heâs given me a light load. After all, I guess this is a simple exercise for business-types. But for an artistic personality, this is asking the world. Now, if Iâd had fifteen words to pick, Iâd be fine. But narrowing my lifeâs passion down to three words is excruciating. Iâve been at this for three days and that sheet is still blank. I start back at work tomorrow and if I keep this up Iâll be spouting adjectives while I hand customers their floral arrangements. Can you imagine what Nancy will do if I suddenly blurt out addictive while handing someone their Boston fern?
Â
By Wednesday at five-forty-five I still hadnât filled in those blanks. I had to be at class in fifteen minutes, I was all dressed, and had almost talkedmyself into believing the entire world was not staring at my wounded face. Still, I couldnât haul myself out the door.
I tried to convince myself that perhaps it was some sort of post-rugby stress disorder, that I wasnât as recovered from my injuries as I thought. Yeah, I didnât really believe that, either. You and I both know Iâm just plain chicken. Why, Lord? I gulped out in a desperate prayer. Why is this so hard? Why am I making such a big deal out of three little words?
God, in His infinite wisdom, decided that now would be a good moment for an appalling self-revelation. Donât you just hate it when He picks moments like this to dump a bucket-load of unwelcome truth on your head?
Itâs not the homework assignment.
Itâs the assigner.
Iâm not freaking out at three little words, Iâm freaking out at the prospect of seeing Will Grey in the classroom again. At seeing him all suited up and tutorial. Iâve seen a sliver of the man out of his work mode and I donât know how to deal with him in a purely work setting anymore.
Slow down, Maggie, be careful. You donât know nearly enough about the kind of man Will Grey is to be thinking this way.
Letâs try logic. Letâs turn Willâs assignment on its ear. Imagine, if you will, that God just gave me a sheet of paper and asked me to list the ten qualities Iâd want in a guy. My ideal customer, as it were. The list would go something like this:
Godly
Energetic
Daring
Adventurous
Visionary
Handsome
Artistic
Unconventional
Romantic
Caffeinated
Okay, the last oneâs not really a priority, but you get my drift. Do you see reserved Will Grey in there anywhere? I donât. I see the opposite of Will Grey. Come on, the manâs barely caffeinatedâand that was the least of my priorities.
So why am I still sitting at my kitchen table at 9:30 p.m., staring at an unfinished assignment sheet, eating the last of my coffee ice cream?
Thatâs it. Iâve got to get out of here. Go take a walk or something. Shake off this weird paralysis that has suddenly taken hold. I grab a sweater, some big sunglasses to cover my injuriesâeven though itâs dusk, stuff twenty dollars into my pocket and head out the door.
I turn the corner and slam, headfirst, into Will Grey. Ouch! Why must every encounter with this man be so painful? âYou! Oww. Why does your shoulder have to be right where my forehead is?â I wobble a bit and my glasses fall off.
âMiss Black!â Will gasps, grabbing my shoulderto catch me. âOh, youâre all right. You are all right, arenât you? You werenât off to find the nearest hospital?â The manâs state of alarm looks odd on him. Heâs usually such an in-control kind of guy.
âIâmâ¦okayâ¦I think.â I touch my forehead and blink my eyes a bit. The world spun out of focus for a few seconds and I might have added a new bruise to my already stunning collection, but for the most part I think Iâm okay.
Will takes his hand off my shoulder. I hadnât realized it was still there. Okay, I had, but letâs not talk about that at the moment. âYou