Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [116]
“But honestly … I don’t know which one I like better. Stephen or Allistair. Which one I should like better.”
Beth smirked and raised one eyebrow.
“What’s that mean?”
“What-ever.” She grabbed her pajamas, the bucket with her toiletries, and reached for the door. “As for me, I’m pooped. Time to get ready for bed.”
Michal’s eyes filled with tears from pent-up frustrations and deep disappointment—disappointment in Stephen for not even asking about her spring break. In Allistair, for not contacting her at all. In herself … for wanting. And she recognized her disappointment in God, too. For not being clearer. For not making anything … easy.
Oh, Lord, she prayed, I can’t determine your will concerning Ethiopia, can’t make a decision, so it seems as though I’m just kind of … drifting that way. Like I’m riding the waves at the beach again, allowing a force underneath to simply push me along. Is this the way you intended for me to go back to Africa? By drifting?
And that decision seems tied to me seeking out Stephen—or Allistair. I don’t know what to do about them either. Everything’s such a mess.
She glanced at the clock. Shook her head, willing herself to accept the fact that Allistair was not going to call. But as she gathered up her texts and notebooks to stuff into her backpack, she squeezed her eyes shut. Willing the threatening tears to accept the facts also.
The next morning—the Monday of the week leading up to Easter—Michal hit the alarm clock with even more venom than usual. She stared at the ceiling, thinking through the week that stretched before her. Lectured herself about expectations concerning Stephen. Even more so, Allistair.
The various ministry teams were scheduled to share about their trips in chapel throughout the week. Since Allistair’s was the most important one sent out, his team was up first. With Allistair, of course, as the main speaker.
Maybe afterward, I can approach him, casually welcoming him back? And then she jerked the covers back, forced herself to get out of bed. Get real, Michal. Unless he seeks you out first, there’s no way you’ll be talking to Allistair—ever again.
She saw Beth was already up, noting again the positive changes in Beth since they’d returned to school.
As Michal and Beth walked to chapel, Michal vacillated between hope and discouragement—alternating from one to the other with nearly every step. Until she saw Allistair and Tiffany chatting away amicably with the other members of their team. They hovered around the front of the large auditorium, laughing with an easy and familiar banter.
When Allistair stepped up into the pulpit a few minutes later, Michal could barely look up at him because she was so afraid her longing would be blatantly obvious on her face. That all who glanced at her would surely see the hurt written there much too plainly. And when throngs of students huddled around Allistair afterward, Michal quickly abandoned any lingering thoughts of approaching him. Sending one last swift look of disappointment toward the happy group—with Allistair in the middle—she hurried to class.
After that morning, Michal saw Allistair often—going into chapel. In the bleachers at basketball games Michal attended, supposedly to see the games. In reality, hoping to bump into Allistair. And she observed him in the dining hall at nearly every meal. But he was generally with other seniors, Tiffany included. He’d wave pleasantly at her when they caught each other’s eyes, for he frequently seemed to be present in the circle of her radar—in her peripheral vision. He’d even offer a friendly, “Hey, Michal,” when they passed in the hallways. But every encounter—from the briefest glimpse at a distance to the exchange of “Heys” in the hall—brought another stab to her heart. And the recognition that God had sent her at least one answer: Allistair had moved on.
Stephen, however, seemed to pop up nearly everywhere, though with no regularity or rhyme or reason. Michal, always caught off guard when he appeared, would offer a