FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 83 continued

Her life would turn from being comfortable to complicated, and it happened with a single, harmless glance and a quick smile. It is not to put this young Pup high on a shelf as if he was a “catch” or anything – why, if you would’ve asked Doocy, you’d have heard that she “could’ve done bettah if’n she wuz blind’s-a-bat.”

Not that he believed a word of it, it’s just that, in his own words, “the Breeze’s gotta keep t’puppy as humble as cake,” his miss on the expression earning a laugh from both Pee Wee and me.

Only so much water can push up against a dam before it begins to crack. Maybe her dam began to show signs of wear and tear after that third Friday with Mama. Corrina showed signs of stress the week after that, but I could not see it, not then. I had far more distractions with the non-stop hoopla of the job the minute my feet hit the soil in the morning until the Lord mercifully closed the curtain of trouble on the day around 4 p.m. On top of that, there was everything lurking at home. I began to see why people pour themselves into their jobs. It’s one of the best places to hide. I hid there, too – ironic since there was no literal place to run and hide out there – and I knew I also could hide on the basketball court any given night.

Corrina didn’t have as many places to hide. That I began to see that next week.

We hung out at her house in town after work on the following Tuesday. I brought a change of clothes and washed up in the water barrel and made myself spic and span before we left the job, so much so that the Hi Karate had its normal effect on the chain gang, as I knew it would. I spun my tires to get Corrina and me away from the backwoods comedy show, but it was useless. They gave us a good laugh, and I blew a kiss sarcastically out the window at the guys as I spun around to get out of Dodge.

When we got to her house, we went back to her backyard, which was maybe half an acre, which was not uncommon considering it was in an older and distinguished part of town. Corrina told me they had a basketball goal in the backyard, so I grabbed my basketball when I got out. She smiled at that. I formed a habit long ago of carrying a basketball in the back seat, just in case. I still do, some 50 years later.

The ball I had was a good leather one. Whenever the leather balls at the Y got a little too heavy after turning black from sweat, Sonny sometimes gave them away. He saved one of the better ones for me after my greatest hour on the court that Sunday. I grabbed it from the backseat, spun it on my finger to show off a little for Corrina (but adding a humble smile for the dark-haired girl) and we laughed as we walked around by the side gate to get to the backyard. I was used to the ball’s weight, naturally, but Corrina wasn’t, and with her barely weighing a hundred pounds, I almost knocked her down with my first pass and had to apologize to no end for it.

Starting out, I gave her some shooting lessons, showing her how to hold the ball at the seams, keep her elbow in, keep her feet shoulder-width apart, and line up her toe, hip, elbow, and eyes all to the goal.

“Everythin’ has to line up if you want to be successful,” I said philosophically. She flashed a smile.

It took some adjusting of her body position correctly, especially with “her Pup” being as bossy as Doocy when it came to basketball. It had nothing to do with the fact it required me to lean really close in to her to show her the right form. But she didn’t seem to mind. She was a good student, and after 15 minutes of what Coach Shrewsbury called “form shooting,” she begged for a break, which I pretended I just couldn’t do at first but then gave in. I always gave in.

We sat in the swing her dad had hung between an old oak and a tall pine tree they had in the middle of the backyard. We caught our breath and talked about basketball some more, and she stayed fastened to my explanations and stories as if her life depended on it. It was one of her greatest gifts. It was like a shiny trophy sitting up on the mantle for all to see. After a few minutes, an epiphany fell on her right out of the sky.

“Pup,” she said, blowing her dark hair out of her face, “I just realized that basketball is kind of like the vacant lot. It is just one more of your places of escape; only basketball is bigger than anything else, except the Lord, of course.”

I don’t know if I had thought about it so much before that, but since then I have marveled many times at how the Lord gave me something that would change my life, and not just when I was 16 going on 17 but all the years of my life. I made a living for decades with the orange sphere in my hands. Yes, it was a blessing, as was Corrina who was so astute; she could look through me and see something I didn’t even know was there. I couldn’t help but think that she, also, was my sanctuary, just like that orange sphere, only the leather one was easier to handle.

I told her how Mama would say basketball was like my having a little brother. That’s why Mama was so liberal in letting me make the Y my second home. Pretty soon the conversation turned from basketball to how much decline we had seen in Mama on her last visit. While Mama had dug down that night and was as engaged as I had seen her in a long time, you could see glimpses of her fading. She had to adjust her eyes to see us several times, laughing and saying, “You two look like little trees over there.” She brushed it off as being tired, but Corrina and I feared it was something more.

“Pup,” Corrina said as we swung slowly in the swing and cooled off from her basketball lessons, “It bothers me that Miss Louise may not be with you, with us – much longer.”

She paused briefly but then brought up something that I could tell she had been thinking and worrying about:

“Something else, Billy Ray.

She measured her words. I had learned long before that when someone measured their words to listen carefully, not just to the words they are saying but to the words they aren’t saying.

This evening was a time to listen. We sat and swung in the swing, and my young friend was about to offer a peek below the surface, maybe for the first time.

What lay a mile down on the floor of the ocean, as I thought about it, was that Corrina knew that my life was about to change. That was horrible enough of a thought for her, but she was worried about something else, too.

“What do you think will happen to us, Pup? I mean, I’ve tried to look ahead and see, but all I can make out is like the sun’s shining in your face, and all you see are a million light beams blinding you, and you can’t make out anything solid.”

I ran that image around my mind, trying to see where it led, but it was like I was looking through a glass darkly.

I didn’t answer her for a while, just sat with her enjoying the breeze and my thoughts. I knew she would be patient. That was Corrina.

“You’re 16,” I said, finally, glancing at her but then looking out through the basketball goal into the pine trees beyond, “16 and wiser than your years, that’s for sure. I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it, too, I mean, whenever Doocy isn’t hollerin’ at me or givin’ me love advice – or Red’s not chewin’ me up one side and down the other, as they say.” That brought a smile. “And I’ve thought that, whatever lies inside your ‘sunbeams,’ I guess, that I jus’ want the Lord to take care of you, for those guardian angels watchin’ over you not to take their eyes off you for a minute.”

I hesitated to redirect.

“When I’m drivin’ home from here, I think a lot of what kind of woman you are goin’ to be one day, and I always hope that when you look back after you’ve lived a lot of years you will remember a time a young fella popped up on that brick job at your house and threw your life into all kinds of confusion.”

I deadpanned it, but she saw through me and touched my shoulder in her way that showed her approval.

“And it came at a time,” I continued, “when two pretty neat people needed each other – well, at least one neat one,” I added, smiling. “I don’t think I’ll ever get over how the Lord’s powerful unseen hand has kind of sheltered us this summer. It’s kind of like your Mama’s silver falls plant on the porch. The Lord must’ve given us enough of its grit so that we could withstand whatever heat comes our way. It all had to come from something bigger than me, I know that. I mean, it didn’t jus’ happened that I got this job with Red and the crew, and our first job jus’ happened to be the house of the most beautiful girl in the world,” I said with a grin. “Right?”

Corrina let out a deep breath. She needed that assurance, I knew.

She looked up at the trees as if measuring how tall they were. “So,” she said, “the Lord gave us kind of a gift, and we gave each other one, too, and that’s part of His plan.” She thought it through a little more, then said, “We just don’t know the whole plan, right?”

“We don’t know everything, but we know enough for now, Corrina,” I said, then added excitedly, “But I know one thing.”

“What?”

“I know your shot is way off and needs a ton more work, so let’s get to it.”  I jumped up, gave her a hand to help her up, and we had another impromptu session of shooting the basketball, laughter filling the night air, and finding a way somehow to forget everything except that moment.

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com.