Promise Kept. Stephanie Perry Moore

      “So, he’s in a coma?” Chaplain Moss asked me as I sat in his office a week later.

      “Yeah, I don’t understand all of the medical terms and reasons why, but it doesn’t look good. They’re saying if he comes out of it that he might be on life support or something,” I said, trying to shake off the flu-like symptoms that were catching up with me. I’d been on the go every day, driving back and forth to Rockdale County Hospital to see my grandmother. I guess I should be excited because she was released and now resting back at home. I didn’t have to feel obligated to go there because my aunts, uncles, cousins, parents, and a ton of her neighbors and church friends, were all there to serve. Deep inside I wished that I could be in Miami and whisper something crazy to Saxon, like, “Man, you ain’t no good. I’m a way better baller than you.” Something that would just irritate him and make him jump up out of his deep sleep and go off on me.

      “So how do you feel about all of this?” C. Moss asked, leaning over his desk, waiting on me to tell the whole truth and nothing but my deep true feelings. I just swallowed hard, wishing my itchy throat away. I reached for a tissue off of his desk.

      “I don’t know how I feel.”

      “A lot of mixed emotions?”

      “Yeah! Being grateful that my grandmother is going to be okay, I want to scream a big ‘Thank You’ from Mount Everest to the Lord. Yet how can I, when I am still gloomy because the sparkiest teammate I have might be gone.”

      “And if he’s gone, where do you think he’s going?”

      “You’ve never seen him at any of your FCA meetings, have you?” I said, harshly. I was not trying to be funny, rude, mean or any of that. But I didn’t have time to be sitting in a counseling session having someone pick me apart when I was broken. I knew I had issues with God. I knew I was mad. Saxon was not a believer—or maybe he was, and the life he led just didn’t show it.

      “I can’t judge Saxon. I don’t know,” I said to C. Moss.

      “Fair. Can you judge yourself?”

      I knew where he was going with this whole line of questioning. He wanted to know if I thought I had witnessed enough. If I had led Saxon to Christ and if I had given him the opportunity to hear the gospel. But the answer to all of that was, no. I met Saxon after my first day of high school as a senior, with a sea of South Carolina’s recruits visiting. His cocky behind made me sick to my stomach and I probably wished him a trip underground, truth be told, but time and circumstances had changed our bond. And if he went to spend all eternity with the devil because I didn’t explain to him that there was another way, maybe I didn’t deserve to be at the Pearly Gates either.

      “You don’t have to say anything, Perry. I can tell you hate that you didn’t witness to him enough. Let me just let you off the hook—I’ve witnessed to Saxon. He’s heard the gospel. He shoved me off, told me he said all the right things in the correct places he needed to, to let people think he knew the Lord, but in reality he told me he didn’t. Hearing that news was so damning, so final, so finite. He’s got to pull through this, son. There is absolutely nothing wrong with hoping for another chance to make sure he knows God. Heck, maybe he was just pulling my leg and he already does. I mean, you football players have heard so much that you’re the best of the best and that you’re the cream of the crop, unlike regular students. Sometimes, most times, you get close-minded.”

      We ended our talk in prayer and as soon as I got back to my apartment, I didn’t have time to chat with Lance and Deuce. One of them had been in the kitchen preparing dinner, and though they had a plate set aside for me, it just wasn’t social time for me. I was so mad that I couldn’t go see my grandma, because the Peach State, which never gets an ounce of snow, had flurries falling. I called my dad and said, “I’m just gonna come.”

      “Naw, son, I don’t need you on the road. It’s really cold, it’s icy out there. It’s a little bit of rain mixed with that snow. Please stay put. Your grandma’s up and she can talk. But I want to warn you—the stroke has affected the appearance of her face. The doctors are saying she’s not out of the woods. If you want, you can talk to her for a moment.”

      “She’s awake? Yeah, yeah. Let me talk to her.”

      “Hey, punkin pie, you’ve been worried about me, boy?”

      “Yes ma’am,” I said.

      “I heard you every time you came and visited me. I’m always asleep and they only let me have a few visitors up in that little old hospital room, but I know you been there, I seen ya. I’m supposed to be the sick one, but one time I woke up and you were knocked out. I ain’t bother you, though. I figured you needed your rest. One of my boyfriends said you were nice at the hospital, signing autographs and stuff. You know that meant a lot to me.”

      “Grandma, you are crazy!”

      “And getting better every day.”

      “You better be getting better,” I told her. “I got to buy you that big old house one day soon—big enough to have your different men in different parts of it, that kind of big.”

      “Oh, child, please. I don’t need to hide nobody. I’ve been thinking, seeing stuff. I just had to break all of their hearts and had to let them know that I was still in love with my dead husband. I’m real tired, Perry. I know God has got something better for me than all of this.”

      “But Grandma, you gon’ be okay,” I urged.

      “Yeah, I’ma be alright up in Heaven, boy, and ain’t no doubt that’s where I’m going—to my momma, my great grandmomma, to see her face who I haven’t seen since I was little. Your granddaddy, mm-hmm, he mad that I got a lot of ole men friends, but we’ll straighten all of that out when I get up there.”

      “Grandma, you don’t need to talk like that.”

      “Baby, if you don’t remember nothing I done taught you, and I know I done taught you a lot—”

      “Yes ma’am, you have.”

      “—I want you to remember that if you are a believer there ain’t nothing wrong with knowing that this place is not your home. Be excited about what’s to come. Ain’t no need in rushing nothing and I ain’t saying—well maybe I am saying. Whenever the Lord say I’m ready, I’ll be ready. Make sure you lay some pretty red roses on my grave now.”

      I agreed, but her crazy talking was making me more irritable. I really felt sick. I started coughing, my body started aching. Would my life get well?