I inhaled a deep breath of cool, September air. The scent of leather, dirt, and wood was so prevalent I could almost taste it. Ah, the smell of baseball, I thought to myself. I was sitting on the all too familiar wood panels of VMI’s home dugout. I’m not entirely sure how I ended up down there, but somehow it felt right and provided the necessary sense of comfort. I had spent so much time in that very place, you see. I glanced up at the substantial scoreboard situated in deep center field: 1:14AM the clock read in bold, red numbers. Shit, what am I going to do? I stood up from the bench and looked around. No one was to be found, I was entirely alone down there. A slight breeze fanned through my sundress and light sweater sending a chill up my spine. I’m not dressed for this, I thought. Crossing my arms to create some sort of warmth I left the dugout and stood on the edge of the field. The moon cast a ray of light across the diamond, illuminating it’s beauty. God, I love baseball. I looked over my shoulder once more and without really giving it much thought, I stepped onto the field and preceded to the pitcher’s mound. No one could see me; no one even knew I was there. I dug the heel of my worn cowboy boots into the red dirt of the mound and stood there stout and attentive just like a pitcher would do. It was somewhat overwhelming and yet completely empowering to be in the center of that field on that mound surrounded by the incredible expanse of Gray Minor Stadium. With the wind at my back and my focus ahead, I felt alive. Maybe only a few inches raised off the ground, I felt like I was on top of the world out there. Why would a person ever want to give this up, I thought. I wonder if this is how you felt.
I took a step back off the mound and onto level ground. Straight ahead of me was the familiar press box; a mischievous smile curled at my lips as the memories came back to me. To it’s left lay the uncomfortable red seats I spent so many of my weekends sitting in, overlooking this very field. I sat and watched those ball players attentively: the flexion of their arms as they swung a heavy wooden bat, and the ensuing “crack” of making contact with a 90 mile an hour fastball. The fluid motion of a smooth double play. I remember it all so clearly, but more then anything I remember you. My eyes dropped one level below and rested upon the home dugout, where it all began – really where we began – so many years ago. If I could just return to those incredible moments on this field… My smile quickly faded as I breathed in the cold reality. This is too much, I thought as the tears began forming at my tired eyes. Reaching behind me I fell to the soft grass behind the mound. I had to sit down. The grass was slightly damp on my bare legs and I was suddenly more aware then before of exactly how cold it had become. I didn’t care. I laid back onto it as if I were making a snow angel, breathing in the aromas, feeling the soft grass, the crisp chill of the night air; just feeling. I let the tears stream slowly down my face, it seems to help, you know.
Laying there, looking up at the big country sky, I thought about how beautiful the stars were. So many of them glowing in the night, way up there, so far from this world. Why didn’t we ever do this? Just come out here and stare up at these stars. I suddenly felt so small, laying there with my arms outstretched, beneath the night’s expanse; in the center of a vast baseball field. It would have been an odd sight if someone had seen me. I wonder if this is legal, I thought. I laid there for what felt like hours, letting my emotions come and go with the passing of every minute. Finally, when I felt like I was ready, I gently wiped my eyes and slowly raised myself to my feet. I glanced back up at the clock and read 2:03AM. “Great,” I whispered to myself, “now what.” I brushed off my slightly dampened dress and made my way back to the dugout and gathered my belongings, which consisted of a purse and a bottle of water. I started to make the long trek up the infamous stairs from the field towards Barracks. I was cold and getting tired, and I needed to figure out where the hell I was going to stay.
I am not entirely sure how I ended up in that situation in the first place. I had come to Lexington for the annual state show and thought I would stop by VMI to see a few friends while I was there. It had been a great day, and an even greater night. But due to some extreme miscommunication, my ride home ended up departing Lexington without me and I was suddenly without transportation and even worse – without a place to stay. Taps was approaching and it was a lot to ask for a ride home from one of the keydets. Acting quickly I got a hold of one of my horse show friends who told me that she would be heading back to Charlottesville at 5:00 in the morning, if I wanted a ride then. I couldn’t get a hold of either of my parents or anyone else with a car, so at that point I was perfectly happy to take what I could get. Now I just needed to find a warm place to stay for the next 4 hours. I had money on me but I thought it would be wasted if used it on a hotel. I’m an insomniac anyway so it didn’t really matter where I went, I wasn’t going to spend much time sleeping.
Walking up all those stairs was probably the best thing I could be doing, it kept my blood flowing and made the cold less noticeable. Slightly winded I walked quietly across the parade deck. There was someone on guard, but I don’t think that he even noticed me. Some lights were still on in barracks, but for the most part it was dark and silent. The world was fast asleep while I was still awake – but that was nothing new to me. Quickening my pace, I knew that the academic buildings were open all night, maybe I could find refuge in one of them for a few hours? I tip toed into one near Crozet Hall. I can’t recall the name, but after further exploration I discovered it was the business and economics building. Who cares – it was warm, vacant, and thankfully unlocked. I found the nearest classroom, turned off all the lights, and shut the door behind me. I pushed some incredibly comfortable chairs together making a makeshift bed and using my purse as a pillow, I laid down to get some rest. It wasn’t the best place to sleep, but I had gotten myself in this situation and I wasn’t about to complain. It was warm, that’s all that mattered. I looked at my pitiful old cell phone; it was 2:45AM. The bar on the right side was lit up in green; good, it was fully charged. With that in mind I shut my eyes and drifted into some form of – I wouldn’t really say sleep – but rest.
Some time later I woke up. It wasn’t as warm as it seemed earlier and the discomfort of sleeping without a blanket or pillow was starting to become evident. I opened my phone to see what time it was and to my complete disbelief the screen was completely black and unresponsive. Oh my God. My phone is dead. As if things couldn’t have gotten any worse, right? I didn’t have my friends number written down or memorized, and she was supposed to call me in the morning when she got to VMI, otherwise she had no idea where to go or where I was, and she certainly couldn’t wait for me. There was an analog clock on the wall above me and I could just make out in the dark 4:35AM.
SHIT!!!! Frantically I fumbled out of the awkward bed of chairs and stood up to gather myself. I knew there had to be a phone and computers in this building, so I put the classroom back together and quietly left it like nothing had happened. I’m sure there’s probably many laws against me being in that building, but this was now necessary, and all I could do was pray that no one caught me in there. I went from room to room trying to find a working computer, but in every classroom the keyboard and mouse were locked up and inaccessible. I climbed four flights of stairs and explored every floor before I managed to find a computer lab. Yes, one of these has to work, I thought as I turned them on one by one. But to my dismay they all required a username and password, none of which I could decipher. I was completely disheartened by the time I made it to the last computer in the room, but miraculously, someone had left it on and logged in. Thank God. I quickly logged onto facebook where I was able to find my friend’s phone number – who knew that site would become so useful in times of stress? I scratched it down onto the only paper I had, an old wrinkled envelope, and then left the lab unscathed and began to search for a phone. I felt on top of the situation and was just so happy that I was able to find her number.
In the third classroom I tried I found a big, old-style telephone. I dialed her number numerous times but every time the phone rebelled. Either I was retarded, or it was completely unable to make outgoing calls. The only thing I could do was call the help desk or some other part of VMI. At a loss I called whatever number the VMI directory sent me to, but it seemed that office hours did not include 4:00 on a Sunday morning. FUCK MY LIFE. It was approaching 5:00 and she would be picking me up soon. I had to think fast. I was still in shock that my phone had died on me, seriously – just my luck.
I essentially sprinted out of that building no longer really caring if anyone saw me. It’s not like anyone was awake. I made it outside and was shocked at how cold the air had become. The ground was completely damp with morning dew and I began to shiver. My boots echoed with each heavy step, the sound bouncing off the hollowness of the surrounding stone buildings. I knew there was a small gas station open 24 hours about a mile down the road. If I could make it there before 5:00 I’m sure they would have a phone I could use. The lights of maybe one or two cars illuminated route 11 as I began my journey, but otherwise I was completely alone, in the dark.
As the gas station came into view I felt a huge sense of relief. It wasn’t yet five and I would have just enough time to call. There was an uninviting looking man standing at the doorway smoking a cigarette. I pulled my sweater conservatively over my chest and clutched my purse a little tighter as I uncomfortably passed him and walked into the gas station. There was a tall woman, probably in her 50’s, with a sharp angular face and short blonde hair working the cash register. She will understand, I thought. “Good morning ma’am, I was wondering if there was anyway I could use your phone?” I asked politely.
“Um, no the phone is not for public use.” She answered quickly with not a southern, but rather an ignorant accent. I was shocked.
“Ma’am, please it’s kind of an emergency, you see I’m stuck here, I don’t have any way to get home and I have got to make a phone –“
“I’m sorry you can’t use this phone,” she rudely interjected.
“Well do you have a cell phone I could use?” I pleaded with the first hint of panic I felt the whole night.
“No I don’t.” She responded carelessly. Yeah fucking right, I thought. Bitch.
At that moment the shady man from outside walked in and I quickly asked, “Sir do you have a phone that I could use? It really is an emergency!” I saw it in his back pocket.
But he seemed to share the same disinterest as her as he said “Nah, sorry.” His words hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to shake him, I had absolutely had it. How could people be so God damned inconsiderate? I was no longer safe, and they couldn’t even offer a phone. I had fought back tears all night and made the most of my situation, but now I couldn’t help it. The tears began to pour as I said sternly, “Well what the hell do you suggest I do, sir? I don’t know where to go. I am cold, I am tired, I haven’t slept and I need to get the FUCK out of this town.” My lips quivered with each angry word as I was overtaken with exhaustion and frustration.
This, however caught him off guard, and with perhaps a hint of sympathy he offered, “Well there is a Kroger maybe two to three miles up the road thattaways and they should have a pay phone.”
“Great, thanks SO much for your help.” I said sarcastically through tears as I stormed out of the gas station. It was now well after 5:00 and my ride home had surely come and gone.
My legs were tired and sore from the days lack of rest, but I diligently continued my climb uphill towards the said Kroger where maybe there was a payphone. I thought seriously about flagging down one of the morning churchgoers and hitchhiking, but however tempting it was, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I just kept walking, and walking, and walking. The stars began to disappear as I felt the sun creep up. It was becoming day and I was out of time and still in Lexington. Kroger was nowhere on the horizon. God help me, I said aloud.
In the distance I could just make out what looked like a hotel. It was a big building with a long, green walkway and it looked much more inviting then anything I had passed all night. I could just make out some form of activity inside, and with Kroger nowhere to be found, it just seemed right to stop here. It was worth a shot.
I approached the front door and read the words “The Mayflower: Early Retirement Home.” Well, I guess that’s sort of like a hotel? I thought to myself. I opened the door and entered the home. Immediately I was overtaken with the sound of classical music and the quizzical stares of five or six elderly onlookers. What have I gotten myself into. I approached one of them and asked politely, “Do you know if there is a phone here I could use?”
Before any of them could answer, a women who appeared to be in charge came out of a room and answered for them, “Um, hello there, how may I help you?” She was probably in her early sixties with short brown hair and a kind face.
I couldn’t help it, I started to cry again as I said, “I’m really sorry to bother you ma’am, but I am stuck in this town with no way home and I just really, really need to get in touch with someone.”
“Why are you here, I don’t fully understand your situation, I don’t know anything about you…” she asked sternly, but kindly.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have stopped here, I’m not sure why I did, I’ll – I’ll be on my way,” I stuttered while wiping away the tears and gathering up my stuff once more. “I’m not even sure myself as to how I got in this situation…” I trailed off as I approached the door.
“No, no honey” she said comfortingly as she touched my hand, “you come right back here with me, I’ve got a phone you can use, dear.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother—“
“Don’t say a word about it, just come back with me!” I proceeded to follow her into another room away from the elderly people who were still so intrigued by my presence. “And by the way, my name is Linda. I don’t think I caught yours Miss…”
“Miss Richards, it’s Alexia Richards.”
“Well isn’t that a beautiful name!” Linda said with a smile.
“Thank you—“ I said with a shaky voice, “thank you so much.”
She sat me down and handed me her phone while she began separating pills for all of the home’s residents. I managed to get a hold of my friend by dialing the number I had scrawled onto an envelope earlier that night and sure enough she had come and gone and was halfway back to Charlottesville by now. Figures, I thought. Now I had no choice but to call one of my parents. Hopefully they would answer at this hour. By the grace of God I was able to reach my father who somehow was not angry with me in the least. He told me he would be on his way soon enough and to expect him in about an hour and half, right outside of that home, ‘The Mayflower.’ I told him I loved him, hung up the phone, and began to cry. I was so grateful for this woman; a complete stranger, with a big heart. When she saw me crying she took the phone from my hand and said “Is everything alright dear? Do you have it figured out?”
I responded, “yes, thank you, thank you, thank you,” in a hushed and tired voice.
“Well, if he’s going to be awhile, you are just in time for breakfast… would you like to join us??” She asked hopefully. I stared at her in complete disbelief and utter happiness.
“Of course,” I said, “that—that would be wonderful.”
“How nice!” she said with a smile, “come right this way!”
I followed her into a big dining hall area where at least 30 elderly people were sitting down at small tables in groups of two or three. In all honesty, I was slightly mortified at first. There was a very obvious reason why each one of these individuals was in this home in the first place, be it dementia, stroke, Parkinson’s, or any other array of time’s deterioration on the human body. Yet, so close to death, they all seemed so happy.
Linda directed me to an empty table in the back of the room and said that someone by the name of “Mrs. Ellis” would be joining me momentarily. I sat patiently and just observed all of the interesting people in the room. One women as skinny as a rail stood up from her seat and walked slowly in my direction, only to sit right next to me. Inches from my face she didn’t say a word – she just stared. I asked her how she was but with the exception of a slight smile she was completely unresponsive. She did begin to drool, however… After a few minutes she got up and did the same thing to one of the other residents and then finally stopped and stared out a window. It was some of the most bizarre behavior I have ever witnessed and quite frankly reminded me of a scene out of ‘Patch Adams’ in an insane asylum. I was happy to be there, but admittedly I was a bit frightened.
At that moment a small black woman with a shock of white hair, scooted into the room supported by an old fashioned walker. As soon as she was passed the doorframe she paused in her step, raised up her head and shouted, “Goooood Morninggg!!” with a big smile on her face. She got a few muffled responses from those who could speak and excited nods from those who couldn’t. With the exception of age she appeared to be in perfect health.
The old black woman continued walking in my direction and stopped right in front of me to say “Hi, I’m Mrs. Ellis! How are you this morning?”
She slowly and deliberately sat down while I gathered myself to respond. I was still somewhat in shock at her upbeat attitude, and found it hard to match her enthusiasm, struggling to say with excitement, “Hi! I’m Alexia!”
“Well it is just so very nice to meet you Miss Alexia,” she said in that classic, elderly woman voice that for some reason or another instantly made me think of ‘Titanic.’ She began to set her place at the table and prepare herself for the meal that was coming. I took notice and did as she. “The eggs are just to die for, my dear!” Mrs. Ellis said without looking up from the concentration of gently placing her napkin on her lap.
I nodded politely and said “I can’t wait,” which was a very genuine response seeing as I was absolutely starving.
The time passed and Linda brought out a delicious looking meal with that big kind smile on her face. How on earth did I find this place? I thought. For a bit we ate in silence, enjoying each bite of the nurturing food, but after awhile Mrs. Ellis started to ask me questions. “Tell me all about yourself dear. What is your story?” My story, boy do I have a story, I thought. I began to tell her everything. Why I was here in the first place and my current predicament, who I was, where I was from, everything I have been through the past year, I mean everything. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to tell her in that much detail, but I did. She was a complete and utter stranger, but she listened attentively and understandingly to each and every word I had to say. And when I was finished she looked at me with wise eyes and a loving heart. She took a moment to clear her throat before she began to speak. “How old are you honey?”
“I am 19 years old, Mrs. Ellis.” I said with a soft voice and sad eyes. She paused again, as if to formulate everything she was about to say.
“Well, Miss Alexia. You may not believe this but I am 102 years old.” I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up as she looked me dead in the eye and said in the most serious of tones, “I’m not sure how much longer I have on God’s green Earth or frankly why I am still here. I have lived through two world wars and when I was your age, colored children were still just that, ain’t nothin’ more. I have seen racism like you wouldn’t believe – a war I lost my dear husband to in 1963. I have no children, I sadly wasn’t able to. But I am here for a reason. I have to believe that, and I try to live each day – even the days I feel closest to death – to the best of my ability. I am truly happy, and that is my story.”
For a moment I couldn’t even speak. My jaw dropped slightly and I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I took in the power of every word she said. Before I could say anything, she reached into her bag with shaky hands and pulled out a very worn looking book. The words “Holy Bible” were faded into its spine. Slowly she set it onto the table and slid it in my direction. I placed my hand on it but still couldn’t avert my eyes from her wise face, not even for a moment.
Looking directly into my eyes she began to say omnisciently:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness, for his name’s sake.
A chill ran down my spine as she recited Psalm 23 effortlessly, I was frozen in time, so drawn to what she was saying. My hand never left that bible.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; Your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord – forever.
I couldn’t move as she finished reciting the verse. My heart was pounding. It was as if we were the only two people in the room, and this was the only moment that mattered. She reached over, grabbed my hands and placed them both on the bible. ”Read this, baby, and you’ll be fine,” she said, “I want you to have it, I think you might need it more than me.” I couldn’t even begin to argue with her. I took my eyes off her for the first time and closed my hands around the bible, feeling it’s soft leather covering, and worn pages. I knew my father would be here soon and that I needed to get going. I looked back at Mrs. Ellis and said with such complete faith, “Amen.” She nodded and went back to eating her breakfast as though nothing significant had happened.
And with that I stood up from the table and left the dining hall in search of Linda, the kind soul that had let me in here in the first place. I found her near the door and gave her one of the most deserving hugs I could give. “Thank you Linda, you have no idea how much help you have been – I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you today, thank you so much,” I said. She looked at me and with a little glimmer in her eye she said “No, honey, thank Him.” She pointed to the sky and continued, “He knew what he was doing bringing you here this morning.” I nodded. “Take care Miss Alexia, you be careful now, ya here?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, as I walked out the front doors of the ‘Mayflower,’ the place that saved me.
The sun was shining high in the sky now, erasing any hint of the night before. I sat on a bench outside and waited for my father to arrive. I suddenly felt so selfish in thinking that my “problems” had been problems at all. The people inside that building were so close to death, so close, and yet they had really lived – I mean lived through the worst of it. I realized just how short life was, and the importance of each day, and the importance of happiness. Mrs. Ellis had no children, no husband, and was possibly the oldest person in Lexington, Virginia, and yet she was as happy as she could be. I realized then that happiness was such a complete state of mind, and that perhaps it’s all relative. Life is wonderful, even in the worst of situations. I had just had a terrible night, but everything was going to be okay. I found such peace of mind in that thought.
At that moment, I felt the slight protrusion of a bookmark in the pages of the bible. Intrigued I flipped open the cover and began to finger through the thin pages until I got to the right one. Yet another chill ran down my spine as I read what was written on the marked page. The whole world seemed to stop for an instant. It was Philliappians, and verse 4:13 had been highlighted in a vibrant yellow. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, I read. I scanned through the rest of the bible just to see if anything else had been marked. Nothing. I flipped back to the page. Phillippians 4:13 has always been my favorite verse….. how did she know?
I repeated the verse aloud, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” And again, “I can do all things… through Christ… who strengthens me.”
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
It was in that moment, that I found God on Route 11.
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