “Leave ’em now, just leave ’em be,” to Michal’s attempts to help. “We need to get you to bed.”

  Michal nodded, sleepily. “I think I could be asleep in seconds.”

  Sarah shooed Michal down the hall toward the guest bedroom in her roomy ranch home, passing a collection of family pictures in the hallway. Michal caught glimpses of her grandparents, their faces serious, almost grim. Her aunts and uncles, with their many children, and several of Michal and her brothers and sister—Paul, Peter, and Becky.

  The bedroom and adjoining bath were like another welcoming hug for Michal. Their deep brown and cream tones soothed her spirit. Fluffy balloon shades, a desk with fabric skirt, and a window seat filled with pillows made the room inviting and warm. It was as though Michal’s every need had been anticipated and provided for: bubble bath for the tub, terry robe and slippers waiting for her in the closet.

  “Aunt Sarah, this is all so …” Michal gestured toward the room, her arm moving in a wide arc, “… so perfect.”

  “You have everything you need?”

  “Almost—except for one thing.” Sarah gave her a puzzled look as Michal reached out to give her aunt a good-night hug. “Now I have everything.”

  “Sleep as late as you like. No schedule tomorrow. Not a thing on the agenda—except rest. Eat a good bit. And plenty of girl talk.” Sarah called out over her shoulder, “Don’t be surprised if Mr. Grits joins you. He’s claimed that bed as his lately and might be distressed that you’re invadin’ his boudoir. Night.”

  Michal called out, “Night, Aunt Sarah. Love you.”

  In response, Sarah blew a kiss.

  When Michal walked over to the bed she discovered Mr. Grits was indeed curled up on one of the pillows. “Well, as long as there are two pillows, I guess I can share one with you.” He raised his head to peer at her and then meowed, arched his back in a pronounced stretch, and jumped off the bed. Michal had to giggle as she watched him prance down the hall—with great drama and dignity—making it clear he’d been insulted.

  Michal didn’t wake until the sun shone so brightly through the eyelet curtains that it was nearly like a spotlight. She blinked, taking a moment to remember where she was, and inhaled the delicious scent of bacon and biscuits. After a quick trip to the bathroom, she slipped into the terry robe and padded down the hall.

  “Well, good mornin’. Did you sleep well?” Sarah stood at the stove, tending the aromatic bacon.

  “I don’t remember a thing after my head hit the pillow. That smells amazing.”

  Michal opened the refrigerator, anticipating her aunt’s next words. “Help yourself to some fresh-squeezed orange juice. Eggs sunny-side up?”

  Michal nodded. “Please. Did I smell biscuits, too?”

  “Check the basket on the table. No decent southern cook would ever serve breakfast without grits, of course. Not that I don’t know you eat a bite only to humor me.”

  “Can’t I get away with anything with you?”

  Sarah winked at her. “Prob’ly not much. Hand me four eggs from the fridge, will you?”

  When they’d both had their fill and Sarah was enjoying another cup of tea, she suggested, “It’s supposed to be a beautiful day. How ’bout we go to the beach? I thought we’d pack a picnic lunch. Take a couple good books. Be lazy, irresponsible beach bums. Sound good?”

  “Heavenly,” Michal replied.

  They packed towels, sunscreen, a huge umbrella, chairs, and a cooler stuffed with delicious food. The final two things Sarah lifted to put into the trunk brought looks of surprise and excitement from Michal. “Boogie boards?”

  Sarah shrugged, acting as though she’d never seen the thick Styrofoam boards before. “How’d these get in my garage? Not sure just what they are, but we’ll take ’em along.”

  “Have you ever ridden one?”

  “Me? Dignified as I am?”

  “You have. I was going ask if we could get one. And here you’ve already got two.” They climbed into the car, Michal bouncing around like a child on Christmas Eve. “Ever since we watched those kids the last time, well … I’ve just been dying to try it.”

  “You seriously think I’d let you have all the fun? Not get myself one too?”

  Michal shook her head, laughing. “I should’ve known, shouldn’t I?”

  As they drove to the causeway the traffic was fairly heavy. Tourists were bustling along the sidewalks, going in and out of shops and restaurants. After finding a parking space and hiking a few minutes, they discovered a perfect spot: an area with a gracefully curving palm tree, providing just a bit of shade in addition to the umbrella they planted in the white sand.

  They nested a bit, shaking out a large blanket, anchoring its corners with towels and sandals, placing the cooler in the shade. And then they peeled off the clothes they’d worn over swimsuits, already feeling the heat of the day.

  At that point, Michal took in her surroundings: the gorgeous aquamarine blue of the gulf against the bright white sand, the rhythmic sound of the waves hitting the shore mixed with the calls of the seagulls, the delighted cries of children playing in the water or making castles in the sand with bright-colored pails and shovels. She closed her eyes, concentrated on the salty smell of the breeze as it caressed her. “Oh, Aunt Sarah. Do you think heaven has beaches?”

  “I do. But even prettier than this.”

  “I can’t imagine anything prettier than this.”

  “Okay, a reality check: Did you take a look at the size of those waves, Michal?”

  She grinned, noting the lift in her aunt’s voice. “Looks like fun to me.”

  “Ready to boogie?”

  They both laughed, excited by the thrill of a new challenge. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Carrying the boards to the surf, they watched as others nearby demonstrated how to ride the waves. Or attempt to—they watched boards shoot one way and riders another. Sputtering a bit afterward, the beachgoers tried to shake hitchhiking sand out of bathing suits, push back tangled hair, and generally collect their wits. But Sarah and Michal readily agreed that it looked like great fun.

  The boogie boards came with ropes that attached at the wrist, so when the rider got separated from the board it was readily accessible. After fastening the Velcro, the two adventurers set off. They soon encountered the first challenge of this new sport: getting past the powerful breakers that continually knocked them back toward the beach.

  For the next hour, Sarah and Michal were thrown from their boards, pounded by waves of water, and completely upended in the surf. Yet in spite of all that, they laughed hysterically at how much fun boogie boarding was. After examining various scrapes and bruises (declaring none serious enough to keep them from going again), they realized they were also ravenous. Back on the beach, they set out a veritable feast, thanks to Sarah’s generous provision. And once satiated, they stretched out on the blanket, indulging feelings of laziness.

  “It’s wha
t you do at the beach,” Aunt Sarah assured Michal. “After what we boogie boarding broads just did, we’ve earned it.”

  Michal giggled in response as they lay on their backs; the sea breeze soothed tired bodies. Nonchalantly, Michal broached the subject weighing on her mind, “So we had this chapel speaker last week. A missionary.”

  “Bet he was exciting and original.”

  Michal muffled a laugh by putting her hand over her mouth, feeling guilty, as if her dad or mom might be listening. She raised her eyebrows at her aunt.

  “Don’t give me that wide-eyed look. I’ve heard more than my share of ’em. How some of them could make living in a foreign country sound so boring is beyond me, when it’s anything but that—as you well know. But all that’s neither here nor there. What was it this chapel speaker said, anyway?”

  “Well, one of the things was I should only date guys who are also definitely going to the mission field.”

  “Have you settled that call in your mind and heart?”

  “Oh, sure.” After squirming under her aunt’s unwavering gaze, however, she admitted, “At least, well, I’m pretty sure I have. Settled that.”

  Sarah waited a moment, still staring at Michal, unblinking. “Doesn’t sound very convincing to me. Why don’t you wait until your senior year to make a major decision like that?”

  “But I’ve just always … since I was a kid. Known. You know how it is. Didn’t you?” And then, realizing her unintentional blunder, began stammering. “I mean … oh, I’m sorry, Aunt Sarah.”

  “No need to apologize. Long story … but it wasn’t meant to be.” She waved a hand in the air, casually dismissing the discussion of herself. “But let’s get back to you. Rather than a distinct call from the Lord, sounds more like a case of osmosis.”

  “Osmosis? How does it—?”

  “Relate to being an MK? Well, I’m under the belief that the call to the mission field shouldn’t be simply absorbed from your parents. I just think that kind of huge life decision should be made independent of them.” She shook her head as though clearing her thoughts. “But let’s get back to what the missionary said. How did you feel about it?”