A Life On College Hill

by Lawrence F. Dooling

  “Did the door hit your fists, as well as your face, Mr. Duffy? I notice your hands are swollen and bloody.”

  “Dish pan hands, Sergeant. They always look like this when the weather turns cold,” I retorted.

  Sergeant Kelly said, “There will be a thorough investigation of this incident. We are not going to tolerate this kind of behavior on our Main Street.”

  He was understandably upset with my attitude.

  “Mr. Duffy, don’t think this is going to go away. I know you didn’t have another run in with that pretty cheerleader. You had better start telling me the truth.”

  Another smart-ass answer might have gotten me handcuffed. Prudence dictated I exercise my right to remain silent. Chet, who was naturally listening in on the conversation, spoke up angrily.

  “Listen, Bill, I’m not surprised something bad happened to Mr. Stultz. Bad things ought to happen to the guy who beat up that pretty cheerleader.”

  Motioning toward me, Chet said, “The kid took care of him last night, but I’m making you a promise, Bill. If Eric walks in here again, bragging about the things he did to that young lady, I will personally see to it he needs his jaw wired shut.”

  Chet’s blood was up, and I appreciated his eagerness to defend Meghan. I hoped he’d look in on her while I was in prison. Chet all but signed my name to a confession. Thankfully, he knew how his brother-in-law would respond. Sergeant Kelly had a new theory to investigate.

  “Are you telling me Mr. Stultz merely received the ass kicking he deserved?”

  Chet agreed with an exaggerated nod of his head. I displayed my best poker face and remained expressionless.

  A smirking Sergeant Kelly said, “It’s too bad Mr. Stultz couldn’t identify his assailant. A vague description from a witness isn’t much of a lead. It could have been anyone.” He added, “If that young lady wants to press charges, tell her to call me. I’d take an interest in seeing Mr. Stultz suffer a little more.”

  Sergeant Kelly took one last look at my face before he started for the door. “Was it worth it?” he asked.

  My poker face wouldn’t hold, and I cracked a wide smile in spite of how much it hurt.

  Sergeant Kelly looked back at Chet and said, “Chet, I like this kid. Keep him away from doors until his face heals.”

  Meghan came in as Sergeant Kelly was leaving. He held the door for her and did a double take when he saw her eye.

  “That eye looks pretty tender,” he said.

  Meghan turned away to keep him from getting a better look. “It’s not so bad,” she murmured.

  Sergeant Kelly looked to Chet for confirmation that she was the girl we had just discussed. Chet slowly nodded his head.

  Looking back at Meghan, a visibly upset Sergeant Kelly asked, “Is there something you would like to tell me about how that happened?”

  In an almost inaudible voice, she mumbled, “It was an accident, I walked into a door.”

  He continued out the door. “Seems to be a lot of that going around,” he said.

  Meghan hadn’t seen me all day. She knew about Eric’s injuries and suspected I was, somehow, responsible. My appearance upset her, and she asked, “What did you do?”

  Relentless, she pressed me again and again. Her interrogation was far worse than Sergeant Kelly’s. Once again, I relied on my poker face. I refused to admit anything and didn’t try to explain my injuries.

  “If it was me, don’t you think Eric would have told the police?” I kept repeating.

  Meghan kept pawing at the gauze pad to see what was underneath. My face was obviously sore, and I recoiled at her touch.

  I pulled the bandage off and said, “It’s not a big deal, just a couple of stitches.”

  She threw her hands in the air and started to cry. Dreading my answer, she asked, “Did you do this because of me? Is that policeman after you?”

  Chet was cleaning the grill while Meghan was grilling me. In his fatherly voice, he said, “Calm down, Meghan. Eric came in here looking for a fight, and he found one. That’s all there was to it.”

  Chet and I needed to have a conversation about letting me confess my own sins. Meghan looked over at Chet and then back at me. I’ll never make any money playing poker. It didn’t matter how noble the cause, Meghan was not happy with me being in a brawl. I hoped Eric’s broken face made her feel better. I know it made me feel pretty damn good.

  Yet, something in my twelve years of Catholic school education told me it was wrong to feel that way. I wasn’t all that religious, but enough of it stuck with me. I had been taught in school that the difference between right and wrong was always black and white.

  In real life the difference often seemed a shade of grey. I believed I was right to defend myself when I broke Eric’s nose. Admittedly, everything I broke after that was purely for revenge. Was I wrong to, literally, exact an eye for an eye? Should I have turned the other cheek? Why couldn’t I, just this once, feel good about myself? Why did I always have questions and no answers?

  Call it karma or the wrath of God, call it what you will, Eric would pay a heavy price for the wrong he had done to Meghan. Chet’s prediction was correct. Eric did go straight to the emergency room after the fight. He needed more stiches than I did, but stitches were only the beginning. Since this was the third time his nose was broken, the surgeons had quite a time trying to fix it. He also needed some hardware installed to hold his eye socket and cheekbones in place.

  For the rest of his life, his face will be as messed up as mine. That wasn’t the end of his troubles. There were multiple investigations into the championship party at the Sigma house. Several party guests had to be treated, at the hospital, for alcohol poisoning. Rumors persisted that a female guest had been assaulted. The Dean suspended the frat for a semester, and the town condemned the Sigma house until numerous health code violations were corrected.

  The local newspaper ran stories on the investigations. Sergeant Kelly took an interest in seeing that Eric’s name featured prominently in the reporting. Any chance he had of playing pro ball disappeared when the stories were picked up by the wire services. Eric had played his final football game.

  Central Valley football continued without him. On football weekends the small town of Central Valley became a small city. It always began Friday night when the parade of RV’s lumbered into town. Saturday morning, the town filled up almost as soon as the sun came up. Chet’s was always packed, and we usually had two busboys on duty. The tips were good, especially when I wore a Central Valley football shirt under my apron. I never made it to any games because there was so much money to be made at work.

  Working the final two game days was not an option. I promised Meghan I would walk her to the stadium. When I picked her up at the sorority house, I was surprised to see she made no effort to disguise her eye. She wore it like a badge of honor. I was proud of her; she wasn’t the one who should feel ashamed. That said, it was obvious she was nervous. Her arm was wrapped tightly around mine the entire walk. She looked straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge the many well-wishers along the way.

  We ran the gauntlet of tailgaters in the stadium parking lot. Grills sizzled, and alcohol flowed freely. The party atmosphere of the parking lot contrasted drastically with Meghan’s subdued demeanor. I could only imagine what was going through her mind. A couple of smartass drunks had already made remarks about her eye. My face looked far worse than hers, but no one said a word to me. She was going to have to stand in front of that rowdy bunch and smile. After all that had happened in the last week, could she act as if she cared about them or football?

  It was a given that the entire team knew what had happened to her. There were also multiple, ugly rumors circulating through campus. The Sigma brothers were spreading stories to try to absolve Eric. Meghan had to be wondering if she would be pitied or blamed.

  I had planned to walk her only as fa
r as the employee entrance. A field pass was required beyond that point. I’d have to wait for the general admission gate to open. But Meghan wouldn’t let go of my arm and flashed one of her smiles at the guard. We were both waved through.

  I waited with her until the players took the field for warmups, then it was time for me to go. She nervously asked, “Where are you sitting?”

  “The Titans are a tough ticket this season,” I replied. “I managed to get your section, but I’m in the next to the last row. I expect to hear you cheering all the way at the top, and I want to see that smile.”

  With little enthusiasm, she replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Trying to strengthen her resolve, I gave her a stern look and said, “Don’t let him take this from you!”

  She nodded her head and gave me a brave smile.

  I settled into my seat near the top of the stadium. Two ushers quickly approached and pulled me up. I protested that I was in the correct seat, but they wouldn’t even look at my ticket.

  It occurred to me, as I was being escorted down the steps, that I was being thrown out of the stadium because of Eric. I should have known they would be vindictive. I worried Meghan wouldn’t understand why I was gone.

  When we arrived at the first row, one of the ushers pointed to an empty seat and told me to sit down. The other usher laughed and wanted to know how an ugly guy like me could have so many pretty friends.

  I was nervous about sitting in the wrong spot and wondered what was going on. Just before kickoff, all the cheerleaders assembled right in front of me. I could feel my face turn beet red and couldn’t look as they began to cheer.

  “Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?”

  I reopened my eyes to see a dozen smiles and as many slender arms aimed directly at my battered face. Meghan blew me a kiss, and the girls scampered back to their assigned spots.

  There were a lot of smart people who easily made the connection between my injuries and Eric’s. Applause erupted from people around me. Someone slapped me on the back and wanted to shake my hand. Some of the football players even turned and applauded.

  I didn’t do it for the accolades. The attention was as unwanted as it was embarrassing. The police investigation into this incident was still active, and Sergeant Kelly wasn’t the only cop on the force. I wasn’t entirely sure I was out of the woods yet, legally. If half the campus figured out I was the unknown individual being sought by the police, it couldn’t be good for me.

  Then again, I wasn’t even sure why I should be worried. I didn’t think I was guilty of anything. He threw the first punch and I threw the last. For the second time in my life, I decided to live in the moment. I sat back and tried to enjoy the game, but the headaches and blurred vision were back with a vengeance. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me I had another concussion.

  It was all worth it to watch Eric, stewing alone, on the sidelines. His face was still bandaged, and he wore a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. No one would stand anywhere near him, and he looked like an outcast.

  A much more relaxed Meghan kept a light hold of my hand on the walk home. We arrived back at her house and stepped up onto the porch. I reached to open the door, but she pushed it closed. Her arms wrapped around me, and she gave me a long hug.

  “Thanks, if you weren’t there, I couldn’t have . . . ” she didn’t finish her thought. With a smile, she asked, “How about Donny’s tonight?”

  It was just the thing to take my mind off how badly my head hurt.

  Football season ended, and I figured I was out of the woods. Sergeant Kelly managed to bury the fight investigation. Meghan and I were quite a sight sporting his-and-her black eyes for a time. Eric and his crew stopped coming into Chet’s for breakfast. In fact, Eric dropped out of sight entirely. He told people he was taking a break from school to prepare for the pro draft. His name was never called on draft day, and he never returned to school.

  I didn’t miss him or his crew in the restaurant. Meghan’s sorority sisters took their place. They were a lot nicer to deal with, and they were better tippers. I even attended another sorority formal. This one was much more relaxed, as very few of the Sigma brothers were invited. The girls weren’t sure who was to blame for spiking the punch. Since the boys wouldn’t tell, they all took the blame. TM resigned from the frat, and he and his girlfriend sat at our table.

  Meghan and I were back to studying together on Saturday nights. Studying was more difficult than normal. The headaches were relentless, especially when I tried to read. The words often became a blur, and I kept having dizzy spells. The same thing happened in class when I tried to concentrate on the blackboard. I had been hoping to bring my C+ average closer to a B. Now, I was praying it didn’t fall to a D. The job search was not going to get any easier.

  At times I wished I had turned the other cheek when Eric threw his first punch, but there was no going back. I made my choice and had to live with the consequences. On some days the pain was close to excruciating. Complaining only made it worse, so I kept it to myself if for no other reason than that I never wanted it to get back to Eric just how badly I had been hurt. Staying busy kept my mind off the pain. Between school and work, there was plenty to keep me busy.

  Meghan recognized the concussion symptoms and fretted about my health. Ever the nurse, she kept nagging me to take it easy and not work so hard. She even made me keep track of all the aspirin I was taking. Eventually, she confiscated the bottle and doled out my daily dosage. Meghan knew what her smile did for me and made sure I saw it frequently. It was far more effective than the aspirin. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without her.

  I hoped time away from the books at Christmas break might help clear the cobwebs. Until then I was taking it one day at a time. Occasional down time at Donny’s helped me relax. I was teaching Meghan how to play shuffleboard, and she was giving me dance lessons. Hank was always happy to see us.

  After a couple of visits to Donny’s, I realized I had misjudged the lean and hungry leer in Hank’s eyes. He wasn’t a serial killer; just awkwardly and hopelessly infatuated with Meghan. It was difficult to fault him for feeling that way.

  Work wouldn’t wait for the headaches to go away. One slow Monday morning, Meghan stopped in for breakfast before going to class. We were talking and laughing about some of the characters at Donny’s on Saturday night. There weren’t any customers around, and Chet was doing paperwork in his office. He came storming out, cursing at his bank statement.

  “Randy, I have to go across the street and talk to someone at the bank. I can’t figure this thing out to save my life.”

  Math was not his best subject either.

  “If any customers come in, tell them I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Two minutes after he left for the bank, in walked a customer. Of all the people in Central Valley, it had to be Professor Murry. He was a legend in the Business Department and had taught nearly every course. I had already taken a couple of his classes and, at that time, was in his Senior Marketing class. He had a reputation as a tough grader, but somehow, I always ended up with a better grade in his class than I thought I had earned.

  He was something of a regular customer but had never said anything to me. I wondered if he recognized me.

  “Mr. Duffy, where is Chet?” he asked.

  My question was answered.

  “He’s on an errand, sir. He should be back any minute.”

  “I have a faculty meeting in forty-five minutes. I was hoping for some breakfast.”

  Ten minutes passed, and Chet had not returned. The cup of coffee I poured for the Professor did not placate him. He was a bit agitated until Meghan spoke up. “Randy can make you breakfast, he’s a good cook.”

  I glared at her, but it was too late.

  Professor Murry said, “Excellent idea, let’s see what you can do.”

/>   “I’m sure Chet will be back any minute,” I protested.

  “Mr. Duffy, do you realize I’m grading your case study paper today? If hunger were to skew my good judgment, it might have tragic consequences.”

  It seemed I was at one of those crossroads Dee talked about. It was flunk to the right or get fired to the left.

  “What can I get for you, sir?”

  Meghan’s excited smile didn’t make it any easier to concentrate. My hands shook as I stood at the grill and fixed breakfast for the Professor. I had stood in front of Chet’s grill hundreds of times. This was the first time I ever cooked on it. It was a foreign feeling, kind of like the first time I drove a car.

  Fortunately, Professor Murry seemed to enjoy his breakfast. He ate quickly and finished before Chet returned. I was ringing him up at the cash register when he said, “Mr. Duffy, if accounting doesn’t work out for you, promise me you’ll consider a culinary career.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment on my cooking or an indictment of my accounting. It didn’t matter because just then Chet walked back in the door. He had the same look on his face my dad had when he caught me sneaking some of his booze.

  Chet was not a man you wanted to anger. The large U.S.M.C. tattoo on his large forearm would lead one to believe he had spent time in the Corps. He still had the haircut and could be as intimidating as a drill instructor. When provoked he could curse like a sailor. Seeing the look on his face, I was pretty sure he had been provoked.

  The look of panic on my face revealed my predicament, and Professor Murry came to my aid. “My compliments, Chet, you have an able apprentice in Mr. Duffy. I thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast.”

  After Professor Murry left, I was ready to punch out and leave. I’d go quietly without trying to defend myself. Meghan said she had to get to class and quickly made herself scarce.

  Chet’s icy stare had me quivering for what seemed like an eternity. He finally asked, “You know how to cook?”