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‘Teresa, I was wondering … when my divorce is final … if I asked you for a date … would you go out with me?’ She looked at me and smiled slightly. ‘Probably. I take it you want to wait so that it doesn’t seem improper that you are dating before it’s official?’ ‘Yeah … I guess so. I mean, I’m not going to change my mind about the divorce, but I didn’t feel right about going out on dates right away.’ ‘Well, you’ve got ninety days to wait if your wife doesn’t contest the action. I should tell you that I do date now and then, so, yes, I’d go out on a date with you.’ ‘Great. That gives me lots of time to think of something special for us,’ I grinned. ‘And I’ll look forward to it. In the meantime, we can still skate together on Sundays,’ she said happily. Driving home that afternoon I was once again feeling very good about how my ‘new’ life was going. I even had a couple of prospective girlfriends, two very different women to be sure. Monday morning I called Frank Sellers in Charlotte and. There was a high school in town, not very big but big enough to have a football team, and I quarterbacked the last team the school fielded, right before the school was closed — due to declining enrollment. I was pretty good, too. Good enough to attract a few scouts, good enough to land a scholarship to play in Austin, nowhere near good enough to make a career out of it so I joined an ROTC program and went into the Navy. I learned to fly, became good enough to make a career out of that, and so the worm turned. I think it was the railroad, really, and growing up around trains, that left me with the desire to move people around. Our house — the house I grew up in, the railroad built, the railroad sold to my grandfather and which was financed by the railroad — was on the southwest corner of Baldwin Street and Pullman Avenue. Tree lined streets with gas lights scattered on the corners, the pecan trees around our neighborhood providing broad shady pools to fuss away our summer afternoons.
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