polluting north carolina

"We're going to North Carolina."

Rick walked into my dorm room and hopped up on the bed as I sat by the computer actually working on homework. Rick never really worked on homework. He preferred to wander around the campus, spend money he didn't have and make plans that involved me having to go places I didn't want to go on the weekends. One thing you had to say about Rick back then: he had a full life.

"We're doing what?"

"We're going to North Carolina. On a mission trip. This weekend."

Aaaah man . . . I mean, I love the lost and all, but I had a paper to write and about 1200 pages of dry, dusty theology to read. I didn't want to go to North Carolina on a mission trip. So I cleared my throat and announced to Rick that, no, I wouldn't be going. I'd be staying here and having a nice quiet weekend getting all my homework and reading caught up and possibly, taking a long nap on Sunday after (or during) the Lions' game (which was actually airing on a viewable channel that week). Nope. I had too much going on to spend a weekend away. I was steadfast and resolute. I was really kind of proud of myself for being so unshakable.

Less than 24 hours later I was sitting in Rick's station wagon with my forehead pressed sadly against the passenger window. I watched the world rush by in a blue-green blur as we motored out of Kentucky and made our way to North Carolina.

Rick was giddy on the drive, talking and telling stories and just basically living it up. I was bitter and angry. Which is a perfect mood for a mission trip. See, Rick was happy because this little trip was a requirement for one of his classes and with me there, it would be more fun for him. Even with me in a bitter, foul mood, I was more fun to hang around than the other people in his class (at least according to Rick). By bullying me into going, he didn't have to share a room with people he didn't like. He was happy and he whistled and sang along with every song on the radio.

I sat in silence and prayed. I prayed that he would choke on his own spit before we got too far away from campus for me to be able to hitch-hike back after helping the paramedics load his corpse into the ambulance.

Well, unlikely as it seemed, I eventually came out of my dark mood and resigned myself to the mission trip and the role I was to play. (I was supposed to play guitar and supply music for the kids during the revival-type meetings happening for the adults.) I wasn't very good with kids back then, but I figured I could fake it for a couple nights.

So, all that to say, by the time we pulled into the driveway of the family that was going to host us for the weekend, I was having a moderately good time.

Now, I'm not going to spend the time here talking about the revival meetings or how it went for me playing guitar for the kids. I'm not going to talk about that because it's not interesting. It went just exactly as you might imagine it would.

What I do want to talk about is our last night at the house with our host family. Now, the host family--the Sturtzell's--were very friendly, very generous hosts. Martin Sturtzell and his wife Emily were older than us--in their early 40's--but their kids were quite young--twin 9 year old boys and an 11 year old daughter. As I said, they were kind and very accomodating, doing everything possible to make these two strangers feel comfortable in their home. Rick was given their sons' room and I was given their daughter's room. The kids set up a tent in the lower level and were camping out down there.

They were fun to talk to and that last night, they really opened up. See, that night, there happened to be a James Bond marathon on tv. Back then, I wasn't that familiar with James Bond. I watched one or two of the movies but that was enough for me and I turned in for the night. Rick and Martin however, turned out to be Bond fanatics. They sat up late into the night watching movie after movie. Eventually though, Martin got tired and finally went to bed, leaving Rick alone in the living room sometime around 1:00 am.

The next morning, Rick stormed my room and woke me up. His eyes were huge and he was all upset. He kept saying over and over "I can't face them again . . . I can't face them . . . I can't face HER--ever again . . . ." And then he'd break down into uncontrollable, incomprehensible mumblings as he buried his face in his hands.

"What are you talking about? What happened?" I was trying to figure out why he was so upset.

"Ohhhhhh! It was horrible. HORRIBLE!" Rick buried his face in his hands again and I was starting to get uncomfortable. I thought back on the night before, trying to imagine what could have happened. Now, I knew he had stayed up late and that, coupled with the way he was carrying on made me wonder if perhaps . . . if maybe . . . no, it couldn't be. Or could it? Could Rick have possibly wandered into some room he shouldn't have and . . . could he have seen something he shouldn't have. Something . . . well, something between a man and a wife? A beautiful thing . . . if you're the man or the wife . . . but a hideous thing if you're somebody else. You know what I'm getting at right? Could Rick have walked in on . . . that?

Well, before I could imagine too many terrible scenarios, Rick let me in on what happened.

"Ohhh," he moaned pathetically, "We were all watching the movie and then you went to bed. Martin stayed up for a while and then he went to bed. That left me all alone in the living room." He looked at me with big, pleading eyes. "All alone," he repeated, wringing his little hands and cringing.

Sweat was forming on his forehead and he shifted from foot to foot. Then he quickly took a step toward the door, whipped it open and peered into the hallway. Convinced nobody was out there listening (what had happened?!!), he closed the door and moved close so he could whisper the rest of the story.

"I was all alone in the living room watching the movie and . . . well, it happened."

"What happened?" This was like an Easter Egg hunt only less fun.

"Well, you know . . . . You know what we had for dinner last night--salad--and you know what lettuce does to my system."

Oh, Lord. Yes, I knew what lettuce did to his system.

"Well, it happened last night and my stomach was . . . and all I could think to do . . . well, I did it."

"You did . . . ." It was more a statement than a question. I was starting to understand this whole thing, but I was still a little confused. Rick was never really very shy about his bodily functions before--and while I didn't share his willingness to boldly make himself feel better whenever and wherever he was, I was still having a hard time understanding why he was so embarrassed after doing this thing all alone in the living room.

"Yes, I did it. Over and over and over. Horrible. Horrible. Horrible. It was the worst ever, Dan. The WORST."

Well that's saying something because I'd known Rick to have a number of what I thought were bad episodes. If this was admittedly the "worst ever" it was truly bad indeed.

"Over and over and over I did it as I lay on the couch watching 'Live and Let Die.' Finally, it was time for bed and I stood up to grab the remote. As I reached for it, it fell off the end table and landed on the floor. I stretched and yawned" (he demonstrated everything) "and did it again. Then I bent over and did it again two more times."

"While you were bent over?"

"Yes."

"Rick, that's wrong--even for you . . . you know that right?"

"That's not the worst of it." His eyes were big and his face was red. "I grabbed the remote, switched off the tv and did it one or two more times and then I reached for the light." He stopped and buried his face in his hands once more.

"Yes?" I prodded him. "What's the worst of it?"

"Ohhhhhh," he was in physical pain. "As I reached for the light, a voice came out of the kitchen."

"A voice?"

"Emily's."

"Oh."

"She said, 'Why don't you leave that on. I'm going to be working here for a few more minutes yet.'"

"Oh, no."

"Yes! She'd been there the whole time! The whole time--just 10 feet away while I . . . while I . . . while I . . . " He shrieked in a little girl voice and bounced up and down on his tiptoes. As he bounced he did his thing again--the lettuce was still working.