Right on the Cheek

When we were at Central College, Anne introduced me to racquetball.  She had been playing for a while, so she had fun teaching a novice (and a male who wasn't all that coordinated).  After a few practices, she suggested we play a game.  I served and then moved into playing position.  I wasn't quite sure of racquetball court etiquette, and I moved directly into the line of fire.  I also had no idea I was playing with one of the more competitive people on the planet.

She aimed carefully and placed that hard rubber ball directly on my right butt cheek.  I stood up, rubbed the spot in surprise and turned around, expecting some sort of apology.  She took the ball, bounced it a couple of times and said, "If you'd move your butt, it wouldn't get hit.  My serve."  Game on.

As I think back, that was perhaps the first moment I thought that I might love Anne.  This is so much of who she was.  Get on with it.  If you can do something, don't just stand there.  If you don't move, don't be surprised if you end up getting hit.  She was a doer and she brought that out in me as well.

That memory helps me as I move from crisis and chaos mode into whatever "normal" will be.  She won't be planning our social calendar.  She won't be the social buffer for me when I'm emotionally drained.  She will expect me move to move my butt or I might get hit.

So I'm making plans, doing things we had hoped we might do, doing things that I can do now in my new situation.  Indeed, dear heart, doing is better than not doing.  But I can still feel the spot where you smacked me for my own edification.