A Soldier Saved
“HEY, PROF, HEADS UP!” At the shouted warning, Dr. Angela Simmons hurried toward the steps in front of Sawgrass University’s administration building. She brushed a bead of sweat off her forehead as she watched a group of rambunctious kids trot to their next target. The eternal game that raged in the center of campus, no matter how many students had already left for the summer, was similar to golf, but Frisbees hurled at a high rate of speed replaced dimpled golf balls.
Benches, lampposts, the hydrant near the corner of campus...those were the targets, and pedestrians were the hazards. At some point, the university would have to put in a dedicated course, but the lack of official equipment didn’t slow down the game.
Freshman boys were enthusiastic about it. And loud.
Even at the end of May, when the heat should encourage more indoor games.
This sidewalk, the shadiest spot on campus, was always littered with kids in flip-flops, and the Monday before the first summer term started was no exception.
Since she’d fallen in deep, deep love with her job and the kids who came through her classes, Angela was happy there were plenty of students milling around the building that housed both the registrar and the campus bookstore.
Did she sometimes wish for a helmet for her own protection as she crossed from her parking spot to her office? Yes. But this building, the wide, tree-lined walkway leading up to it, and her beautiful office inside had convinced her Sawgrass University could be home.
“Play on, gentlemen,” she called as she trotted up the low, flat steps leading to the building that was all angles and glass. Instead of brick and ivy and academic architecture, Sawgrass University’s planners had gone all in on the mid-twentieth-century concepts of how the future would be built.
It had taken some adjustment, but Angela had learned to appreciate the clean lines. The overwhelming white surfaces and the glint of sunshine blazing across the glass in the early afternoon could still stop her in her tracks.
Angela covered her eyes as she took the last steps and watched an older woman swing open the door and make the “hurry up” motion to the guy following slowly behind her. He did not walk faster.
“It’s good advice to hurry,” Angela said. “You never know when a stray Frisbee is aimed straight at whatever you’re standing next to.” She turned to encourage the man and stopped at his ferocious glare. It lasted only a second before all expression bleached from his face. Deep lines around his lips suggested pain or fatigue.
“Right. Sorry.” He motioned to the older woman ahead of him and then waited patiently for Angela to follow her. Uncertain as to what she’d done to earn the hostile look, Angela hurried through the door and paused as the woman held out her hand.
“I was wondering...” Her voice was overly cheerful, but she turned a distinctly cold shoulder to the man stepping through the door behind them. When he braced an arm on the wall, Angela wondered if she should offer him a seat. “Could you give us directions to the registrar’s office? My son needs to register for classes for the summer term. This stifling heat and that trek across campus have worn me out.”
Angela would have bet all her money that the son was the one struggling. But she was happy to help. She pointed down the hallway and then noticed the scowl was back. Since he was pushing forty, she was certain she understood the source of some of the anger.
Her own daughter was sixteen and she’d insist her parents never follow her to school if she could get away with it. Since someone had to pay Greer’s tuition, her ex still managed to tag along.
Even through the door that had closed behind them, Angela heard muffled shouts. The guys throwing the Frisbee had done something worth celebrating. It didn’t take much.
“That’s what I meant about hurrying. Disc golf gets pretty cutthroat around here. You don’t want to be a casualty of a Frisbee to the head.” Angela expected agreement or some kind of acknowledgment, but the woman gave her son a worried frown. He carefully straightened but did not speak.
“Directions?” his mother reminded them all, her eyebrows raised. “He needs to sign up before the office closes for the day.” Did she regret asking for directions or the entire Sawgrass visit? Since her son had edged back toward the door and appeared ready to forget the whole thing, Mom needed to keep things moving.
Angela had been through snippy rants delivered by her own daughter, usually after embarrassing her at school, so she was sympathetic. The woman’s son was struggling after the walk. He needed to sit down somewhere soon.
“Sure. You’ll follow this hallway. About halfway down, another hall turns off to the right. Go all the way to the end. It’s not too far. Someone there will help you get your classes set up.” Angela shifted the strap of her briefcase on her shoulder. Should she offer to call someone to help them? “Welcome to Sawgrass. I hope you’ll love it here.”
The woman waved a hand. “Tell that to him. He’s convinced I’m torturing him. All I want him to do is take some accounting classes, do something safe for a while, you know?”
Safe? Her word choice stood out. Angela wasn’t sure where all the tension between the two of them was coming from, but this guy? He was no accountant. His clothes were all right. Pressed khakis and a button-down were solid accounting wear, but his expression, the careful stare, even his too-long hair added up to rugged or even rough. Not safe. He agreed. The grimace was a big hint.
Copyright © 2020 by Cheryl Harper