Nursing a sore knee and recuperating from non-stop visits from relatives each of the two previous weekends, he rested on the couch reading a novella by Jim Harrison about a woman who runs away from her husband and recalls events in her life, many very painful.

Always easily influenced by what he is reading at any given moment, he, too, began to recall events in his life allowing incidents to randomly enter and leave his thoughts. True to form, some of the thoughts were painful.

One recollection was of a Christmas party during his second year of seminary. Four couple friends had gathered at the apartment of one of the couples. He had just read a touching, short story about Christmas and thought perhaps he could read it at the party.

It was back in the day and all the seminary students were young men straight out of college. By the second year the other men at the party had sufficiently impressed the faculty so that they were known as the “Brain-trust Trinity” of the class. He wasn’t included in that designation, but he tried to hold his own. After snacks and eggnog, he asked if he might read the story that had impressed him so much.

Everyone thought that would be a good idea. And so he read and read and read. He became aware that the story, which just flew by when he read it to himself, was significantly longer in narration. When he finished, the host said smugly and sarcastically, “My, that was a fine story, touching, even if it took up the bulk of the time we have together this fine evening. Merry Christmas, everyone, or did the story keep us here till New Years?” Everyone laughed and he forced a smile.

The Trinity stayed for the third year and graduation because the faculty decided they didn’t need an internship and they all had graduate school plans. The faculty decided he needed a year’s internship to mature and perhaps learn how to write a coherent paper for church history, the professor of church history lightly quipped one day when handing back papers.

The professor always handed back papers in the order of best grade first and so on down. The Trinity always got the first three, changing places between first, second and third regularly. His was usually the last paper to be handed out.

The professor, who always addressed the students as simply Mr. said, “Well, Mr., Then there is yours. Once again you have the worst paper in the class. You know when I first met you I thought you were going to be an outstanding student. Indeed, you are verbally gifted. Turns out you are a con. Too bad your verbal skills don’t translate to the written word. Indeed, you will have a whole year away to practice. And, indeed, I hope you do.”
He didn’t dare look at any of the other students but could feel his face flush once again.

The professor liked the word “indeed.”

He looked back at the novella hoping that the runaway wife had some good memories. He
really needed some himself.

Actually, just then a good one did appear. When he returned to seminary for his last year he actually did quite well academically impressing the faculty, especially the church history professor — indeed, that one. He didn’t think he had changed all that much, but what he did know was that the Brain-trust Trinity had graduated, thank God, and the competition might not have been quite so stiff.

Decades later he heard that the fellow who had made the sarcastic crack at the Christmas party had been widowed and had become a recluse hiding away all alone in retirement having alienated his own children.

Having been widowed himself, he never would have wished that on his worst enemy let alone a one-time, marginal friend and his heart did go out to the man, but he took devilish pride in not having become a hermit and is glad his kids still call and occasionally visit from distant places, thus contributing to the exhaustion he was experiencing in that very moment.