Alone in a Crowded Church

Alone in a crowded church, she sat quietly at the end of the pew. 

Her hair freshly done and she was dressed to the Christmas nines too.

The weeks upon weeks in the hospital had clearly taken their toll, 

but the company and the singing were deeply refreshing to her soul.

Midway through the second song she was simply all given out,

and after gingerly easing to her seat, through her purse she began to dig about.

Softly, her lip quivered, as she removed a crumpled tissue and a faded photograph,

Alone on Christmas Day, she sat quietly at the end of the pew. 

  

A Magical Monday Morning

It was cold and dark, as she stepped onto the bus, for the morning ride to school. It was early too. Too early for loud talking and laughing. She gently sat her Barbie backpack down beside her and sat down in the same window seat, where she sat every school day for the past two years. She knew every stop along the route and watched eagerly as they approached her best friend's house. "She's not there," she mumbled to herself when the bus driver rolled right past her house. The lights were on at her house, but she wasn't at the stop. She wondered what her friend was doing, as a wave of sadness washed over her and she slinked down in her seat. She stared out the window at the cars and trucks going by and the sun, as it peeked at her through the trees. Her thoughts drifted to the bicycle she really really wanted for Christmas. It was a pink Barbie bike and it even came with a pink Barbie helmet. She warmed herself with a hopeful vision of wearing that helmet and riding that bicycle at her granny's house on Christmas Day. She wondered to herself, "Maybe Santa will bring it to me. I've been pretty good all year, I think. Except for that time, when I really acted up because I had to go to bed early.  Oh yeah, and that time I lied about writing on the wall in my room. Mom and Dad got really upset about that." Her face was expressionless, as she stared out the window. Her thoughts slipped back to that Barbie bicycle and Barbie helmet. "It will be so much fun.." she thought, "..once I learn how to ride." "When I get tired of riding I can go inside and be with granny. There's nothing better than a long tight hug from granny," she thought to herself.

It was cold, it was Monday, and she was on the way to school, but it was the last Monday before Christmas break and soon she would see all of her family at Christmas and get to play with her Christmas toys. Just then she noticed a man in a car beside the bus. He had his window down and was smiling and waving. The kids in the seat in front and behind her were waving at him when a big smile washed over her face. She recognized the silly bald man that came to her class a few weeks ago. She waved back and they smiled at each other for a second then the bus drove by the big church on the corner and they were almost at her school.  

First Wings

Her long  relaxing Summer mornings filled without a care

are replaced with new school clothes and a bewildered morning stare.

Bath, breakfast, and backpack and out the door they file, 

as mom laughs, snaps pictures, and smiles all the while.

She taxis to school, as this chapter gets off the ground

somberly gazing out her window without uttering a sound. 

"Mommy's really going to leave me here at this place?", 

she moans to herself, as she covers her face. 

Some lady has opened my door... I guess it's time to go?

I see other kids going inside, maybe I'll just go with the flow.

Choking back tears and trying to be brave

Mommy gives me a smile and really happy wave. 

She would not leave me here unless I was ok..

These people are talking to me. What do I say?

Numbers, and colors, and crisp number twos, 

snacks, free play, and a long afternoon snooze. 

Finally, the day is over and Mom is on her way, 

This has been the very longest, but the very best day.

The Law of Effort

Effort
"The expenditure of energy to get something done."
Webster's New World Student Dictionary


     Listen carefully and you'll hear that a considerable amount of people's general complaining is regarding a condition, situation, or relationship, over which the complainer has the ability to completely change or significantly impact. It can be one of many things from mastering a job skill, achieving a financial goal, changing a damaging habit, earning a college degree, mending a damaged relationship, reading the Bible more, improving your running time, changing an attitude, moving to another state, learning a new language or maybe even to stop chewing your fingernails. Over the centuries, people have proven that the persistent investment of intentional time and energy can yield measurable results. However, there is an exchange that must take place, a price.

     Sweat, currency units, pain, pride, in addition to time (life units) must be given to generate effort. We all know certain individuals, teams, companies, or organizations, that have made an improbable and incredible change by making the daily exchange required to push closer to their intended goal. They encourage and inspire us because their action and results provide irrefutable evidence that change is achievable. The willingness to pay the daily price to produce effort boils down to two simple questions. Why do I want it and how badly do I want it. These questions may linger and simmer for years before they are decided, but when why is clear and how badly suddenly becomes bad enough to do whatever it takes, a fire is ignited. That's the day of realization that separation from sweat, pain, pride, and time is worth the cost to pursue and realize the desired change. That's the day you get a small taste of how things will be different when that change becomes real. Feed that fire with the first few steps and embrace the burn. Every step taken towards the goal takes you away from the situation or circumstance you're weary of and takes you closer to the desired outcome.

     This decision to create effort is liberating. Once reached, the minuscule energy used to simply complain can then be burned in the same fire, as sweat, currency units, pain, pride, and precious time. Here's the secret, though. Small steps toward change create even more energy, which can also be used as fuel for the fire, that's pushing you to make small steps toward change.

More Trouble In Custer County

       All four tires squalled in raging harmony, as Chief Deputy Mack Daniels pushed his Custer County Patrol car to its absolute mechanical limit, while straightening out the curves on Sheffield Road near the airport. Although in a full power slide at 70 miles an hour, Mack was in complete control. He had made this run thousands of times, but with Winter fast approaching, he could only make a few more before the snow set in. At just the right moment in the apex of the curve, Mack let the bottom fall out of the gas pedal and powered through the curve on his way to 100 mph before reaching the bridge. Ordinarily, a by-the-book lawman, Mack would head out to one of the few curved roads in Custer County for a jolt of adrenaline to break up the monotony of those long red-eye shifts. He was a fairly big guy with a quiet and amiable demeanor, a slow Montana accent, and well liked throughout Custer county. His old man ran a feed store in Miles City for many years and the latest the talk there, at the barber shop, and all around the county was that Mack was sure to be the next sheriff, when Sheriff Peoples finally decided he'd had enough. Cool to the idea at first, Mack was warming up to the notion, but he still abruptly changed the subject whenever it came up in his presence.

     Although public opinion was virtually unanimous, there was a problem. His name was Deputy Slade McCoy and he made it crystal clear that under no circumstances would he work for Mack Daniels. Slade had a few more years with the S.O. than Mack and had been convinced, by his backroad buddies, that he deserved to be the next sheriff. Slade, a big guy himself, was more of a show horse than a work-horse, in the eyes of Mack. Since Slade's first chest hair popped out in Middle School, he put on a dime store gold necklace, parted his hair down the middle, and was convinced that he was born to charm and have his way with women. He had proven his manhood, as they do in Eastern Montana, in the rodeo at the annual County Fair. Slade ruled the rodeo from his Junior year in high school until he was 21. Now, some fifteen years later, he still clung tightly to those glory days and took great joy in retelling, to anyone who would listen, how he won each year, right down to which bull he rode and which woman was with him. Slade was loud, obnoxious, and had an ego so big that even the community grain silos couldn't feed it.

   Mild-mannered Mack, on the other hand, had made a name for himself in the steer wrestling division as a youngster. He was an excellent horseman, a solid roper, and could easily flip over the young calves. He just didn't care for hearing them moan or the look in their eyes after he'd roped up all of their legs. He won the youth calf roping division at the fair when he was eight and nine years old, but after that he never competed again. The next summer he turned ten and began working at his dad's feed store. Over the next few years, he worked his way up from feed store flunkie to his dad's right-hand man, entrusted with every aspect of running the business. It was during those years that Mack came to know most everybody in Custer County. As a deputy, Mack had locked up a fair number of folks, but he didn't consider anyone to be his enemy. He just seemed to have a way with people. He could respond to a nasty domestic dispute and before long, both domestic combatants and Mack would be laughing and telling old tales. And when he absolutely had to make an arrest, Mack preferred to let them ride up front in his patrol car with no cuffs.

   Growing up Mack had never been real keen on how Slade talked to or about women or how he stayed with one about as long as he could ride a bull. The two of them had packed away some old unfinished business from years ago, but this recent sheriff talk brought that old tension much closer to the surface. Sheriff Peoples assigned Mack and Deputy Eno to work as a team many years ago.   Eno's name was a shortened version of his Sioux Indian name, "Enapay," which meant "roars loudly in the face of danger." Wen the Twin Towers in New York were brought down, Mack and Eno were high school seniors. The very day after the attacks they were both late to school, as they had gone and enlisted in the U.S. Marines to go find and fight whoever had done this. They completed boot camp together, Infantry training together, were assigned to the same infantry unit, and soon found themselves headed to the Middle East to fight rag heads. While taking and holding Fallujah, Mack and Eno somehow always found a way to stick together and watch each other's back, even in the heaviest shit. They each honorably served two combat tours in Iraq, but Eno managed to return home with some enemy shrapnel in his left shoulder. Shortly after their return to Custer County in 2005 they began working at the Sheriff's Office.


   His 3am run down Sheffield Road behind him, Chief Deputy Daniels made his way to Waffle House to close out his shift. Around 7am, after a short stop at the Sheriff's office, Deputy Daniels headed to his bachelor pad on the banks of the winding Yellowstone River. He was exhausted from working his cows before his twelve-hour shift, but as he was pulling down his long dusty driveway, dispatch called a "10-107" for any unit in the area to 1460 Pearl Street in Miles City. Mack's whole body got tense, as he sat straight up in his seat. "That's Mandi's house!!" He thought, as he stirred up a dust storm wheeling his truck around and heading back out his driveway to the road. He thought she seemed a little strange the other day, when he saw her at the Steakhouse. She just looked up tight and was eager to talk with him about something, that she couldn't talk about that day. Because of their last names, Mack and Mandi sat next to each other from pre-K through high school, and he had always thought of her as a sister. She was sweet, kind, bubbly, and tenderhearted, and all rolled into an attractive farm-ready Montana frame. They considered each other good friends, but had drifted apart over the decades. Mack knew she was a clerk at the county tag office and Mack suspected it might be a disgruntled tax-payer that was stirring around outside her house. He had no idea what he was about to discover.

   As quiet as things are in Custer County and Miles City, it was common for both city officers and county deputies to respond to city calls. That time of morning, kids were pouring into school just down from Mandi's house, so Mack had to dial down his speed, as he turned onto Pearl Street. He was the second officer to arrive and he noticed Slade's truck already at the house and assumed he had simply driven his private vehicle to help out at the scene. Mack exited his car and immediately heard shouting and screaming from inside Mandi's house and his heart began pounding heavily, as he made his way to the front door. Deputy Eno pulled up and motioned to Mack that he would put eyes on the back door. As Mack eased down the side of the house, he looked inside a window and saw Slade's back . "How did he get inside so quickly", Mack wondered, as he walked up the side of the house. As he passed by the living room window, he peeked in and was face to face with Mandi, who was bleeding heavily from her nose and mouth and her pajama top was ripped and bloody. They made eye contact for a split second and then Slade walked by the window, while yelling at Mandi. When he saw Slade, Mack ducked down. Mack knew, that over the years, Mandi had repeatedly declined Slade's incessant advances, and Mack knew right away what was going on. He called Sheriff People's cell phone and told him he needed to stop whatever he was doing and get to this scene. Ever so slowly, Mack made his way up the front steps and to the door. He tried the door knob, but it was locked. Looking through the front hall window, he could see Slade's profile walking towards the back door. Mack jumped off the porch and took off towards the back of the house, where Deputy Eno was now standing. Slade snuck up to and threw open the back screen door, lowered his shoulder into Deputy Eno, and they both flew off the back porch and into the back yard with all of Slade's weight landing on Eno's mid-section. Slade crawled on top of Deputy Eno, who was dazed, and began pounding his left shoulder with his fist.

      About that time, Mack rounded the back side of the house running at full speed, he turned towards Slade, adjusted his upper body angle, then brutally tackled Slade onto the ground slamming his face into the ground. The two of them tussled around and around in the backyard, unaware that an ambulance and Sheriff Peoples had arrived on the scene.  "Belts and backups!" the sheriff yelled, as Mack and Slade stood up. Mack dropped his duty belt, which carried his service firearm, pepper spray, and a taser. Then he pulled a small .38 caliber from his right ankle holster. Sheriff Peoples had never seen the look that was now on Mack's face and he too quickly added up what had happened at Mandi's house that morning. Mack stood up and let Slade get off his back. He looked over at the sheriff, who simply nodded in the direction of Slade. Apparently it was time for Slade to get what was long overdue. He had been rumblin' for a humblin' for decades and it was Mack aimed to humble him well.

     Slade took a few steps towards Mack and through a wild looping right hook at Mack's face, but it was well off the mark and his forward inertia exposed his right torso to Mack, who dropped to his right knee, while burying a hard right into Slade's torso and ribs. Mack stood up and waited for Slade, who was now favoring and slightly guarding his right side. Slade circled around Mack a few times then lowered his head and stretched out his arms, while rushing at Mack, in a dreadful attempt to tackle Mack, but Mack took a step back and stiffly planted his left knee into Slade's nose, where an immediate stream of blood began pouring. "Well!! Are you just gonna stand there!", Slade yelled at Sheriff Peoples, who softly replied, "yep, I think I am." Slade then approached Mack again and managed to dodge a straight right, which Mack had thrown. Finally, they stood chest to chest, as they tussled for the upper hand. Slade was drunk and running his mouth, while Mack worked his hands under Slade's arms and clasped his hands behind Slade's back. In an instant, Mack through his hips in front of Slade and wedged Slade's body into the air in a textbook hip toss. When Slade landed, it knocked the breath out of Slade. "That's enough!" barked Sheriff Peoples, and just like that, it was over.


      While reading him his Rights, Mack rolled Slade onto his back, cuffed him, then tossed him in the backseat of his patrol car. Although in need of some cleaning up and bandaging, Mandi was ok. She smiled a warm smile, as she gave Mack a big long hug. "Are you ok?" he asked sincerely. "I am now", she said with a sigh. "How about some coffee", Mack invited, and soon they were over at Mae's diner talking, laughing, and catching up. Sheriff Peoples stopped by to check on Mandi, "I told myself I wouldn't retire until Slade was gone, but I'm glad he saved me a few years of  paperwork" the Sheriff said with his hat in his hand. He turned to leave then looked back with one hand on the door, "Mack.., you're gonna make one hell of a Sheriff around here."

Walking On

     The loud percolating coffee pot stirred Jim Posky from his sleep at 5:20am. As he had done for over forty years, Jim rolled over, kissed his wife, Kay, on the forehead then whispered in her ear, "The world is waiting for you.." With that, he stood, mechanically slid his feet into his pre-positioned slippers, pulled on his robe, and made his way to the kitchen to pour two cups of hot coffee. As the owner of a bustling auto parts store in downtown Muncie, Indiana, Jim's day had begun sharply at 5:20 for longer than he could remember. Although they were on the island, they were certainly not on island time. She had retired from teaching two years prior, but her decades-old routine of grading math papers over morning coffee was so deeply ingrained, that she could still hardly stand to find herself in bed when the clock hit 5:25. While slowly stretching, she pulled on her gown, ran her fingers through her graying hair, slid into her own pre-positioned slippers, then headed to the kitchen. Jim was slightly taller than average with short dark brown hair and a stout build. Jim was quiet and deliberate man with a dry and rarely seen sense of humor. He was very well versed in every aspect of the auto parts industry and when he finally decided to sell his store a few years ago, the offers were frequent, considerable, and from as far away as Nebraska. As an immigrant from Croatia, Jim's grandparents had been processed into the states through Ellis Island. After wandering West in search of work, his grandfather landed an unskilled labor job at an auto parts  factory in Muncie. Kay's family ended up in Muncie in the late 1850's, as they fled the Great Potato Famine in Ireland. Growing up the daughter of a pig farmer, Kay was no stranger to long sweaty days. She was petite, but far from a pusher over. Her facial features were sharp, but her heart was soft and kind. They were simple people. Their clothes, like their house and cars, were plain, practical, and humble. They had worked very hard for many years, raised two sons, one who was married and working as an engineer for General Motors in Detroit and the other was stationed overseas and making a good name for himself in the Army. Shelly, their youngest, was a free spirit and had challenged them and their way of thinking over the years. They sat facing each other with the steam rising from their cups. Unusually,  neither of them had unpacked any of their clothes for their stay on the island.

   Twenty-two years before, Jim and Kay sat down with their financial adviser and were pleasantly surprised by the performance of their investments. Uncharacteristically, they agreed to invest a sizeable chunk of their savings into a condominium on Hilton Head Island in South Carolina. Both the notion of spending and relaxing seemed foreign to them, but the return on their money was promising. From every angle, it looked like a win-win. Besides, their good friends, Lou and Margarite (Margo), had bought a unit at the same place two months prior and Lou had been relentlessly working on Jim to join them. They could stay in their condo one week a year and it would be rented out to weekly tenants the remainder of the year.

      Like their house, cars, and clothes, their condominium was humbly furnished. A 70's nautical theme was evident, but there was nothing fancy or showy about the furnishings, furniture, appliances, or floor coverings. Every year, since they bought it, Jim and Kay had joined Lou and Margo at Hilton Head Island during the last week of March, when all of the beautiful flowers on the Island were bursting with color. Kay and Margo would make busy around their condos or sit out by the pool catching up with each other, while Jim and Lou would play a few rounds of golf on one of the fine courses on the island. With the exception of Saturday night, when they would eat out, they all would get together and the ladies would cook up some fresh seafood from the local market. After the ladies finished cleaning up from supper, the four of them would walk and talk for miles down the beach, as the sun went down on the day. As creatures of habit, Jim and Kay had always packed on Friday afternoons, after Kay got home from school, then departed Muncie at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning bound for the Island. Jim always drove through Cincinnati, Lexington, Knoxville, Asheville, Spartanburg, Columbia, then I-26 to I-95 and over to the island. Unintentionally at first, then just another part of their routine, Jim and Kay stopped and ate lunch at the same roadside diner in Asheville every year. They typically arrived on Hilton Head around six in the evening, fully unpack their clothes and groceries and then headed over to Lou and Margo's to play a few friendly hands of canasta while enjoying some of Lou's famous Vodka tonics. Twenty-two years later, Jim and Kay sat stone-faced like two battle-weary Marines thinking about all they had been through recently, and somehow hoping to relax.


       The blows that life had dealt them since their last trip to the Island had been excruciatingly brutal. For the first time, since they bought the condo, they actually talked about not even going. After years of enduring abdominal pain, Jim was referred to a few specialists in May and was later diagnosed with what the doctor called, "an aggressive cancer" in his gall bladder. Treatment options were limited. Then in July, years of increasing dementia caught up with Kay's mother. Kay and her brothers finally had to move her mother into a nursing home just outside Indianapolis. Things seemed to return to "normal" for a few months. But in the midst of a difficult Thanksgiving family gathering, Shelly abruptly left the table, the house, and Muncie. She followed through on her threat that one day she would move to California and never call or come home again. They eventually received a post card from her letting them know that she was "home now" with people that accepted her for who she was. Kay's guilt for never truly connecting with and for losing touch with her only daughter was heavy, like a Rhinoceros that sat on her chest all day every day, as if worrying about Jim wasn't enough. But nothing, absolutely nothing could have prepared Jim and Kay for the phone call they received on New Year's Day. It was a big day all over the Midwest. Kay was making snacks and Jim was out back grilling and cleaning up around the house. In a short while, Lou and Margo would be over to watch the big game, as Notre Dame was taking on Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl. The phone rang and Kay caught it on the fifth ring and stretched the cord back over to the counter, where she continued making dip for the chips. "No!! No!!.. Oh My!!... NO!!!, she screamed. Her hand fell limp by her side as she dropped the phone handset to the floor. Jim heard her and came as quickly as he could, "Honey, where are you.. what's wrong!?" He found her in the kitchen staring blankly at the fridge with the phone dangling in a pile of spilled potato chips. "It's Lou and Margo.."  her lip quivering. "They had an accident coming home from a party last night..." She put her face in Jim's chest and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes. "Jim... they hit a tree near Medford. Jim....., they're gone."


     Without a word they sat and sipped coffee in their robes on the deck. The gentle tones from the wind chime, which Lou and Margo had given them, were pleasant, but haunting in the warm salty breeze. Jim changed seats and sat next to Kay, as they both looked into the darkness towards the sound of the surf. Although it had been a few months since they buried Lou and Margo, it was still very fresh on their minds and heavy on their hearts. Without saying as much, they knew that Hilton Head could never be the same. "For the love of Pete, Posky, play your card." was one of Lou's favorite playful groanings when they played canasta. "Posky..., the grass is growing over my toes over here. Hit the ball already." he frequently whined during Jim's very slow and deliberate approach to golf. Life for Jim and Kay had gone according to their script for many years, but something happened and life had simply thrown out the script. There was an unsettled mood in the air that morning.

    The day before, without any discussion, Jim had taken a different route from Muncie and they wound up eating at a restaurant in Chattanooga before passing through Atlanta, Macon, and Savannah and over to the island. A year ago Kay would have asked him why he was taking a different route, but she never said a word. Her face was blank during the ride, but behind it, her mind was a scribble-scrabble blur of thoughts about Jim's health, Shelly's safety, and how in the world they would relax at the beach when they got to the coast. Jim took her cup of coffee and went inside where he pulled on some gym shorts, a flowery Hawaiin shirt he had picked up the week before, a zip up sweat jacket, and his sandals. He poured their coffee into styrofoam cups, topped them off, then handed Kay hers and kindly asked, "Do you feel like catching sunrise?" She stood silently and went to her room where she pulled on some Khaki pants, a long sleeve t-shirt, and a windbreaker then returned. In the morning twilight, they silently made their way toward the beach. Like they had never done before, Jim and Kay sat in the sand without chairs or a towel. Their hands felt the sand, their ears were washed by the sound of the waves, their nostrils were filled with fresh salty air. The ocean breeze was chilly. They didn't hold hands and really hadn't held hands in years nor verbalized their love for one another in decades. There was no need. Words weren't necessary to express what their actions proved day in and day out. Neither of them kept score to see who helped the other the most. Where he stopped she began and where she stopped he began and they both wanted nothing more than the other to be happy and fulfilled. The sun slowly peeked over the Atlantic and within a few minutes, the full beauty of sunrise warmed them inside and out.

     They enjoyed the peaceful reprieve from their thoughts. The storms of life had tossed them about so roughly for the past year that they simply sat side-by-side and savored the moment. Eventually, Jim stood and offered Kay his hand to help her up. It was only then that she noticed his goofy shirt. It was the first real smile she had felt in weeks. "Jim, where in the world did you find that silly shirt?" "I got it at Belk's last week", he said with a smile. "For heaven's sakes, why?" Kay replied coyly. She hadn't seen Jim shed a tear since he buried his father over thirty years ago, but one ran down his cheek, as he pulled a folded up post card from his shirt pocket. "Kay, we are going to California. We are going to find Shelly, and we are going to look into her beautiful eyes and tell her that know that no matter where she goes or what she does, that we will always love her." Kay's smile became brighter than the sunrise, "I would like that. I would like that a lot, honey. when?" she asked. "Right now." He said with a firm chin and resolve in his eyes. "If it's all the same to you, our bags are still packed. Let's leave right now." They turned to walk back to the condo. He put his arm around her and began telling her what he'd been up to. "You remember Tom Marabeli that retired from the Indiana State Patrol? Well, he's retired and lives out in Southern California.." They walked and talked on...

Burnt Waffles

  The Waffle House back booth in Metter, just off I-16, was a full twenty-minute drive from my college crash-pad, but well worth the gas money to escape the 'Boro and have a quiet place to study, where I didn't know anyone. On this particular evening, I was preparing for a psychology test on motivational behavior. My waitress, Jenny, was barely twenty-one years old and the mother of a two year old little guy, us regulars knew affectionately as , "Little Joe." Without the slightest touch of makeup, Jenny was girl next door gorgeous. Sweet, genuine, country-girl fit, and walked circles around her co-workers, while taking care of  customers. The Murphys, also regulars, were a sweet elderly couple that always sat in the third booth from the door, always ordered waffles, and rarely spoke a word to each other. I had discovered this off campus study-hall just a few months prior, and after only my second visit, Jenny seemed like the little sister I never had and already knew that my "regular" was scattered-smothered-covered hash browns and a bottomless cup of coffee. Quick to notice, but slow to learn, I was there to re-write my lecture notes onto index cards for further studying, which seemed to help pound information into my thick skull. As I got started that night, I thought to myself, "Surely this stuff is more useful than algebra."

Regardless of where you sat at the Metter Waffle House, all regulars would eventually be treated to a visit from Jenny, to catch up on the latest local drama or just to see how they were doing. This night was no different. "Whatcha readin' 'bout?" she said with a curious country twang, as she delivered my hash browns, while sliding into the seat across from me for a few minutes. She was smart and really wanted to get back into college, where she had been studying nursing, when Little Joe came along. In her mind, working to pay bills, while raising her son were insurmountable obstacles between her and even one class a quarter. We were having a pleasant conversation about motivational behavior when, as fate would have it, the calm quiet evening was abruptly interrupted by the sound of screeching tires. "It's Donnie!", Screamed Shirley, from behind the register. I turned in time to see the driver slam his conspicuously clean, jacked-up diesel super cab, into park, while almost simultaneously snatching open the front door, like an orangutan swinging from vine to vine. Jenny stood up, by my booth and took a few hesitant steps away from the door, where a loud, over-grown, daddy-did-good-on-the-farm type, invaded the room, quickly changing the vibe inside. Jenny's face was filled with raw fear, as she nervously brushed off her apron and fidgeted with her dish rag. He glared at me like a baseball catcher staring down a base runner with a big lead off of first base, while walking purposefully towards Jenny and yelling at her about something he couldn't find. "Easy Greg....easy", I told myself, as he continued towards Jenny. He had that wild-eyed look about him. Calmly, I glanced down at my table: fork, knife, ink pen, hot coffee, plate of food, and a napkin dispenser were my immediately available weapons, should my involvement in this quickly escalating situation become inevitable. "Is this her brother, cousin, boy friend, Little Joe's dad, neighbor, former employer...?" 

The very best notes or lecture series on motivational behavior paled in comparison to the case study that was unfolding around me, which featured all sorts of motivational behaviors. As Donnie arrived at Jenny, he thrust his scowling face right into hers, firmly grabbed her upper arm, and began walking her towards the front door. The urge to act was strong and instinctive, and I had to force myself to stay seated. "Maybe they were just going outside to exchange heated words," I thought. As the only man under the age of sixty at Waffle House that night, I knew I was it, when it came to any effective intervention. Unbeknownst to me, Metter's finest was on the, as Shirley had quietly called 911, as soon as she saw Jenny's ex boyfriend whip his truck into the parking lot. "I guess you think you're real funny, Huh!" He shouted, as he led her through the doors and into the parking lot. Jenny begged with a pitiful scream, "Donnie, please don't do this Here!" It hit me like a cannonball to my gut, that Jenny was no stranger to this sort of aggression and abuse. He flung her around and her back hit against the bed side panel of his pick up, as she gasped loudly and shrieked in pain. I had already taken four or five steps before I was fully aware that I was up and walking. A full dose of adrenaline was gushing into my bloodstrem, causing my thoughts to cloud, as I watched myself reach for the door.  Having wrestled in high school, my preference was to take this meat-head to the asphalt, where I liked my chances, but he looked like the kind of guy that would have a gun or knife either on him or very close by. As I walked through the Waffle House doors, I could see him raring back to hit Jenny and Jenny looked over at me. "Don't come out here!" Jenny screamed desperately. Her cheeks already a mess of smeared mascara tears. He let go of her to get his eyes on who she was talking to, while reaching towards the back belt-line of his pants. His shirt was untucked and, sure enough, he promptly produced a 3-4" fixed blade knife, which he gripped in his right hand.    

   Although I had always been able to handle myself pretty well, I did not enjoy fighting and I was certainly not familiar with defending myself against a knife attack. Nevertheless, I continued walking towards Donnie. "This is gonna get bloody," I thought, but I was not going to run and I sure as hell wasn't going to let him get anywhere near Jenny again. I was in one of those frozen moments, where time slows down to milliseconds and you see and hear everything in crystal clarity. At this point, we were about fifteen feet from each other, as I struggled to come up with a plan, or at least a decent first move. Neither one of us said a word. Plowing towards a larger holding a knife was not very bright. Just then, and in the nick of time, Metter's finest arrived on the scene and barreled into the parking lot with head and blue lights shining right on Donnie. In an instant, it was clear that they both knew him and he knew them. Suddenly the tough guy act was over and in a few minutes he was cuffed and stuffed into a police car. The whole ordeal was over. Shirley scurried back inside to check on the Murphy's waffles. Jenny came over and offered an unnecessary apology then crawled into the front seat of the other squad car, as an officer offered to take Jenny to her parents house. As the police car pulled away, I began slowly walking back inside and towards my booth. The smell of burning waffles filled my nostrils, as I heard Mr. Murphy complain, "Shirley, you know we don't like our waffles burned." In a few minutes Shirley topped off my coffee and relished in telling me the entire back story of  Jenny and Donnie. I saw her mouth moving, but her words were unintelligble, sounding more like the steady zapping of bugs flying into a bug light on a warm summer night. Eventually, Shirley returned to her duties and I returned to my thoughts. Thoughts about people and what motivates them to do the things people do. As I sat there, I thought about each person involved and considered what may or may not have motivated us to behave the way we had behaved. Then my thoughts drifted back to broken relationships, lost friends, and family problems and I weighed what may have motivated the behaviors in those situations. That was the night. The night I learned about motivational behavior. That was also the night that I began making my own mental notes about people and what motivates us. I've never stopped.