It was a busy Saturday night at Gooley’s, which was located at the corner of Richmond Terrace and Richmond Avenue in Port Richmond. Patrons mingled in the hazy, dimly lit bowling alley, moving from the tiny bar to the well-worn alleys in a desultory fashion. Tom understood that most people went there to socialize and drink, rather than to engage in some serious bowling. Nevertheless, Tom and Martha played three intense games of bowling, in which the parochial school teacher topped the skinny science teacher by narrow margins. The two young people bantered and joked, forgetting at least for the night their differences about Amon and his doings in Mariners Harbor. Martha wore a snug sweater and tight jeans, which showed off her ample physical assets.
Upon the completion of their bowling games, Tom suggested a drive to their secluded haunt on South Avenue on the western end of the Island. Martha readily agreed, with a mysterious grin on her face. Arriving at the tree-lined clearing, which was a hundred feet off the main road, Tom removed Martha’s pink sweater, revealing her bulging lacy brassiere. The St. Mary’s teacher did the same thing for her longtime boyfriend. As their blood pressure surged, their breathing quickened, and their bodies heated up—despite the chilly forty-degree temperature outside.
Just before consummating their love, as was their Saturday night custom, Martha signaled Tom to hold his fire.
Panting and aching with desire, Tom pulled back. “What? Is there something wrong?”
“I’m not using any contraceptives,” she said abruptly.
“Well, I’ll put something on,” he replied, reaching for the glove compartment.
“No. I don’t want to take that chance anymore. Especially when there’s no commitment on your part. I’m just an easy lay to you.”
“Hey! I’ve never thought about you in that way,” Tom replied, becoming aggravated at the unusual turn in events.
“Sex without a real commitment is wrong,” she said.
“Sex without love is wrong. I love you, Martha. You know that.”
“I don’t know what to think about you or our relationship. We’re at a crossroads right now, and where we go from this point on is up to you,” she said, putting her sweater on and smoothing over her hair.
Tom backed up his old gray Pontiac and drove toward Martha’s house, off Morningstar Road. To make matters worse, the heater in his car had stopped working, and the radio emitted more static than music. There was a stony silence as both of them dwelled on bleak thoughts about a relationship that appeared to be heading nowhere.
A few days later, Tom called Martha to try to patch things up. The prospect of a breakup frightened him, and he was desperate to avoid what he viewed as a calamity. When Joanie moved to Indiana, he spent his college years and his first two years of teaching alone, accept for the occasional date that left him emotionally and physically unfulfilled.
After initial awkward preliminaries, Tom asked Martha out for the upcoming Saturday night. After a long pause, Martha said that both of them needed a “break in the relationship … a sabbatical of sorts.”
“Sabbaticals are given to teachers after seven years, not to boyfriends who have been true and loyal,” Tom replied.
“You had a different upbringing than I had, Tom. All that stuff with your foster parents and your dad’s heavy drinking. What’s more, your real parents weren’t even married,” Martha commented.
“I’m not against marriage. It’s just that I’m not quite ready for it. After all, I’m only twenty-four years old, working on my master’s degree and helping my mom with her household expenses. Not to mention my helping Amon with his rooming house on Simonson Avenue.”
“Of course. You have plenty of time for everybody except for me. I feel lucky that you can spare a Saturday night for me,” she complained.
“So when am I going to see you?” Tom asked, growing nervous.
“I’ll be around. Unfortunately, we’re from the same neck of the woods,” she said coolly.
Hanging up the phone, Tom remembered a prayer he had heard years ago in the Methodist Church in Port Richmond: “Lord forgive me for not doing what I should have done, and for doing what I shouldn’t have done.”