The roar of the battered lawn mower drowned out the subtle sounds of a balmy day in mid-September. Tommy closed his eyes for just a moment and let his legs carry him down the last stretch of his grandfather's huge lawn. The green blades of grass and the tall heads of the dandelions fell before the advancing blades of the lawn mower.
Tommy pushed at the lawn mower as the stubborn piece of machinery resisted his efforts of taking it to the garage. He let the throttle down gently, and listened to the mower choke and die as he parked it against the back wall. As he walked out, Tommy paused to wipe the sweat from his face and look around the musty old space that had passed for a garage in some day and age. The boards were slightly mildewed, and the whole frame seemed just a little askew, but at least the building was in one piece.
His grandfather's ancient car, a Ford - Tommy wasn't sure what model - hadn't been used in at least fifteen years. The dust was at least an inch thick, and Tommy could barely see through the windshield. Boy, Tommy thought, that car would really like to go out for a ride. The other implements in the garage, regular gardening tools - most unused for years - included shovels, a rusted rake, and much more. But it was the absence of a sense of purpose in the once-majestic automobile that made it the centerpiece of that ramshackle building. Cars were made to be driven, and this automobile was no exception to Tommy. He knew that everything serves a purpose, and seeing something cast aside, unable to perform its task, was a sad sight to him.
Tommy walked out slowly, kicking tiny bits of debris as he went. He paused only to close the old fashioned garage doors, the type that close like shutters, one from each side. Each door had to be lifted and carefully pushed closed, as the hinges weren't in the topnotch condition they were in when Tommy's grandfather had installed them.
In a way Tommy felt he was like that old car. What could a senior with a measly 3.0 GPA, who found every subject in his high school classes boring, possibly do with his life? It was already mid-September, and Tommy was just now reluctantly applying for universities, not even sure why he was doing it.
To Tommy it seemed that everybody in his class knew what they were going to do with their lives. His friends were already bragging about their acceptances to the university in nearby Stevens Point. And here he was, stuck in his grandfather's lawn in the little town of Port Christopher, in the great state of Wisconsin, with no idea where he was going.
As Tommy slowly walked toward his grandfather's house, which was just as ramshackle as the garage, he thought about this feeling he had of being lost, of having no purpose. It's not like he hadn't given school any thought. Tommy's best friend, Matthew, was planning on getting a degree in business. Matthew had a dream to follow, something he wanted to do; he wanted to help people through the business field. Matthew knew where the money was, and that was in business, and the way to get involved was with a college degree.
Why, Tommy asked himself bitterly, what is the use of making money? Why don't I feel the desire to live my life this way? Is there something wrong with me that I just don't grasp money's importance? I could go to college, get a degree, marry, get a job, and work my way up the chain. By the time I'm forty or fifty, I'd have enough money to own my own home; I'd have a family, and people would know me as an industrious, hardworking person. That just doesn't seem quite right, Tommy thought to himself as he viciously kicked a piece of debris from the garage up the walkway and toward the house. There must be something else - I just don't think I could do it. I don't think I could make it through a year living a life like that, let alone a lifetime. And what use would it be to me if it doesn't mean anything to me? What use would it be to live such a life if it simply seems out of place? What would I do instead? What would I do that seems right?
Tommy wasn't sure what else there could be to life. All he ever saw people do is try to make as much money as they could. At least that was the attitude many of his classmates seemed eager to adopt; they wanted to retire, they said, and to do that they wanted to make as much money as they could as quickly as they could. Of course there was always marriage, something else his classmates talked about. They wanted to marry the most beautiful young woman, or the most handsome young man. And that was it. To many of Tommy's peers, the life they dreamed of would contain money and a wife, with a possibility of a child or two when they were ready - but not until they were ready, of course.
There has to be something else, Tommy thought as he searched his mind. I see people around me who are able to work in money-making jobs and still have a sense of purpose - other than making money, that is. Tommy frowned as he contemplated exactly why he couldn't adopt this attitude. To me it would be just for the paycheck, he thought to himself. Money, everybody's so concerned with it. What good is money, really? I could sit in front of a computer all day and punch numbers; I could counsel people; I could defend people, and all for the paycheck at the end of the week. I couldn't do it, Tommy thought bitterly. I couldn't spend my life doing things for people, just to take their money. Sometimes I wish I could be Matthew; he seems to know that such is supposed to be what he is to do with his life. He finds it so simple!
The kitchen door slammed shut behind him as he entered the house and headed for the sink. Over the sound of cool, clear water running through the stainless steel faucet, Tommy heard his grandfather get up from his chair in the next room.
"You have the lawn cut, Tommy?"
"Of course, Grandpa. It looks really nice now."
"Good," his grandfather said as he poured himself a glass of tap water as well. The creases lined his face far more deeply than they had 13 long years ago. His hair was dark, steely gray, and his eyes seemed to have sunk more deeply into his head. But when he looked at him, Tommy could see their vibrant, blue color, which hadn't faded at all in 81 years. His body was bent, frail, and aged. It was only through looking into his grandfather's eyes that that Tommy could see the vigor of the old man's mind.
Tommy and his grandfather still contrasted sharply, with Tommy being a young man, and his grandfather being past eighty. The gray hair against the pale, almost white hair of Tommy, the youth of Tommy's hands contrasted to the well-worn warmth of those of his grandfather, the filled deepness of the old man's blue eyes stood out when compared to the unfilled blue depths of Tommy's eyes.
He took a prolonged sip of water as he regarded his grandfather. The old man looked out the small window over the sink at the freshly cut grass, and at the trees which were just now beginning to change to breathtaking fall shades. Tommy could see the connection between the ancient stands of trees and his grandfather. Eighty-one years, and each one of them showed on the beloved old man's face. Tommy knew how much his grandfather had been through, and the lessons life had taught him. Tommy often heard stories about World War II, in which his grandfather had fought as a very young man in the army - about the age Tommy was now. The years as a maintenance worker, until the age of 70 at the little college in Stevens Point had made his grandfather wise in the ways a man who can fix anything, no matter what the problem is, is wise.
The old man was one of very few words. He had gone through his life in a very solitary fashion. Tommy knew of his grandfather's first wife, Katherine, whom he married immediately following the war, her being his high school sweetheart. Tommy knew how she had taken ill, and died two short weeks after their honeymoon. He could very well imagine how his grandfather must have felt, the agony and pain of losing someone so close, having lost both his parents at a very young age. Tommy winced right then and there in the kitchen as he recalled his grandfather's second marriage, three years later to Clare, Tommy's grandmother, who had died three years ago.
His grandmother had been a wonderful person. He remembered the cookies she used to bake at Christmas time; especially the moon-shaped ones over which everybody fought. Tommy remembered his grandmother's funeral, his grandfather in his ancient, black greatcoat, standing over her open grave, braced against the blustery wind and driving snow, a handful of dirt clenched tightly in his fist.
Tommy recalled that day vividly, he a 15 year old, with tears streaming down his face, colder than the snow striking his cheeks. His grandmother had been like a mother to him, as Tommy had lost both his parents at three. His grandfather had told him they died in a car accident. The intense grief of losing a grandmother must be nothing compared to the pain of losing a wife; he has suffered a lot, Tommy reflected.
Tommy's grandfather turned away from the window and said, "Here's some money, go treat yourself to something."
"Grandpa, you know I don't like to take your money."
"Whatever, take it anyhow."
Tommy took the ten-dollar bill, feeling slightly guilty in the process. "I'm going to the library now."
"Do you have some homework to do?"
"I'll do my homework later tonight; I just want to look at some things."
Tommy exited the house, closing the door softly behind himself, and headed off into the growing dusk.

CHAPTER TWO
Undeserved Death

"O God, you have rejected us and broken our defenses; you have been angry; rally us! You have rocked the country and split it open; repair the cracks in it, for it is
tottering." Psalm 60:2-3

Quickly exiting the house, Tommy hopped on his bike and started the short trek to the library. He had been meaning to go to the library for quite some time now, but in a small town like Port Christopher, public facilities have very limited hours.
Tommy wanted to find the article in the paper about his parents' car accident. When he asked his grandfather about the accident, his grandfather had been very elusive, but Tommy had been able to get a date: August 6, 1984.
While he and his grandfather almost always got along, his grandfather never seemed to want to talk about his parent's death; Tommy really wanted to know more about his parents, but his grandfather didn't ever want to share anything. Tommy figured that if his parents died in a car accident - that much his grandfather had told him - at least he would be able to glean a little information from the newspaper, without pressuring his grandfather too much. For while Tommy wanted to know more about what had happened to his parents, he didn't like causing his grandfather to remember something so painful. Finding the newspaper article seemed like the perfect solution: while it wouldn't be causing anybody any harm, he would still be able to know exactly what happened with his parents' accident.
Tommy felt it was important that he knew what happened, not that it would change anything, but just because it was an unfilled void in him right now, something he felt he needed to know to continue living his life. Would it matter to him if he didn't find anything? Tommy wasn't sure; all he knew was that he wanted to know the details, whether or not they made him miss his parents even more.
Tommy wasn't even sure why he felt it was important that he find out more about how his parents died. His grandfather didn't want to talk about it, and maybe he had his reasons. Maybe he shouldn't even be snooping around like this; maybe he should just ask his grandfather what happened, and insist on a direct answer.
Pedaling furiously, Tommy skid into the library's small parking lot, which had but one vehicle parked amid the striped lines, and left his red ten-speed bike by the door. Entering the new, red brick building, Tommy caught sight of the tiny, bespectacled Ms. Riley, the town's librarian for as long as Tommy could remember. Ms. Riley held her index finger to her mouth in her characteristic "be quiet" signal, and pointed to a pair of old ladies who were flipping through the pages of a huge book that looked as if it hadn't been used in ages.
Instead of heading to the fiction department as he usually did, Tommy approached the little woman known as Ms. Riley. She looked up as Tommy put his hands on the counter.
"And what can I do for you today, Tommy?"
"What do I do if I want to look at an old newspaper?"
"Just how old a newspaper are we looking for, and which one?"
"Well, I want to look at the Port Christopher Review from the sixth of August in 1984."
"Okay, we can do that, but it won't actually be the newspaper, we only keep them for a short while; after that they're put on microfilm."
Answering the question in Tommy's perplexed look, Ms. Riley elaborated, "Old newspapers are copied onto film which is read through a special machine. You can move backward or forward on these films to find the date you are looking for."
"Can you show me how it works?"
Seeing Ms. Riley's nod of assent, Tommy followed the woman to the other corner of the cramped library building. Together they approached the microfilm machine, a smallish, hollow black box with an assortment of levers on the front, and a knob for turning on the right side.
Ms. Riley turned to Tommy and said. " I'll find you the August, 1984 papers; you flip the switch on the machine and read the instructions on the side."
Tommy fingered the "on" button, and got busy reading while Ms. Riley looked through an assortment of little boxes.
"Ah," the little woman said, "here's what you're looking for." Ms. Riley handed him the box. "Mind if I ask what you're looking for?"
Tommy grimaced and shifted uncomfortably, "Well, its kinda personal..."
"I guess I'll leave you alone then; good luck."
Ms. Riley turned and marched quickly back to her counter where the two old ladies were now arguing loudly, apparently over the contents of the old book.
Tommy also turned, but toward the black box of the microfilm reader, and got busy trying to find out what the paper had to say about his parents.
The paper sixteen years ago looked pretty much like yesterday's Port Christopher Review to Tommy, but the huge headline caught his eye. In big, bold letters across the front page was stamped, "DRUNK DRIVING CLAIMS TWO." No, he thought, this couldn't be it, Grandpa said they were just in a car accident. Tommy started to go on, but his eyes flickered to the caption at the bottom of the photograph of a car which looked new except for the smashed windows, and the hood which was crumpled against a huge tree, all the way up to the driver's seat.
Calmly Tommy read the caption, "This is all the remains of William and Kathleen Hanson's vehicle after it was driven off the road early this morning. Details on page two."
Tommy was confused. Those were his parent's names, but his grandfather had never said anything about his dad being drunk. Perplexed, Tommy turned the lever to the second page, and started reading the article.
"Port Christopher (Review) The lives of two area parents ended tragically early this morning. William Hanson, traveling north on Highway 10, drove his car off the road and into a tree. Both he and his wife were killed on impact. According to the police, Hanson was traveling a minimum of 75 miles per hour when his automobile left the road.
This afternoon an autopsy revealed that Mr. Hanson had a blood alcohol count twice the legal limit. The police stated specifics would be released at a later date.
The Hansons are the parents of a three year old boy, Thomas, who has been released to his grandparents, Clare and Samuel Hanson."
Incredulous, with tears in his eyes, Tommy methodically rewound the microfilm, replaced it in its box, turned off the machine, and walked out of the library. He was so lost in his thoughts that he forgot he had ridden his bike to the library, and started walking toward home.
Tommy was in turmoil. How could his grandfather do this to him? Didn't he, Thomas Hanson, have the right to know how his parents had died? His grandfather had always said it was an accident, but this was more than an accident; his dad was driving drunk, and because of it, he no longer had parents.
Now Tommy knew why his grandfather was so elusive, why he had never told him all that had happened. Would he have been able to handle it better that way? Tommy thought so, and he was very angry with his grandfather, angry that he didn't think so. Wouldn't it have been better to find out what had happened to his parents from his grandfather, someone who could explain it, rather than a newspaper, which reported the cold, hard facts?
Tommy tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, not noticing that the sun was setting and dusk was settling. The approaching night was not silent, with birds still chirping, and even crickets already getting in on the chorus. All this was unnoticeable to Tommy at this point; the pain was too much for him. He couldn't believe that he had lost his parents in this way. Was he angry with his father, or was he angry with his grandfather? At this point, Tommy simply wasn't sure, just confused and angry.
Maybe Tommy was angry with them all. His father had acted very irresponsibly, driving after drinking as much as he did. Tommy couldn't believe that his father would do something like that, leave him parentless, or that his mother had allowed him to get behind the wheel. Tommy was very angry with his grandfather at this point. He was 18 years old, and until just now he hadn't even known how his parents had died. Most everybody in the town must know; it was only Tommy, under the "protection" of his grandfather, who was left in the dark.
Maybe he was angry with God. How could there exist a God who would do something like this, allow the parents of a three year old to perish, leaving him, Tommy, an orphan? What a vengeful, angry, selfish God! Why did he go to church on Sunday? What good did it do him? Why did he even profess to believe in a God who would allow such things to happen?
Didn't he have the right, at 18 years of age, to know the truth?

CHAPTER THREE
The Turmoil of an Inner Battle
"For sighing comes more readily to me than food, and my groans well forth like water. For what I fear overtakes me, and what I shrink from comes upon me. I have no peace nor ease; I have no rest, for trouble comes!" Job 3:24-26

The sky was darkening by the time Tommy started up the walkway. He could have been home an hour ago, but he had absolutely no idea how to confront his grandfather. Even an hour of walking hadn't cooled him off; Tommy was still fuming.
In that extra hour, Tommy had done more thinking about his life than he'd normally do in a month. He had known that his parents died in an accident, but it was a completely different matter, at least in Tommy's opinion, to die in such an irresponsible manner as they had died. With him at home, three years old, his dad was driving down the highway at 75 miles per hour, drunk.
And that was only half of what Tommy was fuming about. How could his grandfather have not told him the details of his parent's accident? Did his grandfather think he was still ten years old? Tommy was sure he could have handled the truth much better if he heard it from his grandfather, as opposed to having to find it out for himself. He had been strong enough to handle not having parents; he had been strong enough when one of his grandparents - who took the place of parents - died; how could he not be strong enough, at 18, to handle how his parents died? Tommy couldn't understand why his grandfather hadn't yet told him, or why he may not have ever intended to tell him how his parents had died.
Tommy walked straight into the living room to where his grandfather was sitting in his easy chair, reading the new Reader's Digest. Without pausing even to catch his breath, Tommy began. "Why didn't you tell me my dad was driving drunk?"
His grandfather straightened in his chair. "Who told you that?"
"Nobody, I had to figure it out for myself; why didn't you tell me?"
The old man sighed, pushed his reading glasses back on his head and said, "Tommy, it's something that's best forgotten."
"The truth is never best forgotten!" Tommy yelled.
The tone of Tommy's voice awoke in the old man some of the authority a parent has to have, and he matched Tommy's charged emotions with the more veracious tone of an elder, "Sit down."
Tommy, thoroughly agitated, sat on the edge of the couch, facing his grandfather, waiting to hear what the old man had to say. "You're old enough to know what happened, so I'm going to tell you all of it." It was with a sigh, and a settling in the leather chair for the old man, and on the dusty, cloth-covered couch for Tommy, that he learned more about his parents that he ever knew before.
"Your parents were beautiful together, Tommy, young and educated; your dad was moving up the corporate ladder -- he was going to be rich. They made the perfect couple when you were thrown in the mix.
I remember your mother that summer. She had dark, long hair, and was happy just taking care of you." The old man sighed, and went off on a tangent, "We, grandma and I, came to visit the bunch of you in Stevens Point that Fourth of July. Your mother cooked up a feast. Ham, potato salad, the works. You were just then wanting real food - that is, other than cereals and puddings, and other horrible-looking concoctions your mother would mash together. I remember that you enjoyed it a lot too."
Getting back on subject, he continued, "Your father received a promotion from the bank he worked for that Friday in August -- was it the sixth?"
Tommy nodded in assent.
"Well, anyway, your parents were ecstatic. They called your grandma and I right away and told us. What it meant was that they didn't have to rent anymore. Money would no longer be a problem; your parents could get their own house.
Naturally there was quite a celebration that night. You were home with a sitter, and your mom and dad were out partying. I guess they hit lots of bars, and it was pretty late, I think about three, when they headed back home."
His grandfather paused. Tears were streaming; Tommy couldn't seem to hold them back. The old man got up slowly, went over to the couch, sat down, and put his arm around Tommy. "Your dad was pretty drunk, Tommy; he didn't know what he was doing."
Tommy was crying too hard to answer. He couldn't think. It was a few minutes before he managed to clear his head. "Why didn't someone offer to drive them home?"
"Drunk driving wasn't counter-acted in quite the same way in the early '80's. There weren't so many programs..."
'How could that happen to them - to me?"
"I don't know, Tommy. God uses the situations that present themselves; God has a..."
"I know, I know, God has a plan. Don't you know how stupid that sounds when you just find out both your parents got killed in a car accident, and your dad was so drunk he didn't know what he was doing?"
Tommy's grandfather frowned. "There's nothing I can tell you that'll help you understand why God does what he does. I don't have to answers to everything; I'm ready to admit that."
"Well, I need an answer, I really do."
"You're not asking the right person."
It wasn't that Tommy's anger suddenly left him, it was just as if the desire to put all the blame upon the shoulders of his grandfather vanished. Deep down he knew that his grandfather was just trying to protect him, to make not having parents a little easier. It was just that he wished he had known. He couldn't blame his grandfather; he couldn't blame his parents - who were so happy that they would have been able to raise him better, but all the same he was angry. Could he channel his anger at God? Tommy didn't know yet; all he knew was that yelling at his grandfather for what had happened 15 years ago - something that he actually played no part in - was useless, and actually harmed the relationship they had.
Tommy stood up and stretched. With this in mind he said to his grandfather, "Goodnight."
"Going to bed already?" The old man let out a weak smile.
"Oh, I don't know," Tommy let out a fleeting smile as well, "I might do a little homework," he said as he turned to go to his little attic room.
The square root problems weren't agreeing with Tommy that night; not that they usually did, but with everything that he had on his mind, he knew there was no way tonight would be any different. With that in mind, Tommy flung his pencil aside.
It had been a long time since Tommy had prayed, but, as Tommy reflected, who else is supposed to know all the answers?
Leaving his desk behind, Tommy opted for his old rocking chair, plopped himself down, and paused. What now? How do I talk to you, God? How do I tell you that I couldn't be more angry with you than I am right now?
Shaking his head, Tommy reached for his Bible. It was in awesome condition, seeing that it was seldom used. It belonged to his parents a long time ago. The one time Tommy flipped through it a few years ago, he had seen the section with births, deaths, marriages, and everything else. It was all up to date except for the "Deceased" section.
Tommy reached for a pen, and rectified matters, writing under "Deceased", William and Kathleen Hanson, and under "Date," August 6, 1984.
Tommy closed his eyes and flipped through the pages of the Bible. Leaving it open, he looked at the pages before him. The pages were in the Book of Psalms, Psalm 90. Glancing over it, Tommy's eyes stopped at verse three: "You turn man back to dust," read Tommy. He read more, "You make an end of them in their sleep; the next morning they are like the changing grass, which at dawn springs up anew, but by evening wilts and fades."
A voice inside Tommy was screaming, how could you be like this, God? Are we nothing to you? Am I destined to fade away, just as you made my parents fade away?
He felt like putting the Bible down right then, but instead he turned more pages. He wasn't sure why he didn't put it down; maybe he wanted to find more that would make him feel better about blaming it all on God. Tommy ended up at the beginning of John's Gospel. He read, " In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God." Farther down his eye caught the phrase, "and the Word became flesh and lived among us."
This all sounded rather stupid to Tommy. Who cared about a Word being with God, or being God, if he allowed things like his parent's deaths to just happen? Was this Word of God supposed to comfort him?
Tommy flipped a few more pages, and almost missed it: a highlighted verse in an otherwise impeccable Bible; John 3:16 stood out from the rest of the page, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish, but might have eternal life."
It took Tommy a moment, a minute, to understand the complexity of the two statements combined. The Word had to be Jesus, who became man. It seemed that God was talking to Tommy, saying, that's why you should care about the Word. For just that split moment, clarity stood out in Tommy's hopelessly confused mind. God loved him, Tommy, and God loved his parents. God loved them enough to die for them, and by dying for them, kept Tommy's parents from ever truly dying in the first place.
It was just a moment, but it was a moment that had a profound impact upon Tommy. He couldn't simply blame God anymore after having this sudden insight; there was far more involved, and he could no longer deny that basic Truth.
Tommy was still angry, but it was that he didn't know where to channel his anger. His scapegoat had become his confidant rather quickly, and because of this he couldn't hide anymore.
He laid his Bible alongside his forgotten square root problems and changed into his pajamas. Crawling under the covers that night, Tommy knew that he had changed, he was suddenly aware of thoughts he had suppressed for years, thoughts that were as old as saying an Our Father and Hail Mary with his grandparents before he went to bed as a little child. He knew that something had been awakened in him, something that had lain dormant for a long, long time. He didn't yet know what it was that had stirred deep within his mind, but what ever it was, however God had touched him, it was the most comforting, complete feeling he had felt in ages.
Instead of being distraught with his newfound insights about his parents, about God, and about everything else he had experienced that eventful day, Tommy fell into a deep, contented slumber.
CHAPTER FOUR
Competitive Friendship
"O God, the haughty have risen up against me, and the company of fierce men seeks my life, nor do they set you before their eyes. But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and fidelity. Turn toward me, and have pity on me; give strength to your servant, and save the son of your handmaid." Psalm 86:14-16

Life wasn't slowing down to wait for Tommy that September. It seemed to him that today was no exception. Already Tommy had suffered through a Spanish test and an extremely boring lecture in his Political Science course. Now his eighth hour Math Topics course was seeming like a full hour instead of the 45 minutes that it was.
Math Topics wasn't the worst math course Tommy had ever taken. Compared to other courses, such as geometry or algebra in years past, this course was a breeze. But it was just the fact that math bored Tommy. Any other class was at least bearable, but in here he felt his head drooping once again.
Righting himself, Tommy checked the clock, with its red second hand slowly sweeping past the four. Fourteen minutes and 40 seconds to go. The class was covering matrices today. Tommy's notebook was empty, but Matthew, sitting directly to the left, was busily copying complicated-looking formulas from the board.
"Phst, Matthew, what are we doing for practice today?"
Both he and Matthew were on the school's cross country team, and Matthew always seemed to know what was up with practices. Whether he knew what the workout was today, Matthew was obviously annoyed.
"Can't you see I'm busy," Matthew whispered.
"Well, just tell me."
"Probably quarters; now leave me alone."
Matthew got back to work while Tommy continued his daydreaming. Tommy liked running. He had started sophomore year after Matthew had persuaded him to start running. With the combined pressure from his best friend, and from his grandfather, who thought running would be good for him, Tommy had joined the team.
Tommy was a decent runner, but couldn't even compete when compared to Matthew. Running came really easily to Matthew. He was the defending state champion, and had been Port Christopher High's top distance runner for his entire high school career.
Tommy's team was in the running for a state title in October after finishing fourth at state last year. This was Tommy's first year of varsity, and he was fighting for the fifth spot on the team. Five runners score points in cross country, and seven get to run varsity in most meets. At the last meet he had been the sixth runner, losing out to Stephen Williams.
Sometimes the only thing that kept Tommy in cross country was an urge to beat Stephen. An outcast, Stephen never seemed to get along with anyone. Whether it was competing and gloating over beating Tommy, or doing better than Tommy in school - Stephen was a 4.0 student - the two just didn't get along.
Tommy thought about today's practice. He thought about how he and Stephen, ten seconds behind Matthew in the pack, would be fighting each other for position. If nothing else, thought Tommy, it'll make me a better runner.
Rousing himself from his reverie once again, Tommy watched the second hand of the clock as it passed the eight, and made its way up toward the twelve to mark 2:40. Ms. Wilson was just now writing the homework assignment on the board, and Tommy copied it down even though he knew he wasn't going to do it, seeing how Ms. Wilson hardly ever collected the homework.
The bell rang, and Tommy was out the door in a flash.
The new sports complex at Port Christopher High didn't include many facilities for cross country runners, but at least the locker room was spacious. Tommy's locker was right next to Matthew's, on the end farthest away from the door. Together the two changed hurrily.
"You know, Matthew, Coach should give us more time to change before practice; ten minutes isn't enough."
"If we changed later, then we'd be done later."
"An extra five minutes wouldn't matter."
"You're hopeless," Matthew said, shaking his head. "Hey, want to get something to eat after practice?"
"I guess so; maybe you could share some math notes with me while we're eating."
"Maybe you could just pay attention in class."
Tommy grinned as he pulled on his shirt, "Now wouldn't that be something else."
Coach was small and spry, and even when he was smiling he commanded attention - which he always got, of course. They all knew he had been quite a runner in college, an All-American or something like that. But now that he was in his fifties, he couldn't always keep up with the team, and usually rode a bike for the long runs.
Business-like, same as always, he made sure Tommy and the rest of the team stretched completely before telling them to meet him at the track after a two mile warm-up.
Matthew was the team captain, and stretching a bit more he asked, "Where do you guys want to go?"
The instant response from Jamie, the number two runner was, "Let's sneak to the track and call it two miles."
Matthew smiled, but asked, "Are there any better suggestions than miraculously turning an eighth of a mile into two miles?"
"Sure," Tommy said, just wanting to get to the track already, "Let's do the woods loop."
There were groans, but everybody got up, and slow walking turned into a leisurely jog.
The woods loop consisted of a park trail through a stand of trees adjacent to the high school. The trees were mostly pines, planted as part of a school project many years ago, now grown tall and majestic. The team would jog out on the trail for a little less than a mile, then turn left on the road that intersected it. It had a curve which was the point where the team left the trail to go back to the school, a little more than a mile out, giving the loop a distance of about two miles. Whether this warm-up was wanted, Tommy knew he had to run it in order for his muscles to be ready for the fast quarter-mile repeats.
Fifteen sweaty minutes later, the majority of the ten young men out for the sport were back at the track, ready for their workout. Coach was looking at a sheet that had their times for a similar workout from a few weeks before.
He looked at Matthew; "You're going to run these by yourself."
Matthew nodded, and the immediate responses from Jamie and Zeb, the number three runner, were big sighs of relief at finding out they didn't have to try to keep up with Matthew.
"Not so fast, you guys," Coach said, smiling. He proceeded to tell them that he wanted them to run the first few of the eight they were doing together, with the number four runner, Ollie, but after that, he wanted them to try to keep up with Matthew.
Turning to Tommy and Stephen, Coach said, "You two will have to work together. Push each other, and it'll help you both get better. Get all the repeats under 80 or 82 and I'll be happy."
The first few quarters were easy. Both were 77 seconds, and Tommy and Stephen crossed the finish line together. The next two were just a little harder. On the third, Tommy sprinted at the end to catch Stephen, and finished a second ahead of him at 76. Stephen put up a fight and outlasted Tommy down the stretch on the fourth repeat to finish with a 76 to Tommy's 78.
"Okay, take a five minute rest," Coach called after everybody finished their fourth 400.
Tommy was panting, and his head was pounding. It was at this point in his workouts that he wished he was out for a different sport, he didn't care which one, so long as no 400 meter repeats were involved. Matthew walked up and patted Tommy's back.
"Don't lean over like that, put your arms over your head, stand up, and breathe deep."
"Okay, okay, but it hurts." Tommy stood up. "How're your doing so far?
"Oh, I don't know. I started in 65, but they're creeping up toward 70."
"Yeah, complain some more, why don't you."
Stephen was over on the other side of the track talking to his girlfriend, Valerie. They had only been going out for a few weeks, and Tommy was sure that Stephen would try to show off on the next quarter. Maybe I can show him, thought Tommy, I'm going to beat him on this 400, you just watch, Valerie. Not that Tommy was mad at Valerie for being Stephen's girlfriend, although he may have been mad at her because there was nobody to cheer for him, however unreasonable it seemed.
Coach was calling the runners back to the starting line, and Stephen was jogging back across the field. Hurrying to the line, Tommy readied himself for Coach's command to start.
"Ready?" Coach called, "Three, two, one, go!"
Matthew started out fast, distancing himself from the pack. Jamie, Zeb, and Ollie were right in front of Stephen, and Tommy wasn't letting him go. The pack went around the first bend in what seemed like an easy lope.
Tommy knew he had more, and pushed himself even with Stephen at the start of the backstretch. Stephen gave him an exasperated glance, and let loose a spurt that took him past the other three runners. Now's the time not to let go, Tommy thought, as Valerie gave a little cheer for Stephen, her long, black hair blowing in the breeze. Picking up the pace, Tommy passed up Jamie, Zeb, and Ollie before the backstretch curved, making it difficult to pass.
He was beginning to feel his legs wanting to betray him, and he hoped that Stephen at least felt the same way. With a burning sensation in his legs, Tommy rounded the bend, and sprinted up the homestretch, passing up Stephen in the process. He felt great! He knew he could do it! Faster and faster, his legs just kept on pumping as he approached the finish line. Suddenly he heard heavy breathing in the background, and there was nothing he could do as Stephen zoomed past him, passing Matthew, and winning the impromptu "race."
Tommy couldn't breathe; his lungs seemed to be on fire as he dropped down on the rubberized track.
Coach helped him to his feet, and addressed Stephen and Tommy, "That was a 62 and a 63, you two, I expect the last three to be faster, or your long run tomorrow will be a lot longer."
"But Coach, you know that's impossible," Tommy gasped.
"You know the rules, there's no racing during repeats; I give you the pace, and you run it. That's how it's done."
Tommy glared at Stephen, and Stephen smiled back, as the two prepared for the most grueling 1200 meters of their lives.
It was later that night at the local Burger King, and Tommy was still smarting from his loss to Stephen. He and Matthew were enjoying hamburgers and fries, Tommy with Matthew's notebook in hand.
"Stephen makes me awfully mad," Tommy commented.
Matthew finished his mouthful of burger thoughtfully. "Lot's of things seem to make you mad, Tommy."
"Maybe so, but sometimes Stephen can be a jerk. Did you see the way he was trying to show off to Valerie on that quarter?"
"So what? If you had a girlfriend, which you don't," Matthew added empathetically, "you'd want to show off for her too."
"I guess I never thought about it that way."
"Well I'm glad you decided to," Matthew said, finishing his french fries.
"It's not quite that easy, though. There's just something about that guy that annoys me to no end."
"Tommy," Matthew said, crumpling his trash, "I think it's time you tried to make yourself a friend."
"You can't be serious!"
"Why not? You two have a lot in common; your running abilities are about the same, and I'll bet he really wants a friend."
"He should be satisfied with having Valerie."
"That's a different kind of friendship. You two compete against each other almost every day. You have to remember you're on the same team. Working together doesn't mean you have to hate each other."
Tommy worked on his fries as he thought about how much he disliked Stephen. "I don't think I can," he said conclusively.
"At least give it a try, will you?"
"What should I do, go up to him and say, 'Hi, would you like to be my friend since I try to run you into the ground every day?'"
"Something like that, only try tiptoeing around the 'running you into the ground every day' part."
"I don't know, Matthew, I'll think about it. See you tomorrow."
"Okay, see you around."
Tommy threw his garbage away, walked out the door, and hopped on his bike. Make friends with Stephen! Maybe that's a good idea, reflected Tommy, but I have no clue how to do it.
With his mind whirling with possibilities, Tommy pedaled his bike home for another night of thinking about doing his homework.
CHAPTER FIVE

The Path Pointed Out

"O God, you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water. Thus have I gazed toward you in the sanctuary to see your power and your glory." Psalm 63:2-3

It wasn't that Tommy was interested in church, but there he was anyhow, early Sunday morning, at seven-twenty, even though Mass didn't start until eight. He was the only person in the church at the moment. He usually went to seven-thirty Mass with his grandfather on Saturday night, but he didn't feel like going with his grandfather last night. At the same time he felt a strong need to be in church this particular day. Tommy wasn't sure why.
He was simply sitting in St. Mary's. The church was only fifty years old, but that was old enough to make it pre-Vatican II. The stained glass windows let in the early morning light, and the beautiful Stations of the Cross ordained the marble pillars that lined each wall. The Altar was raised up, an ornate table, and the Eucharist was reserved in the Tabernacle directly behind it.
Tommy saw everything around him, but tried to focus on Christ. It wasn't easy, and staring at the Tabernacle didn't seem to help any. Praying by itself was simple, but focusing was a different story. When Tommy prayed, he liked to let his mind wander. He would think about one thing, then switch over to another. Today was different; Tommy, at this early stage in his prayer life, wanted to focus, to control his prayer.
Trying an ordinary Our Father, Tommy began to recite quietly, but started to think about his upcoming cross country race on Tuesday. Nothing he did seemed to help; he couldn't concentrate the way he wanted to. Finally Tommy gave up, and just sat in the pew, staring at the Tabernacle, thinking about his life. So much was happening. He was in the process of filling out college applications, at the prompting of his grandfather and the high school counselor, and with his cross country season winding down to an exciting end, he found himself devoting more and more time to the sport.
He filled out three applications. One was for the public university in Stevens Point, one for the University of Wisconsin, and the last for the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota. Tommy was pretty sure he would be accepted in Stevens Point, but the other two were questionable. He wasn't sure why he'd applied to St. Thomas; Tommy knew he would never be able to afford the 21,000-dollar tuition the private, Catholic University charged. But his grandfather told him to apply to at least one private university, fill out his financial aid form, and see what would happen. So Tommy did just that, figuring he'd apply at a Catholic university since he was Catholic.
Tommy didn't really even want to go to college. Well, maybe he did, but he still didn't know exactly what for. He didn't really enjoy school very much, and he couldn't imagine going there, like some of his classmates, to get a degree that would give him access to more money than he would get without going to college.
What Tommy was more interested in right now was cross country. Stephen and he were getting along just fine now, and that in itself was quite a story. It had actually been Stephen who came up to Tommy and said that it would probably be better it they got along and worked together. He cited the "good of the team," but from what was developing so far, an excellent working relationship, Tommy could see that Stephen needed a friend, and Tommy was working very hard to provide him with just that.
All the same, Tommy was now in sole possession of the coveted number five spot. The two had even gone bowling together, though without Valerie, after the conference meet.
Port Christopher won handily, of course. Matthew was the conference champion, covering the 5,000 meter course in a sizzling 16:04, his best time ever, and third title in a row; he knew all along that the cross country coach from UW-Stevens Point was there, watching. Tommy had also run his PR (personal record) of 18:14, good enough for 12th place. He was a little disappointed because he had dreamed of making the All-Conference team, which was the top eight, but for now was happy to be a scorer for the team that was ranked number one in division three.
Daydreaming or praying, Tommy wasn't sure what to call it, took time, and it was already nearing eight. People were starting to come in. Tommy saw Father Christopher, the pastor, arrive from the adjacent rectory, and enter the sacristy to prepare for the liturgy. It would only be a few minutes now; Father Christopher never showed up early.
Tommy didn't know Father Christopher very well, but liked his homilies. The slight, frail old man, even with his large glasses and balding head, conveyed a sense of purpose and an aura of command. He knew some priests didn't prepare, and their homilies didn't make much sense because of it. Father Christopher was different. He seemed to have a knack for making the most complex things understandable. Last week he had talked about Jesus being present in the Eucharist, and even Tommy, who had never put much thought into the matter before, was left in no position to disagree - or plead ignorance - to what Father Christopher had said. "Good morning," intoned the cantor.
The people responded and stood, as did Tommy, and Mass was under way.
Once again, Tommy made a conscious effort not to let his mind wander, and with all the people around him, he was a little more successful.
Readings, songs, responses - it all worked like a charm, perfectly orchestrated by Father Christopher. Finally it was time for the Homily, the part of Mass that Tommy liked most.
Starting in his own unique fashion, itching his nose with his right index finger, setting his glasses straight, Father Christopher addressed his topic, "Each and every one of us is called to holiness."
Opening the Bible that he carried with him, he read, "Whosoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it."
Father Christopher snapped his Bible shut and looked at the congregation, seeming to look everybody in the eye at the same time, "As you will see if you look around us today, there are people here from all walks of life. There are married couples, single men and women, and even me, a priest. Each one of us is living out God's call to holiness in his or her own unique way."
"For some this means - or has meant - marriage, for others this means not getting married, and for even others of us this means dedicating our entire lives to God's Church."
Changing gears, Father Christopher seemed to be looking directly at Tommy, "As you probably know, we are suffering through a shortage of priests. The Church as a whole is growing at an astounding rate, but the number of priests serving this vast number of Catholics is shrinking every day, especially here in America."
"This may be due in part to an ignorance of God's call. Yes, God calls all of us to holiness, but he also calls each of you to live out that call to holiness in a special way. It seems to me that many people try to live out God's call to holiness in a way other than that which he intended; there are others who choose to ignore God's call completely, citing free will, and making bad choices for themselves in the process."
"It is my personal belief that God doesn't ever stop calling men to serve as priests, it's just that men don't seem to want to respond to the invitation."
Smiling, Father Christopher said, "And now it's story time: There were once two brothers. Both were called by God to be priests, and both were fully aware of it. The younger responded immediately, and became a priest. He wasn't the greatest priest, though he tried very hard, ministering to people in need in a third world country. Even with his many weaknesses, he made great progress in the country, and because of his efforts great numbers of people grew to love the priest. Seeing his weaknesses, but seeing Christ working through him at the same time. He died a tired, but happy old man."
"The elder brother ignored God's call. He felt that it was too much for him, and because of this decided to live out the 'American Dream,' an ordinary life. He married a beautiful woman, and went into business as a stock market trader, becoming a wealthy man. Everything was perfect for years; he had three children, and became more and more respected and prestigious. Then his wife left him; she accused him of having abused the children. The man lost his wife, his children, and a great deal of his precious money. His reputation was ruined, and he couldn't live without his reputation. His earnings plummeted. He died heartbroken of a heart attack at age forty-five."
Father Christopher paused before continuing, "There have been many unhappy marriages that were never meant to be. Often men and women think that the only normal thing to do is get married. It is because of this misconception, and the fact that Christ is left out, that there are many marriages that are not successful. How could Christ be in a marriage that was never meant to be? There are many men who know that God is calling them to live as priests, but are afraid to even test the waters because of the sacrifice it would entail. There continue to be men who are ashamed of the 'silly' notion that they are called to be priests simply because it doesn't fit society's money-hungry, materialistic norm. This problem is becoming increasingly prevalent in our young people."
Tommy was listening very carefully, and this perked his interest. This seemed, to Tommy, to be somewhat true as a whole of all his peers. That is, an ignorance of God, or at least an ignoring of God's invitation - Tommy personally knew this all too well as he often gave God the cold shoulder.
Father Christopher continued, "There is nothing that is cooler than religion, but at the same time, religion often doesn't seem to be the 'cool' thing in high school. I was there once; I should know just as well as all of you. Believing in God comes to almost every student; but what he or she do about this belief is just a little bit harder, and few students choose to go that far."
"Sometimes it seems that priesthood is seen in a negative light. 'How can that life be worth it?' I've been asked many a time. Celibacy, loneliness, I've heard about them all, and believe me, it can be very hard."
"On the other hand, these young people are failing to realize how wonderful it feels to help someone. It is awesome to make someone realize their faith, to comfort a person who has no hope, to rectify a hopeless situation of poverty, sickness, or anger, to let Christ live and love through you. This vocation, rather call, from God is just as rewarding and joy-filled as a marriage can be; and young people simply don't seem to see that."
"No person will be happy unless they are living out the vocation that God is calling them to live. I couldn't get married because I'd probably end up like the older son, heartbroken. All the same I know plenty of husbands here today who would go crazy as priests. God calls some men to marry, some to live singly, and others to the priesthood."
"If potential vocations are put into situations where they can be realized, namely experiences in faith, the number of priests will start to rise again. Kids need to know how God wants them to live out their call to holiness. Prayer is very important, but it is not enough; each one of you needs to be involved."
"For some of you this means talking to our young people. Parents and relatives play an important role, if nothing else, by their example of living out their vocations to the best of their ability. And for the young people, this means looking beyond the norm of society to determine what God is calling you to do with you life."
Father Christopher stepped down from the ornate lectern, and walked back to his chair, genuflecting before the Altar as he passed the Tabernacle.
Tommy had listened to every word that Father Christopher uttered. He wondered what God was calling him to do. He imagined himself as a priest for a moment. He imagined himself giving up his whole life to God's work, his mind, his body, and his soul. He shuddered at the thought of never being able to marry, have a family, or even have sex. Tommy couldn't imagine himself, at that moment, living the life he saw men like Father Christopher living. For Tommy there was too much sacrifice, too much to give up. The expectations were way, way too high.
Tommy put the thought out of his mind and stood for the Creed.
"We believe in one God," Father Christopher began.
"The Father the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth," the congregation responded."
Tommy recited, speaking softly and reflectively, "of all that is seen and unseen. We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ, the Son of God, eternally begotten of the Father; God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God; begotten, not made, one in Being with the Father. Through him all things were made. For us men, and for our salvation he came down from heaven."
Tommy bowed his head. "By the power of the Holy Spirit he was born of the Virgin Mary, and became man."
Raising his head again, seeing Father Christopher do the same, he said, "For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, suffered, died, and was buried. On the third day he rose again, in fulfillment of the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end."
Switching tracks, all continued, "We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son. With the Father and the Son he is worshipped and glorified. He has spoken through the Prophets. We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church. We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins. We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come."
Pausing, Tommy responded, "Amen," knowing in his heart that it had to be so.

CHAPTER SIX
Confessing to Greatness
"His care is to seek the Lord, his Maker, to petition the Most High, to open his lips in prayer, to ask pardon for his sins. Then, if it pleases the Lord Almighty, he will be filled with the spirit of understanding; he will pour forth his words of wisdom of what he has learned, and in prayer give thanks to the Lord." Sirach 39:6

With the residue of last Sunday's thoughts still running through Tommy's head, he was in turmoil about State, which was only two days away. It wasn't so much about running the biggest race of his life, it was that State seemed to take a back burner to Tommy's thoughts about God.
He had taken a short cut to school this morning. A Franciscan convent of nuns stood between his grandfather's house and the school, and Tommy was running late. The fence that bordered the property was old and green, and there were plenty of places Tommy could slip through, but he wasn't too particular. It was the first time Tommy had used the convent grounds as a shortcut, and he wondered why. Maybe, he thought, it was because it looked so imposing, the huge, four-story convent, and all the nuns cloistered, living apart from the turmoil of society, inside. Or maybe it was the first time because he felt a little guilty to be trespassing on the property of a group of people he respected so much.
Whatever the reason, after vaulting the fence, Tommy soon found himself walking among tombstones. They were old and covered with moss. Many had been vandalized sometime in the past, the crosses that had adorned their tops having been knocked off.
The grass wasn't as green as it was in the summer, but it wasn't dead yet either; in fact it was growing rather abundantly around the gravestones, and Tommy wondered when it had last been cut. The trees were in full autumn colors, with the maple trees that spotted the terrain making for a vista that was breathtaking.
So Tommy walked among the gravestones, in this beautiful, overgrown cemetery, reading them even though he knew the bell would ring any minute now. He read name after name. Old names, mostly Polish with notable "ski" or "ska" endings. There were some German names mixed in, or at least that's what Tommy theorized, not being much of an expert in languages.
The older stones, more mossy than others, were inscribed with the letters of another language. Tommy wasn't sure, but he thought that it could be Polish, since many of the nuns were Polish. The formula for what was inscribed was simple, with 'S,' then 'M,' then the last name. There was a date of birth and a date of death, and then a phrase in the strange language: "Prosi a Zdrowas Maria."
Tommy wasn't sure what to make of that sentence until his feet carried him toward some of the newer, less mossy gravestones. The formula was the same, only the language changed to a more readable English. Now the sentence on each stone simply read, "Asks for a Hail Mary."
Tommy stood still for a moment, and surveyed the scene. It was a very large graveyard. As many as two-hundred stones adorned the little, hidden area, bordered by hedges. All the stones were alike, little and white - though some were a little greener than white, depending on their proximity to the trees that lined the edges. They were just little boxes, with the front end angled toward the sky, all in straight, neat rows. In the middle of the graveyard stood a small building that looked like a chapel, made of old, crumbling brick, with a rusted metal roof, a cement cross topping it off. There was a little nook in front, above the doors, and in it was a statue of the Virgin Mary, cradling her son, Jesus, portrayed as just taken down from the cross.
Standing still, Tommy surveyed the scene again. He looked at those two-hundred little, white stones, all lined up in their neat, little rows, forgotten but to a select few. He saw more this time; he saw two-hundred women who had given their lives to Christ. He saw two-hundred women who had made a decision to serve Jesus through a religious vocation. He didn't see two-hundred wasted lives, but rather thought about Father Christopher's preaching about the joy of helping someone in need.
In fact, Tommy didn't see two-hundred lives that had ended, but instead recalled reading that "those who believe in him might not perish, but might have eternal life." Tommy saw those two-hundred women at that moment; he saw total dedication, the dedication Jesus Christ was talking about when he said that to follow him, a person needed to drop everything, and pick up his Cross; at the same time thinking of rectifying hopeless situations, and spreading faith where there was none. This, Tommy knew, was picking up one's Cross
It was at that moment that Tommy knew he could do it, not by himself, but with Christ's help. It was at that moment, standing in a cemetery, late for school for the first time in his life, that Tommy saw his future clearly.
And that was why Tommy was at church on a Thursday evening after a short, easy cross country practice, hoping his grandfather would keep his supper warm, and not worry too much about where he was.
St. Mary's had a Confession and Mass every evening, with Confessions starting at 4:30, and mass at five-fifteen. Not many people came, but then again, St. Mary's didn't have that many parishioners. The church was dimly lit by the late-day sun, peeking through the stained glass windows. Tommy was in line for Confession, a line that included no one but the person in the room with Father Christopher, and Tommy himself.
Tommy didn't have any mortal sins to confess, but he knew there were plenty of little sins he could get off his chest, seeing how he hadn't been to Confession since Easter. But on this day there was a pressing issue on Tommy's mind, one he knew he had to get off his chest.
The old lady walked out of the Confessional, face radiant with a smile, and it was Tommy's turn. He entered the room, treading softly, and closed the door behind himself. Father Christopher was waiting there, sitting in a chair; he indicated for Tommy to take the empty seat.
Tommy sat down and began, "Father, forgive me for I have sinned."
Father Christopher smiled patiently, and said, "Go ahead, Tommy."
Squirming uncomfortably, Tommy had no idea how to say what he wanted to say. Father Christopher sat quietly as Tommy tried to put into words the most difficult thing he had ever said. "Well," Tommy began, "it's not exactly a sin, but…"
"What is it, Tommy? You don't have to be afraid to tell me; I can't tell anyone what is said in here."
"I know, it's just that… I, I… I think God's calling me to be a priest."
"No," Father Christopher smiled, "that's not exactly a sin, not at all."
They both grinned.
"How long have you been thinking about this?"
"Well, actually it's only been a couple of weeks. Your homily last week really helped."
"That's good; it was supposed to. You understand, Tommy, that you can't just choose to be a priest; God will call you, give you a sign?"
"Yes, I know that."
"Okay. Have you told anyone else?"
"Not a soul."
"Why not?"
Tommy became a little uncomfortable again. He didn't know how he wanted to put how insecure he felt. He didn't know how to say that it was embarrassing for him, for a person in his position to have thoughts about becoming a priest. "I guess I'm not sure what other people will think of me."
"That's perfectly understandable; when I first felt I was being called, I was downright embarrassed to talk about it with anyone."
Tommy grinned in relief. "You, embarrassed to be a priest?" Tommy couldn't imagine Father Christopher being ashamed of being a priest.
"People change a lot. I told everybody, but not until I was ready to do so.'
"How'd they react?"
"At first they were a little shocked. They laughed, and told me that I wasn't the 'priestly' type - I had two girls fighting over me, trying to decide who would get to take me to the senior prom at the time."
Tommy laughed; he tried to imagine Father Christopher with high school girls fighting over him. Sure, Father Christopher wouldn't be seen by women as being bad-looking, but Tommy had never seen him without his collar. The picture of those girls arguing over Father Christopher was absurd.
"If there's something that scares them off quicker, though, I don't know what it is," Father Christopher reflected. "But I know it was worth it. I wouldn't be happy doing anything but what I'm doing right now."
Father Christopher looked at Tommy and asked, "Do you have any questions?"
"None that I can think of right now, except for the obvious: What happens next?"
"I'll have to write a letter to the vocation director for the diocese; his name is Father Perry, and he's a real nice guy. He takes care of all the stuff regarding religious vocations in the diocese."
"So will he contact me?"
"Yes, you'll get a letter from him, probably within a week."
Father Christopher switched tracks quickly, "Do you have any other sins," he put the emphasis on the word 'sins,' "to confess, Tommy?"
"Well, it's all over now, but I found out a little more about my parents awhile ago."
Father Christopher waited to hear more, knowing about the familial situation Tommy was in.
"Anyway, I found out that my grandfather never told me the whole truth about how they died. He told me they died in a car accident, but he never told me that my father was drunk, and driving down the road at around 75 miles per hour."
Tommy paused, feeling tears well up in him again, for the second time in this period of a few days. "I was yelling at my grandfather, but I know he didn't do anything wrong - he just wanted to protect me."
Continuing, Tommy said, "I can't really blame my father either; he was just really happy because he could provide for the family better. I wish he would have been more careful, but I can't blame him for being happy."
Hesitating just a moment, Tommy said, "Then I tried to blame God, but that didn't work out either. I picked up my Bible, and it's almost like it magically provided all the answers for me. I'm still not sure how it happened, but in an instant, when I tried to blame God, he became my closest friend. This doesn't mean I'm not angry any more, it's just that I don't seem to have a way to channel my anger."
Father Christopher smiled and said, "Tommy, your situation certainly is not a very easy one. I couldn't imagine what it would have been like for me if my parents had died when I was a kid. At the same time, that's the case for you, and there's nothing we can do about that.
You are very right in not blaming your grandfather, your parents, or God for what happened. Sure, it's true that your father was drunk; sure, it's true that your grandfather hid this from you; and God watched the whole thing happen. All the same, you are justified in not blaming anybody for what happened. Nobody is to blame.
I want to be sure that you don't blame yourself for what happened. You played no role in your parent's death, and whatever you do, don't try to find some thread, some little piece of evidence with which to blame yourself. Your parents are no longer living, but someday you'll be able to see them again. Be thankful for what God has given you, and work with it."
Father Christopher paused and stretched his neck, moving it from left to right. "As for you penance, I want you to pay an Our Father, remembering that you have a Father in Heaven, and a Hail Mary, keeping in mind all those who have gone before you. You may pray your Act of Contrition now, Tommy."
He wasn't sure if he remembered it, but what Tommy said, he said with the utmost sincerity: "Oh my God, I am sorry for my sins. In choosing to do bad, and failing to do good, I have sinned against you and your Church. I firmly intend, with the help of your grace, to change my heart, and sin no more."
Father Christopher solemnly extended his hands and said, "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace."
As Father Christopher continued, "I absolve you from you sins in the name of the Father , and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit," Both made the Sign of the Cross.
"Amen," Tommy said in relief.
Both Father Christopher and Tommy stood up. Shaking Tommy's hand, Father Christopher said, "The Lord has freed you from your sins. Go in peace; pray hard, and I'll be in touch."
"Thank you, Father."
Tommy walked out of the Confession room feeling lighter than he'd ever felt after a Confession in his life. He had done it! He was committed! The exuberance Tommy felt was impossible to put into words. Confessing what he thought God was telling him to do in the confessional to a priest took more off Tommy's chest than confessing sins ever had.
Tommy attended the five-fifteen Mass, and it was by far the most awesome celebration in which he had ever taken part, being the first time he actually offered himself up to God, placing in God's hands all his cares and worries.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Disclosing the Call
"Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?' 'Here I am,' I said; 'send me!'" Isaiah 6:8

It was the Friday morning after Tommy's "Confession," and the bus wasn't leaving until nine that morning. State cross country was in Wisconsin Rapids this year, a good distance away. There would be around 15 teams that made it to this point, qualifying from their sectional meets. Tommy was pumped for his race on Saturday.
At the same time Tommy was nervous. He was nervous because he had decided to tell everybody what he had told Father Christopher in that confessional.
Tommy knew that what he was feeling dealt with the rest of his life and he simply couldn't keep it to himself any longer. He knew that it would be an extremely tough thing to talk about on the way to State, but he also knew that he couldn't run in that race without sharing with everybody else the pressing issue on his mind. He knew that he couldn't run his best when he wasn't thinking about the race. Tommy wanted to give the race his all, and needed to be completely focused on the race, not on how he was going to tell everybody about his decision at a later date.
The first person to know besides Father Christopher would be Tommy's grandfather, of course.
Tommy stepped out of the shower, dripping wet, dried himself, and dressed quickly. He showered every morning; Tommy knew lots of people who showered after work or school, but he liked to start his day out feeling clean and ready to meet his challenges. That was how Tommy felt today, clean and ready to disclose a lot - but awfully nervous all the same.
Breakfast was almost always a bowl of cereal, sitting down with his grandfather, watching the seven o'clock news. Today Tommy fell right into the routine, sitting down next to his grandfather at his place across from him around the old, wooden table that had been in the family for generations. His grandfather was already eating, and Tommy got out the corn flakes, milk, and orange juice.
The TV was softly reflecting on the high price of gasoline in the background as Tommy prepared his bowl of cereal. He got himself a bowl, a cup, and a spoon, setting it all on the table. Shaking some flakes into his bowl from the box, Tommy began his revelation. "Grandpa, I've got something to tell you."
"What is it?" Tommy's grandfather asked, removing his eyes from the TV, and taking a swig of orange juice.
"I remember a long time ago that you told me that God will tell me what I'm here for if I listen to what he has to say."
The old man frowned, his creased face looking ancient. "I don't know; I might've told you that."
"Well, anyway, I think God is calling me to be a priest."
The old man raised his bristly eyebrows, but calmly chewed and swallowed his spoonful of Cheerios. "How do you know that, Tommy?"
Tommy leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes bright with the desire to explain how he felt. "It's not like God emerged from a cloud and talked with me, but it's a bunch of things that have been happening to me lately."
"Like what?"
"I don't exactly know how it started. It may have been finding out about how my parents died, strange as that may seem. I guess that's how I got to thinking about God, and thinking about God must have led to some sort of communication."
Tommy paused, trying to remember exactly how this communication solidified. "For example, I was walking through the convent's cemetery a few days ago, and…"
"You were on their grounds?"
"I needed to get to school in a hurry. Anyway, I was in the cemetery, and I saw the gravestones for all the nuns. I was just thinking to myself about all the dedication that they must have put into following everything God said, and into helping other people - and I knew that I could do the same."
"So you had a moment of clarity?"
"I guess you could put it that way. Just for a moment I knew what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life, and I knew that I could do it with God's help."
The old man pushed his dishes aside. "How do you know you're not being called to be a missionary, or something like that? Priests aren't that only ones who help people and carry out God's word."
It took Tommy a moment to respond. He hadn't given much thought to God specifically calling him to the priesthood, but Tommy answered with his heart. "It's probably Father Christopher. I see how he can reach people. I see him preach every Sunday, helping guide people in our parish, and I know how he is always there to talk to people when they need to talk."
Tommy paused again. There seemed to be something unexplainable in his call, something that was just between God and him. "…I don't think I can explain it completely. It's like what you called a 'moment of clarity,' it's the first thing that came to my mind, and nothing else has contested it."
Tommy's grandfather nodded. "I understand."
Tommy remembered last week's homily. "I guess Father Christopher's homily last week didn't hurt either."
"Did he give the homily about the priest shortage at the eight o'clock mass also?"
"Yes, he did. Hearing him talk about all the young men who ignore God's call to the priesthood reached me, and I thought about myself as being a priest, even though I didn't feel strong enough to do anything about it at that point. It wasn't until a few days ago that I could even allow myself to think about it clearly."
Setting both hands firmly on the table, the old man addressed Tommy, "I want to make sure you put thought into this. If you just blindly go forward, you could end up doing the wrong thing. Make sure you put a lot of thought into this 'discernment.' What you decide to do with your life is something you have to do yourself. If this isn't what God wants you to do, you could end up being one unhappy priest."
Tommy's grandfather smiled, and put an arm around him. "You know, I've always dreamed that someday someone in my family would be a priest, though. All I've got to say is, think it through; I'm behind you, no matter what you decide to do."
Tommy grinned at his grandfather, "Thanks, Grandpa."
The old man paused, "You leave for State today, don't you?"
"Yeah, the bus pulls out at nine. Are you coming this year?"
"I don't know. It depends on whether this nice weather holds up. Is it in Wisconsin Rapids again?"
Tommy nodded.
"I don't want to drive so far in the rain. This body isn't what it used to be, and I'm not exactly feeling my best," Tommy's grandfather said as he looked forlornly at his slight, frail frame in the guided mirror that hung opposite from the painting of the Last Supper.
"I hope you can make it."
"Well, good luck if I don't."
"Thanks, I gotta go pack now."
Tommy dashed up the stairs to his room to get ready. He was phenomenally happy. He had done it! He had told his grandfather what was on his mind, and his grandfather was completely okay with it.
Packing was a mere formality; Tommy had gotten everything important ready the night before, and it was a simple matter of putting it all into a duffel bag, and brushing his teeth so he could pack his toothbrush. In went the uniform, extra underclothes, t-shirts, running sweats, and his racing flats. He paused, remembering to pack his portable CD player, and his "Rocky" soundtrack - nothing got him pumped up for a race more that Rocky.
Yelling good-bye to his grandfather as he went, Tommy was out the back door and on his bike for the short ride to school, slinging his duffel bag over his right shoulder.
Tommy was thinking about how he would tell his teammates about his decision. He realized how easy it had been to tell someone as close as his grandfather about something so personal, but his teammates were a totally different story; he had absolutely no idea how they would react to what he planned to tell them.
Tommy was right on time, as opposed to several of his teammates, including Matthew. Coach was joking about how they would have to win State without their star performer when Matthew rolled in with his battered and rusted Chevrolet pickup.
It was customary for the team to have a meeting before they left for big meets, and all the runners filed into the locker room for Coach's pep talk. Everybody was just as excited as Tommy. Matthew and Tommy sat next to each other, near their lockers, as they waited for Coach to begin.
Using his deep, loud voice that seemed out of place in his small, spry body, Coach began. "Everybody be quiet now," he barked with authority.
The noise level in the room dropped instantaneously.
"Tomorrow all of you will have the opportunity of a lifetime. It isn't every day that a team wins a State Championship, and I know this team has a very good shot at the title. Each and every one of you plays a vital role."
Indicating his head toward Matthew, Coach continued, "Matthew is our number one runner and our leader - but he can't do it alone. Even if he wins the individual title, he needs the rest of you to back him up. This is a team sport. The position of every runner is vital. The farther back you run as a member of the team, the easier it is to drop places and give the team a better score.
You all know your place on the team, and you all know where you have to finish if you want to win State. It is up to you to focus yourselves tonight. That means eating right, and getting to bed at a reasonable hour tonight."
It was Stephen who asked the tantalizing question that was left hanging, "And how late is reasonable?"
"Ten-thirty at the latest." Coach folded his arms, and asked, "Does anybody else have anything they want to add?"
Matthew stood up. "Yeah, I guess I'd better say something. All you guys know how hard we've worked all year…"
"You've got that right," Ollie chimed in before Stephen jabbed him in the ribs and told him to be quiet.
Matthew continued, "What I'm trying to say is that all of us have put a lot of work into this season, and it's time to get something out of it. We're going to remember this race for the rest of our lives; let's make it something worth remembering, but at the same time let's do it for us, right now!"
"Yeah's" were voiced all around, as soon as Ollie started clapping, some of the other runners, starting with Jamie, took up the chorus, and soon the whole locker room resounded.
"I've got something more to add," Matthew said, holding up his hands for silence, "running has to be all you guys have on your mind. It will be the most important thing in your lives from the time you get on that bus until the race is over. Make sure that's all you guys think, eat, and sleep."
Matthew sat down, and Coach asked, "Is there anyone else that wants to say something?"
Tommy slowly stood up.
"Yeah, Tommy!" someone in the back shouted.
Though he was about to say shut up, for some reason Tommy stayed silent. This silence, something that exuded from his very demeanor, caused the room to become quiet far more effectively that any demand for silence ever could have. "I've got something I want you all to know before we race tomorrow. If you noticed that something's been bothering me lately, then you'll be satisfied to know what it is. I recently made a decision to consider becoming a priest."
The looks on his teammates faces weren't the incredulous looks Tommy had imagined, but merely looks of puzzlement and curiosity.
"I don't think I could race well tomorrow if I kept this to myself, so I figured there is no better time to tell all of you than right now."
As Tommy sat back down, Matthew nudged him, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Matt, it's only been the last few days that it has been clear to me."
Shaking his head in amazement, Matthew said, "That's a really big decision; I hope you're ready to make it."
Closing his locker on the way out, Tommy responded, "I know it is, and a lot of thought is going into it right now."
Breaking in, Stephen told Tommy, "You couldn't be priest. You're just not the type. I couldn't see you going around all the time with those black clothes - and that collar's gotta be itchy too."
"Well, there's a lot more to it than clothes…"
"Hey," Ollie said, jumping into the conversation, "I guess that means that you can't help us pick out the hottest girl in the girls race."
Matthew cracked up, and Stephen and Jamie joined him, doubled up in laughter. Shaking his head, Tommy lit up with a wry smile. He knew that they still accepted him, decision and all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Trial of Perseverance
"Let him put his mouth to the dust; there may yet be hope. Let him offer his cheek to be struck, let him be filled with disgrace. For the Lord's rejection does not last forever; though he punishes, he takes pity, in the abundance of his mercies; he has no joy in afflicting or grieving the sons of men." Lamentations 3:29-32

Saturday was the perfect day for a race. The weather was warm, but not too warm. It wasn't muggy from the recent showers, but the air had just a hint of humidity. The most important aspect of the weather, the wind, wasn't even present. There wasn't so much as the slightest hint of a breeze. All in all, a beautiful day for giving one's all.
The Wisconsin Rapids course was somewhat challenging. The Port Christopher team was finishing warm-ups, in which they jogged most of the course to get a taste of what the race would be like, as well as to loosen their muscles. Tommy was impressed and awed. The race would start on a flat plain, nothing but short, cropped grass. It would be just a short while before the course turned, and went through the trees. Away from most of the spectators, the course became more challenging, with steep dips and spots of mud, which were very cold and slippery at the end of October.
Not that getting out of the woods would be much better, Tommy thought, looking behind himself from the starting line where the team was stretching. Directly in his line of vision, slightly obscured by a line of trees, was a hill which would have to be climbed twice. It wasn't necessarily the steepness of the hill, it was rather the length, being a good 200 meters long, and the placement of both climbs, toward the end of the race. Going uphill is not fun, thought Tommy, and that's going to be quite a climb after two miles of running.
It did get easier after the hill. A steady cruise through a flat loop, all the way to the finish, which was located close to the right of where the runners would start.
Scanning the spectators who were beginning to line the orange fence that kept them separated from the runners, Tommy spotted his grandfather, standing by himself next to a large maple tree in full fall colors. Waving, Tommy helped his grandfather locate where he was, then turned back to the important business of stretching.
The team looked spiffy in their orange and black warm-ups, with "Port Christopher Tigers Cross Country" emblazoned on the backs. But even the team's spiffiness couldn't disguise their obvious nervousness. Matthew was stretching more than he had ever stretched in his life. Tommy was counting, and Matthew had already stretched his hamstrings four times, and there was still plenty of time left before the race. Even Ollie was stretching today, and he never stretched. The team was alone by its box, and all the coaches were at the pre-race meeting.
The crowd was starting to get noisy as more and more fans and parents piled into the park. Tommy smiled as he heard "Eye of the Tiger" blaring over the loudspeaker system; there was no reason for him to bring his Rocky CD after all.
Finishing his stretching, Tommy jogged over to his grandfather. "Nice of you to make it," Tommy said, smiling.
"This weather couldn't hold me back," his grandfather said, grinning back. "How soon do you race?"
"I'd say we have a little over twenty minutes now."
"Good luck, Tommy. Run hard." His grandfather gripped Tommy's hand firmly.
"Thanks, I'll see you at the finish line." Tommy waved good-bye to his grandfather as he trotted back over to his team.
Coach was back from his meeting, and was talking strategy when Tommy got there. "Nice of you to join us, Tommy," he said. Tommy got into the huddle and listened.
"Amherst High School is going to be our closest competitor. Look to your right," Coach commanded.
Tommy looked, and to their right, about 25 feet away was Amherst, having a similar meeting.
"You all match up pretty closely. Matthew, they don't have anyone that is as good as you."
Matthew nodded.
"They make up for that, though, by having a strong first two who run together. That means that you two," Coach pointed to Jamie and Zeb, "will run with their first two runners. Just look for the blue and white, and stick with them." Coach pointed out the two Amherst runners to Jamie and Zeb, while their coach seemed to be doing the exact
same thing for those runners.
"The next two are also very good, and Ollie, it's your job to stick with them."
Ollie nodded in acknowledgement.
Coach turned his gaze to Stephen and Tommy. "Their fifth runner is their downfall. From what I can gather, he's not going to run faster that 18:20. I don't want either of you running with him. Stay with Ollie. Can you do that?"
Tommy spoke up first, "Coach, this is State, and we'll do anything you tell us to do."
"Coach's pet," Stephen groaned.
The loudspeaker started to squeal. "Ten minutes until the division three race," came the scratchy voice.
"Let's group up," Tommy said, beckoning everybody to him. Tommy held his right hand out, palm extended, and Matthew placed his right hand on top of it. Everybody joined in, all placing their hands in the middle.
Tommy broke the tense silence. "This is a really big race, you guys, let's go out there and burn up the course."
"Yeah's" were voiced.
"Tommy, why don't you lead us in a prayer?" Ollie asked.
"Okay, I'll do that." Tommy paused, closed his eyes, and searched for the right words. "Lord, help us today; make our feet swift, our minds and hearts strong. Only you know how much we want to win this race, how much it would mean to us. Give us the strength to do our best. Let us 'run so as to win.'"
Tommy started, "Our Father," Matthew joined, and soon everybody was praying, "who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come; thy Will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
"Amen," was the battle cry that was heard at the starting line.
The group broke up. Tommy hit Matthew lightly on the shoulder. "Good luck man; give it your all."
"Thanks," Matthew said, though his smile looked nervous.
Seeing this, Tommy continued, "Relax, this is like any other race. Just go out there and win it."
"Sure, whatever." Matthew turned to do a stride and loosen his tensing muscles.
Tommy turned away, and got to business, wishing everybody on the team luck.
"One minute to go before the boys division three race," the scratchy voice broke in again.
Tommy strode out once more, feeling the sprint loosen his muscles, then turned back and jogged to the starting line. The sight was awesome. Over 130 runners in a vast sea of colors, all getting ready to run, lined up in their boxes, awaiting the crack of the pistol.
Tommy joined them, one of seven runners from Port Christopher in a tiny starting box, etched out with white paint in the grass. As the fifth runner, he started behind Matthew, Jamie, and Zeb, between Ollie and Stephen. All were toeing the line nervously, jumping lightly to keep warm.
"Ten seconds," yelled the ref from his vantage point in a metal contraption that lifted him ten feet in the air, visible to all the runners. "Nine, eight, seven, six, five…"
The silence hung in the air. Those seconds before the crack of the pistol lasted longer that the hours Tommy had spent training. He waited, body tense.
"CRACK!" The shot sounded loud, and it was with the relief of the tension of 130 runners, and that of over three-thousand parents and spectators that the race was underway.
The beginning was fast. The short-cropped turf made for fast times, and before he knew it, Tommy was turning into the trees, not even short of breath.
It was here that the race really began. Tommy was far from the lead, but he could see the telltale orange and black of Port Christopher in the front. He counted the orange and black three more times before his eyes rested upon the uniform of Stephen, and the blue and white of the Amherst runner directly in front of him.
Tommy was sure that the pace was beginning to slacken a little, though it didn't feel like it. His breath was coming in shorter gasps now, and his legs began to feel the effects of the pace. He could feel his arms, aching just slightly as they pumped back and forth. Sweat stung his eyes, and Tommy wiped it away with a quick sweep of his arm.
He focused on Stephen, fixing his eyes on the middle of his back, ignoring the little inclines that were beginning to sap at his strength. The mile marker was here already. Tommy passed it, hearing the timer call off 5:22. Tommy wasn't concerned with his time, he was concerned with staying up by Stephen and the Amherst runner.
Stephen was beginning to slip. Tommy could hear him gasp for breath, and saw him lose his position abreast the Amherst runner to another runner, tall, with a yellow uniform, who had fallen back from the front of the pack. Tommy knew he had to do something. They couldn't lose the runner from Amherst. Summoning his reserves, Tommy gasped, "Let's go, Steve," and picked up the pace, passing Stephen, and assuming a position neck to neck with the Amherst runner. Tommy could hear Stephen gasping, but at least he was keeping up.
The woods were thinner now, and suddenly they were free. The crowd cheered as it caught sight of the first pack of runners exiting the trees, starting their loop that was out in the open. Tommy saw his grandfather cheering, through the sweat that blinded him before he turned his attention back to the Amherst runner.
It was then that he caught sight of the hill they would have to climb. It looked much bigger than it had earlier. Summoning reserves, he managed to make it to the top the first time, then turned, coasting, and started the loop that would take him back to the hill for a second time around.
The hill came far too quickly, and Tommy knew the race was won or lost by how he climbed this hill. It was at that moment that Tommy became more focused on his running than he ever was before. Even with this intense focus, Tommy's mind wandered to God. Funny of you to show up now, Tommy thought; his legs screamed as he forced them faster and faster. What a funny place to find God! All the same, just thinking of the Almighty, Tommy couldn't bring himself to call it praying, seemed to strengthen him. His legs churned as he sped past the Amherst runner, and the adrenaline pounded in his head. It seemed an eternal moment of intense effort, turned into slow motion, as he reached the summit.
The moment was broken as quickly as it began. Tommy sped back down the hill. Adrenaline still pounding, he passed runner after runner. The course ran along the orange fence now, and Tommy sped by the screaming parents and spectators, and clicking cameras. The line was in sight, around a bend, and Tommy called up his reserves, God popping into his mind again. With arms pumping wildly, he passed runner after runner.
And it was over.
Just like that, all the life in Tommy drained out of him. He sank to the ground, gasping for breath. Dimly he heard people asking if he was all right, and a person ordering a medic to come over. He felt himself dragged to his feet, and helped to a table where he was laid down. Through a fog, he heard someone telling him to breathe deep, and he could see the blurry shape of his grandfather rushing toward the table. Someone splashed water on his face, and it worked like magic.
With a deep breath, Tommy sat up, and smiled at his grandfather, who looked extremely worried. "I'm fine, I just need a minute to rest."
"Here, take this." His grandfather handed him a cup of water, which Tommy tried to drink, but coughed it back up.
"Wow," he said hoarsely, as Ollie came to the table. "Did we win?"
"I'm sure of it," Ollie said. "Everybody beat their runner. You were 32nd.
"Do you know what my time was?"
Tommy's grandfather tapped him on the shoulder, and showed him his watch. It read 17:59.
"Wow!" Tommy exclaimed. "Where's Matthew?"
Ollie shifted uncomfortably. "He's over there," he said, pointing to a dejected figure, crouched under the large maple, sipping from his water bottle.
Tommy was puzzled. "Didn't he win?"
"No," Ollie said softly, "he was outkicked by that good runner from Marshfield."
"I have to go talk to him." Tommy stood up, and hobbled over to Matthew. "Matt, are you okay?" he asked, putting his right hand on Matthew's shoulder.
Matthew looked up. There were tears in his eyes. "Leave me alone, okay," he said in a pained voice.
"Matt, we can talk about it…"
"Just leave me alone!" Matthew shouted, and walked away, a dejected figure, all the confidence of his person drained.

ON TO THE MEDIALOGUE