The Dash
An early October day. The leaves were changing. A maple, marking the location they arrived at, had turned golden a few weeks ago. Already it had dumped nearly all of its ornamentation. Two young men, friends since the days of grammar school, stood beside a rectangular boundary of light green grass, planted at the end of summer.
"I'm joining the seminary," One of them said. His name was Jimmy Klein. He'd graduated high school a little less than a year and a half ago. He delayed going to college. His friend, the one beside him, Nicolas, was beginning his second year at a state college.
"You talked about taking that road when we were Freshmen in high school," Nicolas said.
"Yeah... then second year came... Cross Country..."
"I remember." Nicolas scuffed the grass with the soul of his shoe. To everyone around him, he was known as Nick, or Nicolas D. No one ever wanted to venture into the realm of his family name. It was safer just to say 'D'. He studied the stone, marking the spot where a grave had been dug and a vessel, once filled with life, was laid to rest. His eyes scanned the stone the family had put in place. He studied the dash between the year of birth, and the year of death. Two notations of time. A date, a day, a month, a year, set a lifetime apart. The dash was life. No matter how short.
Jimmy interrupted the brief silence, "When I spoke at the funeral service, I could barely keep myself in check. A parent should never have to lose a child."
"You did well."
"Do you think my desire to join the priesthood is an escape?" Jimmy asked, changing the subject.
"You've been called. That's how you used to say it."
"God was quiet about that for a long time," Jimmy replied.
Again, Nicolas looked at the dash between the dates. The span of years was barely eighteen.
"Do you remember during our senior year, when Molly had that seizure?" Jimmy didn't wait for a response. He continued with barely a breath. "I knew then... about the tumor. It's why she had those spasms. It's why her hand would shake. I never told anyone. She asked me not to. She had a couple more last year, but six months had passed. I was kidding myself. Do you know how many times she told me I needed to get on with my life?"
"Quite a few," Nicolas replied, "Knowing Molly, she was more concerned about you than herself."
"I loved her so much?" Jimmy said with deep sincerity.
Nicolas glanced toward his friend briefly, then cast his eyes back to the stone. The grave marker was plain. It stood upright and was made of marble. The name was carved in block lettering, 'Molly Boyd'. The dates, bookending her life were beneath a Bible passage, precious to the girl remembered.
'Come to me, all you who are weary.'
"I spent days at the hospital when she had that seizure... senior year," Jimmy cut into the silence. "She told me, she knew her time was short and I should do what God was calling me to do. But you know, I was being called... at that moment... to be no place, but beside her bed. For a while, God stopped calling me to be a priest. For a moment he called me to love... Molly. This was his plan all along, don't you think?"
Nicolas turned toward his friend. He wiped a tear from his own cheek, just as Jimmy wiped one from his. "You will be a great priest. You'd be a great minister. Heck, you could probably pull off being a rabbi. You are full of compassion, man. Why do you think Molly stepped into your life, hobbled along the Cross Country Trails, finished last in every race she ran. She needed you, and you needed her, even for such a very short time."
"Then you don't think it's wrong for me to go into the seminary?"
"No, I don't," Nicolas said.
Jimmy dug into his pocket and took out a small polished rock, the shade of turquoise. "Molly's favorite color," he explained. He walked to the grave marker, touched the head-stone almost lovingly and set the tiny, smooth orb on top.
Nicolas was puzzled by the tender gesture. The future priest read his friend's expression.
"My father told me it was a Jewish custom. He converted to Catholicism when he married my mother, thus the last name Klein, spelt K-L-E-I-N. He didn't know the purpose for leaving a small stone. I think of it as just a way of saying, 'I remember you. I will never forget you'."
"I like that," Nicolas said, "Can I do the same?"
Jimmy nodded.
"Can it just be from the ground?"
Again a nod.
Nicolas squatted and dug a small stone out of the earth. He set it beside the smooth turquoise colored rock. "We will never forget you, Molly," Nicolas added. "The dates on this stone matter little. It's all about the dash, and you lived that tiny dash to the fullest."
"You sound like you should be the one going to the seminary," Jimmy kidded as they walked toward Jimmy's father's old brown sedan with the dent on the quarter-panel.
"Can't... I like the ladies too much," Nicolas shot back.
"Is that why you watch all those Audrey Hepburn films?"
"Quiet," Nicolas said, "You'll let my secret out."
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