Chapter 2: Head-On Collision

Tamara had wandered into Brenda's dorm where she was lying on her bed in conversation with Julie, her roommate.

"Hey, Tamara. How are you," Julie asked

"I'm good. I got my marks for first semester and I passed everything, so that's always good."

"Nice going," Brenda added. "I think we all made the grade then."

"Yup," Julie agreed.

"Sure makes life easier doesn't it," Brenda smiled from her reclining position, her hands behind her head on the pillow.

"When's your next game," Tamara asked.

"This Friday. Home game against 'Old Stinky.'"

Julie never failed to laugh at the nickname of Portland Union – P.U. for short.

"I wonder what they call us?" Tamara asked.

"Probably Codfish College. That would fit," Julie giggled.

"You got a date this weekend?" Tamara asked Brenda.

"Nope. Haven't really been looking. Sooner or later I'll get the itch, though."

"I'm going out with Ty Winslow," Tamara said. "He's a decent date, but I don't think he's permanent."

"I don't know," Brenda volunteered. "Tyler and Tamara has a certain ring to it."

"We'll see," she said non-committaly.

"We going to the workout center tonight?" Julie asked.

"Yep," Brenda replied quickly. "Same as usual. Seven o'clock sharp. You're really getting into it, aren't you."

"I've lost seven pounds so far. I'm hoping for a lot more."

Brenda was pleased with the progress Julie had made with her constant encouragement. She'd stopped feeling sorry for herself and had committed herself to making her body look better. She couldn't see it yet, but if she kept it up, it would happen. She was never going to be a slim-trim woman but she could be quite attractive when she shaped all those curves that had been hidden for so long.

It was late in the third game and the score was still close. Coddington led Portland Union College 19--14 and were struggling to hold service. Each side had won a game of the best-of-five match. Brenda Reichart stood along the base line of the court, soaked in perspiration, tense with expectation, preparing herself for the next shot. A spike by the opposition rocketed toward the center of the Coddington defense until a hand appeared from nowhere, deflecting the ball up in the air and heading out the side of the court.

Brenda reacted immediately, launching her big frame sideways, arms outstretched in a desperate attempt to save the point. Incredibly she reached it and had just enough leverage to pop the ball back over her head toward her half-court. It was sight unseen for Brenda however as she hurtled toward the stands and the sparse crowd sitting in the lower rows.

The collision was inevitable. It was a matter of how hard she would hit. It was also a matter of trying to avoid injury in the tangle of bodies that would result. She must have closed her eyes just before impact because the only thing she could recall afterward was the hard hit on the top of her forehead and then the whoosh of air that escaped her as she was brought to an abrupt halt.

She thought she might lose consciousness as the pain in her skull radiated outward. She could feel something scratchy against her right arm and upper back. She looked around and found she was lying across the lap of a very large man. A very tall, gangly man with a big mop of curly, sandy hair. A very tall man who was now bleeding profusely from his nose and mouth and whose blood was now splattering on both her and his coarse tweed jacket.

He looked to be semi-conscious. It was his nose and possibly his mouth as well that had collided with her head. His eyes were glassy as she struggled to remove herself from him. The team doctor appeared quickly and put a compress on his face. He rose unsteadily and the doctor helped him to the stairs and up to the medical center.

Brenda watch them go, idly rubbing the now growing bump on her head. She looked at the blood on her jersey, shrugged and walked slowly back onto the court. She felt a bit woozy and someone tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the bench. She had been replaced.

One of the referees came to the bench informing the coach that Brenda would have to replace the jersey and wash the blood off her body before returning to the court. It was NCAA rules. Bonnie Temple, the trainer, walked with her to the dressing room to help her change and make sure she was alright. No one knew when the doctor would return.

Brenda sat in front of her locker after showering. She was still a bit dizzy from the collision and wasn't in any condition to return to the floor yet. She wondered if they had saved the point. She tried to think of what the score was. She could hear their fans yelling and cheering in the background, but she had no idea if they were winning or losing.

She was holding an icepack on her head all the while, trying to reduce the swelling and numb the pain. She would have a dandy headache the next morning, she thought. She wondered what had happened to the big man she'd smashed into. There seemed to be a lot of blood and she hoped he wasn't badly hurt. It was the first time something like this had happened to her. Damn gym! Old, small, and narrow. Barely big enough to meet conference standards. The basketball teams got the good courts.

She was still in the locker room when the doors burst open and an obviously happy bunch of women paraded in. It answered one question. They must have won. Francine "Frankie" Sampson plunked herself down beside the big redhead.

"Hell of a save, kid. P. U. was so stunned by it they weren't ready for our return. We won the point! Can you imagine?" Frankie was always on a high when we played well and won.

"I take it we won," Brenda smiled.

"Yeah. After your save, they almost chucked in the towel. We finished that game and then wiped the floor with them, 25-8 in the fourth set. I hope someone got that on tape."

"Me too. I'd like to find out who I almost killed in the stands," she said ruefully. "He was bleeding like a stuck pig when Doc took him away."

She had no sooner got the words out of her mouth when Doctor Elizabeth Jeremy entered the room and walked directly to Brenda.

"Brenda, would you come with me, please," she asked politely but firmly.

Brenda stood and followed the doctor into the training room across the hall.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she carefully examined the knot on Brenda's skull.

"I was a bit dizzy for while but that seems to have passed. It's sore of course," she said. "But what about the guy I hit? How's he?"

"Well, he's got a broken nose and a cut inside his upper lip that is going to require a couple of stitches. Otherwise, he's OK."

"Oh, jeez. I feel awful. That's never happened before. I tried not to land on anyone. I usually don't. I'll have to apologize to him when I find out who he is," Brenda mused.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, he said it was his own fault. He said he was trying to catch you so you wouldn't get hurt."

"He was?" Brenda said in surprise. "Did he say who he was?"

"I have it here in my notes," the doctor said, looking at her clipboard. "Randall McCulloch, age twenty-five, student, Coddington. Looks like he's a local. His next of kin are here in Providence," she said matter-of-factly.

"I'll have to apologize to him anyway. What's the popular phrase, no good deed goes unpunished," Brenda said, shaking her head and then instantly regretting it.

"Still sore ... a bit woozy?" Dr. Jeremy asked.

"I guess. I think I'll go to bed when I get home. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning."

The doctor resumed her examination, checking her eyes and watching for Brenda's reactions. She seemed a bit uncertain.

"No ... I think I'm going to have you spend the night in the hospital just to be on the safe side. I don't want to take any chances with a concussion, understood?"

"Yeah ... understood. Thanks, doctor. I'm sure I'll be okay," Brenda smiled.

Brenda awoke in the infirmary the next morning to a throbbing headache. As she sat up she felt the dizziness return from the night before. She briefly considered ignoring it but the last admonition from Dr. Jeremy was very explicit. She pressed the call button.

By noon, the consulting doctor and Dr. Jeremy had concluded that Brenda was suffering from a mild concussion and was to take it easy for several days. There would be no practice and no game next Friday night for her. The doctor prescribed aggressive pain pills for the headaches, carefully warning Brenda to limit their usage.

As the doctor drove her back to the dorm, Brenda had the wit to ask her again for the name of the man she had injured. McCulloch! That was it. Randall McCulloch. She wouldn't forget this time.

When she arrived home, she was escorted to her room by Dr. Jeremy and cautioned again about taking it easy and not using the medication any more than absolutely necessary. She had been given only a five day supply. Julie heard the explicit instructions and promised Dr. Jeremy she would make sure they were followed.

As she walked in to her kitchenette, Brenda noticed the phone book on the table and immediately looked for Randall McCulloch. There was only one McCulloch, R. and he was listed in an off-campus address with a private phone number. She made her way down the hall to the payphone and punched in the numbers.

The voice that answered the phone was muffled and indistinct. "Mhmello?" It sounded like hello.

"Hello, is this Randall McCulloch?" Brenda asked.

"Mhmyeth," the response came.

"This is Brenda Reichart. Are you the man I ran into last night in the stands at our volleyball game?"

"Mhmyeth ... Mhmthath me," he replied. He sounded like he had a sock in his mouth.

"I just called to apologize. I've never hurt anyone before and I guess you really got clobbered when I landed on you. I'm very sorry," she said sincerely.

"Mhmthath okay. Mhmmy faul. Mhmwha abou you?" he asked. "Mhmwe hit priddee har."

It took Brenda a couple of seconds to translate the question. "I'm okay. I've got a bit of a concussion but nothing serious. I'll be fine in a couple of days," she said confidently.

"Goo Goo. Yur ferry impordun tuh thuh team," he complimented.

"Thanks. Do you go to the games often?"

"Mhmyeth ... Mhmall thu home gameth."

"You sound like you are having a lot of trouble speaking. I won't keep you but I do want to apologize. I'm very sorry you were hurt."

"Mhmthas okay. Be okay soo."

"I'll look for you at our next game. This time I'll try not to land on you," she chuckled.

"Mhmsee you there ... mhmbye."

Brenda hung up the phone. He had sounded terrible. Barely able to communicate. Dr. Jeremy had said he had a cut lip and a broken nose. It was obviously impeding his breathing and speech. Tomorrow was Sunday. Maybe she'd walk over to his place and see how he was doing.

Sunday dawned cold and gray. Brenda couldn't work up the enthusiasm to get dressed, much less go out. She curled up in front of her tiny television and hardly moved until darkness fell. She shuffled her way to the kitchenette to have some reheated soup from Saturday that Julie had made, adding a few crackers and a glass of milk.

She had never had a concussion before and when she had talked to the doctor, she was warned of the symptoms. Headache, dizzy spells, loss of appetite, inability to concentrate. She had watched TV the entire day and yet couldn't recall much about the programs. She went back to bed shortly after her meal and slept through the night.

She felt better the next morning. As she rose she noticed that she was not experiencing dizziness. Her headache had subsided to a dull, background pain of low magnitude. She concluded that she was beginning to recover. Julie was gone and when she looked at the clock she realized she would miss her morning classes. When she checked her schedule, however, she knew it would not be difficult to catch up. Mentally, she breathed a sigh of relief. She was getting better.

She was able to reestablish her normal routine by Wednesday and by Friday afternoon she was current in her studies. She could concentrate and was grateful that the concussion had been minor. The headaches had disappeared by Wednesday evening and her energy level was almost back to normal. She thanked Julie for looking after her, making sure she took only the pills she should and that she ate properly.

Brenda had been prohibited from practicing but not from attending practice. She watched her teammates prepare for their Friday night home game against Wellesley, a perennial NCAA powerhouse. She would have given anything to be able to play in this big non-conference match but she would have to watch in frustration.

Dr. Jeremy had given her a series of tests on Friday afternoon and she exhibited no further symptoms from the concussion. Despite that, she was prohibited from playing that evening and could only resume practice the following Tuesday. Resigned to her fate, Brenda chose to sit on the team bench wearing her warm-up suit and give them all the support she could.

She had forgotten about Randall McCulloch until just before the game started. She was looking around at the larger than usual crowd. The basketball team was away this weekend and she guessed the volleyball team was getting the benefit of that as well as from Wellesley's reputation. As she looked along the stands to her left, she saw him sitting by himself near the aisle, two rows further up than in the previous game. During a break between games, she got up and went toward him.

As she approached she could see the deep discoloration of his face, particularly around his eyes and upper lip. His nose was bandaged fairly simply with a molded plastic piece to hold position and shape. As he turned toward her, he registered surprise and then waved.

"Hi. Come to see the damage?" He tried to smile, but she could see him wince in pain when he tried to stretch his mouth.

"Hi. At least I can understand you now. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. The swelling on my upper lip is almost gone and I can breathe a bit through my nose." There was no hint of anger or frustration in his voice.

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea that I was going to hit you so hard."

"I did it to myself. I thought I could catch you to break your fall but I missed. I'm kind of clumsy ... not very coordinated," he said, attempting once again to smile.

"How's your concussion? I see you won't be playing tonight."

"I'm fine now. I had a couple of bad days. Tonight's just a precaution. I'd be out there if they'd let me."

He nodded.

"Mind if I sit here?" Brenda asked.

"No ... of course not." He stood and it was then that Brenda realized just how big he was.

"How tall are you," she asked.

"Six-seven."

She noticed he was not standing straight but slouched over. She had seen this before in herself. Self-conscious about her height in her early teens, she was constantly admonished by her mother to "stand up straight." The repeated order finally took at some point and Brenda's posture was now perfect.

"Hmmmm ... just my size," she grinned.

Randall looked alarmed or at least surprised. He was at a loss for words. It was Brenda's initiative to take.

"I hope the blood came out of your jacket," she said as she sat beside him.

"Should do. That jacket has a lot of miles and a lot of food and drink stains in its history. That's why I wear it. As I said, I'm kind of clumsy so I'm forever spilling or dribbling stuff. The dark tweed makes it harder to notice.

Brenda laughed. "I can tell you it's scratchy on the skin."

The game had started and they cheered Coddington's effort at every opportunity. They weren't considered a threat to the more experienced and battle-hardened Wellesley girls, but the match was close all the way. Wellesley won, three games to two but, coming that close brightened the Coddington locker room afterward.

Brenda turned to Randall as the game ended.

"I'm going down to the locker room to see the girls and get changed. If you wait for me I'll treat you to a coffee and cake as a partial apology for all the damage I caused."

This time Randall forced a genuine smile, despite the discomfort. "I'll be right here."

Brenda jogged off to the locker room to congratulate the team on a great effort. She was very proud of them and doubted the result would have been much different if she had played. They had put in a maximum effort and the crowd was appreciative. It would do the program a lot of good.

Brenda didn't stay long in the locker room and was soon back to the stands and Randall.

"Let's go," she smiled as he stood and led the way to the exit.

The Sip and Bite Café was small, crowded, and noisy. There would be no outdoor tables on this cold December night. There was a stand-up counter along the wall and Brenda asked Randall what he would like and would he save their place while she got the order. She was back in five minutes with two cappuccinos and a large slice of Black Forest Cake with two forks.

They stood close to each other, sharing the cake and sipping the hot drink. Randall was still having problem with temperature on his cut lip and was manfully trying to avoid any contact with the cappuccino. As a result, drops were leaking out the side of the cup and dribbling down his chin. He was trying not to be embarrassed but it was difficult.

"Let it cool down, Randall. We aren't in a rush, are we?" She was smiling as she dabbed at his chin with a napkin.

He shrugged and nodded. "No, I guess not. I hope this cut is healed by next week. It's driving me crazy. It's causing more trouble than my nose and it got broken," he complained.

"I can tell you from experience that cuts on the inside of your mouth always take longer to heal because they're always wet. They never get a chance to dry out. Do you put a gauze packing in between your teeth and lip at night?"

"Yes. That seems to help. I've been thinking of using one during the day. The hell with how it looks if it speeds up the healing."

"Go for it," she grinned. "I guess spicy food is out of the question right now, huh?"

He winced at the thought. "Pretty much. But if I am better by next weekend, would you be interested in having dinner with me on Saturday night?"

"That sounds nice. I'd like that. Yes, let's plan on that. Let me know what time and where," she smiled.

Brenda resumed her regular practice routine on Tuesday and by Friday, was fit and ready to play. They had another non-conference game, this time with lightly regarded Providence Women's College. They did not expect a difficult match.

Brenda had been thinking about her date with Randall on the weekend. She was looking forward to it. Not because she was still upset about the injury she caused, but because he intrigued her. He was different -- unconventional. Clearly not an athlete, he was more a "brainiac," as Frankie Sampson called the serious students. It would be another new experience.

As expected, Coddington swamped the inexperienced P.W.C. team, winning handily in three straight games. Brenda played the first and part of the second game before being substituted. She and Frankie watched the balance of the mismatch from the bench. She mentioned her date with Randall and the two of them stole looks toward him during the game, waving surreptitiously at him when the coach wasn't watching. Randall smiled but appeared slightly embarrassed.

"That wasn't a fair fight," Randall grinned as she met him after the game. Brenda was glad to see his face had returned to something closer to normal in appearance and his lip was less bothersome.

"No, but it was their request to play us for the experience, I hear. That's how you get better. You play tough opponents and learn from it. Just like we did with Wellesley."

"I suppose, but you still have to have the talent. Even Wellesley doesn't have a Brenda Reichart on their team," he said.

She looked at him and smiled. "That's very nice of you. But I'm just one of the team. There's lots of talent out there with me."

They were walking once again to the Sip and Bite and another post game snack, cappuccinos and cake. This time they found a table.

"What's your major?" Brenda asked.

"Poli-Sci, with a minor in history."

"Ahhhh ... going to be a professor some day?"

"Nope ... not the plan. I've been hoping for an opportunity with the State Department or one of the federal agencies. I'd really like to be an analyst. The idea of figuring out what other countries are up to and how it affects the U.S. is intriguing."

"You've got a pretty clear idea of what you want. Are there many job openings for that?"

"No, not really. A very limited number of hires each year. If I can't make it, I'll probably look at the private sector. Lots of companies need expertise in foreign affairs for their overseas operations. Oil and mining companies, for example."

"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you," she smiled.

"Yes. I took a couple of years off to travel and it really opened my eyes. We have so much to learn about the rest of the world. I often wonder if the people who form foreign policy realize how little our citizens know of all those other cultures. I'm not even sure how much the foreign policy people know. Are they overruled by political decisions or ideology? I'd like to know. I'd like to be part of trying to change what other countries think of the U.S.A."

"That sounds pretty ambitious, Randall. The guys in power sure don't seem to have any doubts about who we are. You sure you would be happy in that environment?"

He shrugged. "I'll never know unless I try. One thing for certain, I enjoyed every minute of my travels, regardless of where I was. I've been lucky enough to be on almost every continent and most of the major countries. It's exciting and enormously informative. I want to do more of it."

"How long before you get your degree?"

"One more year. I should be done by Christmas next year. Then it's a matter of sending out my résumé to the various organizations. That will keep me busy for a while."

They were silent for a while as they sipped their coffees and shared the cake.

"What about you, Brenda? What's your plan?"

"Oh, nothing as dramatic as yours. I'll get a B.A. in Business Administration and probably end up back in Indiana looking for a job. My dad runs a hardware business and maybe I'll take over from him when he retires. I wouldn't mind that," she said with a small smile.

"No plans for a husband or kids or a house on the hilltop?"

"Yeah ... I'm sure that'll happen but ... I'm not in a rush. I'd like to get a little experience first. Try and make my way in the real world."

"About tomorrow, how adventuresome are you?"

He obviously had something in mind, she thought.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "What would you suggest?"

"I know a really good Moroccan restaurant. The food is wonderful and the family that runs it are very good friends so we'll be treated well."

"Do I need a fire extinguisher for the food?" she laughed.

"No ... no ... nothing like that. They understand our North American tastes. But the food is wonderful, trust me," he pleaded.

"Okay, I trust you." She was smiling, looking forward to their date tomorrow.

To say that Randall's car was aging would be a kindness. How many 1975 Toyota Corona 4door station wagons were still on the road in the northeastern United States? As it neared its thirtieth birthday, the rust, faded or missing paint and general deterioration of the machine were painfully evident. On the other hand, it started when asked and ran reliably regardless of the weather.

It took Randall a couple of pulls on the door handle to get the passenger side open, allowing Brenda entry. Randall shrugged his apology for the obvious state of the ride but Brenda knew that few students had the financial wherewithal to operate a car and rent an apartment at the same time. Happily, the seats had what appeared to be clean seat-covers and that put her mind at rest.

Their ride to the restaurant was short and Randall once again proved the gentleman when he hurried around the car to help Brenda with the recalcitrant door. They splashed their way through the slush in the parking area to the front door and entered the little bistro.

Randall was warmly greeted by a woman wearing a brilliantly colored shawl over a black blouse and black floor-length skirt. She was smiling at Brenda as Randall introduced her.

"Brenda, this is Rashida Akouri, our hostess," he smiled.

"Very nice to meet you, Rashida." Brenda was looking around the small restaurant. The paintings and wall hangings all appeared to be Moroccan scenes and objects.

The meal was, as advertised, excellent and very different from Brenda's normal fare. They relaxed and savored their three course meal at a leisurely pace, leaving plenty of time for conversation.

"You said you traveled for a couple of years, Randall. Where did you go?"

"Actually, I've been traveling most of my life. My father was with the State Department and we were moved from country to country at least a half dozen times that I can remember. I've lived in Chile, Venezuela, Italy, Germany, Japan and Korea. When I finished high school, I had just turned seventeen so I took some extra home-study courses to make sure I was prepared for college.

"Dad was posted back to the U.S. and took an early retirement and we came here. I entered Coddington because it has a well-recognized political science department and it was Mom's alma mater. I spent two years here then took two years off to travel on my own and see the world," he said with an air of satisfaction.

"That sounds great. You obviously enjoyed it but how could you afford it?"

"On the cheap. Backpack, student tours, hostels, the whole deal. I met a lot of young people from a lot of different cultures in those two years."

"What's the most important thing you learned?" she asked sincerely.

"Hmmm ... good question." He began to laugh. "I suppose it's that I can get along anywhere, even if I don't speak the language very well."

"Can you speak other languages?"

"I couldn't help picking up Spanish and Italian and I can manage a conversation in German. I only know a few phrases in Japanese and even less in Korean. On the other hand, pick-up lines don't vary much from culture to culture," he laughed again.

Brenda smiled. "So you met lots of girls on these travels, eh?"

"Couldn't help it. In Europe, there seemed to be a thing about young women exerting their independence before they settle down. Their attitudes are so much more ... open than our American values. We are so much more uptight."

"How do you mean?" Brenda asked, genuinely curious.

Randall looked a bit sheepish for a moment, then plunged on.

"Their attitudes toward sex and relationships were much more casual but in many ways, much more adult. They don't seem to have all the hang-ups we do," he said seriously.

Brenda smiled a knowing smile. "So I take it you pretty much screwed your way around Europe then?"

Randall flushed and had a look of acute embarrassment. "Well, uh, that's maybe an exaggeration."

Brenda laughed again. "It's OK, Randall, I'm not judging you. I'm just envious."

"What ... about? The travel ... or the sex?"

"Both. I envy your experience. It also makes me wonder why you don't have a girlfriend hanging on your arm."

"Oh ... well ... it was one thing when it was just part of the ... travel. It's another here, close to home. I guess I got the casual sex thing out of my system and decided I was more interested in something more serious."

He was in a thoughtful mood, Brenda realized. He did seem a bit embarrassed, but not so much that he wouldn't admit his adventures. It gave her quite a different perspective on Randall McCulloch. He was more worldly than she had realized. Now he was looking for something more solid.

Brenda decided to change the subject and take Randall off the hook.

"So, how long have you been coming to the games and what got you interested in women's volleyball?"

"I've been at the games since the beginning of term last fall. As far as choosing women's volleyball, I started with basketball but I wasn't as taken with it. Besides, the basketball team didn't have a very attractive redhead that caught my attention like the volleyball team."

"So you were scouting out females for your harem, huh?" Brenda was giving him a sly grin with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, to tell the truth, the best place to find women who are tall and athletic is the basketball and volleyball teams," he said without evident embarrassment.

"Is that important?"

"I feel more comfortable around you than other women because I don't feel like I'm ... dwarfing you. On the other hand, you are so spectacular and popular I never for a moment thought I had a chance to date you."