{"id":3991,"date":"2015-09-11T11:13:18","date_gmt":"2015-09-11T18:13:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/?p=3991"},"modified":"2015-09-11T12:26:32","modified_gmt":"2015-09-11T19:26:32","slug":"getting-it-right-greeks-the-guy-god","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/annleemiller.com\/2015\/09\/getting-it-right-greeks-the-guy-god\/","title":{"rendered":"Getting it Right: Greeks, the Guy, & God"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Anthony DELANOIX<\/p><\/div>\n

I didn\u2019t belong here in this hazy rented hall that smelled of hops and hairspray and heated bodies. The knowing started in my sternum and crawled outward.<\/p>\n

I crammed it back into the corner where I kept God at times like this.<\/p>\n

The \u01a9AEs and a cadre of coeds danced to Kiss\u2019s Rock and Roll All Night<\/em>. I schooled my features and tried to look cool.<\/p>\n

At Florida Southern College the Sigma Alpha Epsilons had landed on the pinnacle of the fraternity heap. Testosterone fanned from the tables they inhabited in the cafeteria. I felt its pull deep in my belly every time I pushed through the glass doors. Tugged toward their broad backs, brotherhood, and blond nonchalance. And tonight I\u2019d bagged my first frat party\u2014a freshman pledge invited six of us at once.<\/p>\n

The only thing I wanted more than I wanted to dance was scoring \u01a9AE Little Sister\u2014one of the favored few who gained the right to sit at their table, attend their parties, and strut cool around campus.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d refused to rush a sorority. Even if I had sorority kind of money\u2014even if my lifeguarding checks didn\u2019t go straight to tuition\u2014no Greek club would run me.<\/p>\n

But \u01a9AEs weren\u2019t just Greeks. At FSC, they were gods.<\/p>\n

Disco Duck<\/em> pulsed in the smoky air and my self-esteem deflated into a chair. I scraped bubble gum from the bottom of my sandal with a fingernail. Maybe I was crazy for cramming gods and God into the same square inch on the timeline of my life. What if they couldn\u2019t co-exist?<\/p>\n

A hand grabbed my wrist and I looked up at one of the girls from my dorm. She yanked me into the conga line.<\/p>\n

Thank God.<\/p>\n

When the song ended, the guy behind me kept hold of my waist. \u201cDance?\u201d<\/p>\n

\"Dave<\/a>

Dave Holt<\/p><\/div>\n

\u201cSure\u201d flew out of my mouth before I turned around. Dancing with anyone beat picking pink from my shoe. My gaze smacked into the golden \u01a9AE emblazoned across the expanse of a man-sized chest, then swooped up to powder blue eyes framed by wavy, white-blond hair. My breath caught. Well, okay then.<\/p>\n

A couple songs later, sweat beaded across my forehead and along my hairline, trickled down my back.<\/p>\n

He offered to get me a beer.<\/p>\n

I held up my hand. \u201cI\u2019m good.\u201d I\u2019d kill for a glass of water, but I didn\u2019t have the guts to say it out loud. I\u2019d find some later. No alcohol for this girl\u2014I didn\u2019t mind the taste. I wasn\u2019t pounding a stake into some teetotaling moral hill. What gave me pause were the possibilities that sprang from too many Pabst Blue Ribbons.<\/p>\n

His shoulders retreated and my mind slipped back a week. I\u2019d glanced up from brushing my teeth in the dorm bathroom.<\/p>\n

A floor mate stripped down to what had to be her boyfriend\u2019s tighty whities.<\/p>\n

My jaw dropped open. Toothpaste dribbled down my shirt.<\/p>\n

Sex. She\u2019d had sex!<\/p>\n

I could almost feel the roll of her eyes at my naivet\u00e9 as she stepped into the shower.<\/p>\n

I<\/em> rolled my eyes at my naivet\u00e9, wiped my chin, and spit. Catholicism and the danger of a second emotional apocalypse after Dad had scared me freakishly chaste so far. Even the guy I\u2019d loved in high school hadn\u2019t seen skin to skin contact.<\/p>\n

I looked up.<\/p>\n

Tall, Blue-eyed, and Handsome threaded toward me.<\/p>\n

Lava spurted through my veins.<\/p>\n

The next afternoon I swept leaves from the pool deck while the regulars from New York and New Jersey napped in the sun. I said Hail Marys, Our Fathers,<\/em> and The Act of Contrition <\/em>in my head\u2014<\/em>lunging for God like a life preserver. The compulsion to find my purpose and do something more than landfill the abyss inside, drove me toward Deity.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Josh Felise<\/p><\/div>\n

A few days later, the blue-eyed \u01a9AE\u2014Dave Holt\u2014called to invite me along on an errand to his family\u2019s beach house.<\/p>\n

I wavered\u2014recalling frat boy tales, the testosterone I\u2019d fielded myself.<\/p>\n

He just had to pick something up, he assured me.<\/p>\n

I pictured honest blue eyes. \u201cI\u2019ll go.\u201d<\/p>\n

Minutes later, I settled into his car for three hours of exchanging facts. He hailed from Tennessee, a junior majoring in business and marketing. Words, and a sense that he was a man who wore integrity without really thinking about it, filled up the car. And something more earthy\u2014to do with the white hairs curling on his thighs, faint scent of deodorant, proximity of my skin to his.<\/p>\n

He must have felt it, too. Because his hand reached over and curled around mine.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t flinch. Instead, I learned the freckles, foreign weight, feel of his warmth mingling mine. And when he dropped me off\u2014a quick kiss brushed my lips. Beautiful.<\/p>\n

\"COTSPfeifferchapel1"<\/a>

COTSPfeifferchapel1<\/a>” by Nomadseifer<\/a> – Own work<\/span>. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0<\/a> via Commons<\/a><\/p><\/div>\n

Sunday evening found me in Annie Pfiefer Chapel, awash in the colors of sunset and the cadence of Mass\u2014words woven into the fabric of me, first in Latin, then later English attempted to unlock the mystery. But neither the sunrays nor the ritual brought God near like the prayers I wrote Him in my journal\u2014prayers that often swerved to Dave.<\/p>\n

And when Dave and I trekked to the library, I talked to him about God\u2014completing the cinching of the two halves of myself back into one.<\/p>\n

He listened, nodded appropriately\u2014and to his credit\u2014didn\u2019t file me under religious wacko and walk away.<\/p>\n

The next week I sucked in a breath for courage and plopped myself into the closest empty seat to Dave at the \u01a9AE table.<\/p>\n

Mike Pachik, a senior and my editor on The Southern,<\/em> sat five trays down. Nobody\u2019s fool, he\u2019d figure in seconds I was angling for Little Sister.<\/p>\n

I writhed inside, feeling all kind of stupid.<\/p>\n

After Christmas break Dave and I picked up where we\u2019d left off. One evening in February we pulled into the student parking lot.<\/p>\n

Street lights glittered on the rain snaking down the windshield.<\/p>\n

Neither of us reached for a door handle.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by amairgen<\/p><\/div>\n

Fifteen minutes later my eyes caught on the fogged windows and flew wide. I untangled myself and my issues, and climbed out of the car, mumbling something about slowing things down. Never mind that not a single Catholic sensibility had been disturbed. Somewhere, buried in a crevice between the lines of Catechism, I was sure steam led straight to sin.<\/p>\n

That was probably the day the door slammed on \u01a9AE Little Sister–God’s course correction, no doubt. The \u01a9AEs leaned toward cerebral, boasted high caliber men like Dave Holt and Mike Pachik, but they weren\u2019t looking for uptight girls like me.<\/p>\n

Dave was intelligent enough to see things weren\u2019t working with big G<\/em> and little g<\/em> warring inside me. While cordial on campus, he didn’t call again.<\/p>\n

\"Photo<\/a>

Photo by Julia Caesar<\/p><\/div>\n

I\u2019d checked off wild in junior high, donned the chain mail of Catholic guilt, and later gone looking for God. I\u2019d been making my own decisions since my folks divorced five years earlier, and by trial and error, I\u2019d gotten pretty good at it. When college fire-hosed me with free-flowing beer, frat parties, and more fine-looking boys than I could have imagined in one square mile\u2014I stood up under the onslaught. Though I think big G<\/em> had more to do with it than my own fortitude.<\/p>\n

In the decades since that first year of fledgling faith I\u2019ve fielded a lot of Fatherly direction. I\u2019ve spent a lifetime learning the freckles on His hand, the familiar weight, the feel of His love warming me. Learned to lean on the certainty that He knows which road leads to my forever.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n\t\t\t\t\t
If you enjoyed this post please click on the Facebook \u201cShare\u201d button below and\/or leave a comment about an inner conflict you’ve weathered.<\/div><\/div>\n

<\/h1>\n

Just launched last week:<\/h1>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"ChasingHappyFinal\"<\/a>BACK COVER: After an epic fail in the hetero world, Ash Jackson heads cross country to Arizona to figure out his bisexuality and make peace with himself and God.<\/p>\n

Nashville Star Samma Templeton\u2019s music career bankrolls her future husband\u2019s political campaigns. But she throws up before every concert and feels relegated to an item on the senator\u2019s calendar.<\/p>\n

When Ash moves into Samma\u2019s apartment building their childhood friendship resurrects, and Samma must choose between promoting a political agenda that will benefit millions or following her heart. Ash must face his inner demons for the girl who was his past and feels like his future.<\/p>\nRead Chasing Happy Chapter One<\/a>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Check out my New Smyrna Beach novels by clicking on the covers.<\/p>\n

\"Avra's<\/a> \"Tattered<\/a> \"Kicking<\/a> \"The<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I didn\u2019t belong here in this hazy rented hall that smelled of hops and hairspray and heated bodies. The knowing started in my sternum and crawled outward. I crammed it back into the corner where I kept God at times like this. 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