Chapter 3: Chariot Of Fire

 



     "Hey Burkhardt, can we catch you a minute?" calls out a sweat-shirted girl from across the fountain as he and I are heading back to the house after an advanced history class entitled The War Between the States.

"What's up Deb Lew, Freida-Mae?" he greets while leading us to the edge of the glimmering pool.

"We heard Delta Ep's got a fast chariot," glares Debi Lewis hopping onto the ledge and wielding a stick.

"Well our pledges won last year," he smiles up at her and then over at Freida-Mae with her own stick propped on a shoulder to unveil a delicate earlobe beneath black curls. "Is Alma Wood running a team?"

"Yep, and please, please, please can we borrow your buggy?" Deb Lew begs, her now prayerful stance suffused in the spring green of the maples and oaks surrounding the plaza.



     Spring in the Virginia piedmont was glorious with magnolias bursting into blush blooms under the verdant foliage of a deciduous forest. Many students responded in kind, unfurling onto the benches and lawns scattered around the fountain plaza, books open but eyes mostly closed. In this particular spring there were fewer girls out sunbathing than in previous years. It was the first time the school had fielded a women's lacrosse team, and Debi Lewis had transferred over from the softball team. She'd also talked her suitemate into trying out despite only ever having danced. 

     Gibson-Henry College had hosted a May Day celebration since before that so-called war of northern aggression. Classes were cancelled for a day of live music on the lawn and kegs in the fraternities. After a suitable amount of partaking in both, the games would begin with tug-of-war and end with chariot races.



     "Your prayers are answered," laughs Burkhardt to Deb Lew's plea. 'Zo, tell em about your design!"

"It's based on Roman descriptions of Celtic war chariots - a lightweight platform open in front for easy leaps and bounds," I blurt before I can stop myself.

"How do you know so much about it, Smarty Pants?" Deb Lew challenges, leaping down from the fountain's edge to poke me in the chest with her scoop.

"The only books my parents had were Childcraft encyclopedias and I read them cover-to-cover," I explicate, stepping back to extricate from her lacrosse stick.

"Ooh, I loved Art For Children!" Freida-Mae finally speaks, her Bette Davis eyes widening with pleasure.

"That one was great, but I wore out Life In Many Lands," I coax, turning toward the mysterious Middle Easterner.

"Hey, we should get together sometime," she blurts as I nearly piss my pants. "You should come to our hall party on Saturday night."





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