Dearest Everyone,
It has come to my attention that I haven’t written to you all in quite some time now. Guess I’ve just been halfway busy. Not too busy to go insane or look for ways to procrastinate by writing huge mass email letters, yet also busy enough to not able to think about it.
I write this one, however, by request.
My dearest of all dear friends, Mr. Christopher Paul Buckel, was the one who made this request. For those of you who may be lucky enough not to know Mr. Buckel, he is, in the following order, my ex-roommate, ex-boss, ex-Director of Nicholls State Student Union, ex-Assistant Director of Union Services and Facilities, ex-Nicholls State Orientation Guy, ex-person responsible for making us wear the silly colors at Nicholls State Orientation, ex-NSU Chi Alpha Volunteer, ex-NSU Chi Alpha member, ex-church member at First Assembly of God in Thibodaux, and ex-friend. Well, he’s still my friend. But, just to illustrate the power of the word, I left a few things out. Though this may all be FACTUAL, it is incomplete. For example, it would be wrong of me to not mention that Chris is now married to Felicity Buckel (I used to like Felicity until she made Chris fall in love with her or whatever). He is also Director of Student Life at Delgado Community College over there in the big city of New Orleans, is the Faculty Advisor and in charge of the Chi Alpha group over there, and has gotten plugged into a good church over there. Let this be a lesson to all my aspiring journalist friends, though a statement may be technically factual, it may not be complete. But alas, I digress.
Buckel called me up last week and told me he missed me. He talked about how he regretted moving away and wished he was still my roommate. I told him that was just the way life had to be. He then asked me to move in with him.
“But Chris,” I said, “you are married now.”
“Josh . . . I have a secret to tell you,” he replied, “I’m not really married . . . “
“Chris.”
“Yeah.”
“Who is the brunet who cooks you dinner every night and makes you breakfast every morning and cleans your apartment while you’re at work?”
“Uh, no one I know.”
“Oh . . . hmmm. What did you do on May 17.”
“Went to a . . . uh . . .a . . . ‘
“A wedding?”
“Yea . . . “
“And what did you did at this wedding?”
His voice, by now, was high and nervous. “Get married.”
“To whom?”
“My wife. . .”
“Therefore . . .”
“Uh, you wanna move in?”
Seeing as how it was a lost cause, I told him sure.
“When do you want me to come over?”
“Eh, uh, right now!”
“Well, I can’t write now. I’ve already promised Ryan I would go with him to his sister’s apartment in Baton Rouge. I’ll be getting back later tonight, though.
“Well come over tomorrow then!”
“Will do, I’ll have my bags loaded and my sofa in the back of the truck.”
* * * * * * * * *
I hopped in the 1948 brown Nissan truck and looked at the tall, scraggily figure in the driver’s seat. His beige button down shirt and his bright red slacks contrasted with his dark black shoes to convey his excited, commanding personality.
“Hold onto this,” he said as he handed me his new, bleeding edge $3,000 Toshiba tablet PC. “Go under ‘My Documents’ then ‘Directions to Kelly’s’ to find the directions to her new apartment,” he told me. “And don’t break my stylist, or, as I like to call it, my Metal Cajun Pen.”
I, out of either fear, awe, or respect, did so. However, I was amazed to see a screen filled with only mumbled chicken scratch. Very slowly and without saying a word, I signaled the mammoth of a man and showed him. With a sigh he reached over and grabbed the small, three-and-a-half-pound super computer. With one hand motion and a click of the metal pin, amazingly the hand-written chicken scratch was converted to the very legible Times New Roman font.
I smiled and he gave me a high five. I felt like the Boy Wonder as Ryan (I call him Batman) pulled out of his driveway and sped off towards Baton Rouge.
* * * * * * * * *
It was the break of the millennium when I met Ryan for the first time. I was, I remember, out of my element that day. My dear friend Kenny had invited me to a Bible study / worship service meeting held by Chi Alpha Christian Fellowship. Kenny went to meet girls. I went to try to recruit Kenny for Circle K, a college community service organization sponsored by Kiwanis International. I thought this would be just another cheesy Christian club that would want to take away my time and money. And besides, I was already involved in my local church youth group. Why did I need to get involved in some other group?
It was then that I met Ryan Hutchinson. It was 7pm on a Thursday night; Kenny and I were standing outside the door to LeBijiou Theater, the meeting place of the Nicholls State University Chi Alpha group, waiting for Kenny’s friends.
Full of anxiety, I looked Kenny in the eye. “I hope I’m . . . not being . . . to . . . dramatic,” I said, “but why aren’t we going inside. I’m sure the meeting has started by now.”
“No, the girls said they would meet us out here.”
As he said that, a girl came running out of the theater and took off down the hall running towards the door.
“Hey, that’s Amanda!” Kenny exclaimed.
“Hey Kenny,” she yelled as she ran, her back to us, “I’ll be back in a jiff.”
I looked at Kenny again. This time, bored, I ask, “So, you think my sister’s cute?”
Before Kenny could answer, the towering 6’4”, stilt-like body walked out of the theater. Smiling, he said, “Hello.”
“Hey, you’re Ryan! You know my brother Jamie!” shouted Kenny.
“Jamie . . .”
“Yeah, from H. L. Bourgeois’ Insight for Christ!”
Ryan nodded.
He then, in his blue jeans and ash-gray NSU Chi Alpha T-shirt, invited us into the room. Before I walked in, I told my fears of Chi Alpha to Ryan. He calmed my nerves by explaining to me what exactly Chi Alpha is.
“Chi Alpha isn’t some silly little religious group,” he said. “We are all about building the Kingdom of God. Our mission statement is ‘reconciling students to Christ, transforming the university, the marketplace, and the world. Basically, we are just a group of students who are trying to find and do God’s will for our lives. The Bible tells us that the greatest commandment is to love God with all our heart, mind, and soul, and to also love one another. The Bible also tells us in Matthew 28 to ‘go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.’ We in Chi Alpha believe that through everyday, practical living we can, in every aspect of life, love God and show His love to others.”
Convinced I walked in.
Who would have thought that now, almost three years later, I would be friends with the giraffe looking man. And not only friends, but hanging out at his sister’s apartment in Baton Rouge, showing her and her roommates movies and promotional videos Ryan and I had made using thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Not only did we show off, but we got a free dinner as Kelly had also cooked us a great meal while the two reminisced about their childhood. Those stories, however unfortunate, while have to wait for another day as this email has dragged on long enough. Ryan and Kelly, I do apologize, as much as I wish to relay your lives, Mr. Buckel has made the request, so on with his life will I proceed.
* * * * * * * * *
“Josh,” Chris asked me, “Did I ever tell you about the time my little sister asked my dad what a martyr was?”
I shook my head.
“Hmmm . . . who about the time my grandfather chased the burglar under his house?”
“Eh, sure haven’t.”
“My crazy uncle from World War 2?”
“No recollection.”
“Floodlights and bug spray?”
“Nope.”
“The E.D. White Catholic nun principal?”
“Can’t say you have.”
“Yeah, well, anyway, you can put your stuff on the futon in my office.”
I walked into Chris’s new apartment. Felicity was lying on the floor talking to a girl with a photo album open.
“Josh, this is Cindy,” Chris said. “In case you are wondering, she’s the reason I asked you to come.”
“What?”
“I want to adopt you two as our children. Felicity is showing Cindy some old pictures from back when I was at NSU to familiarize her with our old life.”
I explained to Chris I couldn’t be his son because I already had parents.
Cindy did the same.
Chris told us that parents were overrated anyway.
There was then a knock at the door (and this, my dear readers, is where you willingly suspend your disbelief). Chris looked at Felicity. Felicity did the same. She sat next to a mirror.
“Housekeeping,” came the voice from behind the door.
“Felicity, we don’t have a housekeeper, do we?”
“No, Christopher, you are right,” she said, breathing nervously.
I pulled out my wireless pocket PC and began to scribble with my metal pin.
The high-pitched, French sounding voice again spoke from the other side of the door, “Eh . . . pizza delivery!”
Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. “That must be the pizza guy!” She stood up and hopped for the door.
Chris, with concern on his face, began running after her screaming, “NOOOOO.” He would have caught her but he tripped and knocked himself out while trying to jump over the sofa.
Felicity, happy and cheerful, reached for the doorknob.
Cindy screamed.
I pressed the send button.
Felicity opened the door.
Cindy let out a blood-curling yell.
Amazingly, it was the pizza guy.
Felicity took the pizza and walked over to the table. She opened her purse and began looking for her checkbook.
The pizza guy looked at me and smiled. “I love delivering to this place,” he said. “They’re big tippers.”
I frantically started clicking buttons on my pocket PC. I clicked on edit and looked for undo, but it was too late.
I then heard a noise that sounded like a cat in a blender.
I looked up in time to see a satellite guided laser roast the pizza guy.
I put the device behind my back, as Felicity came back to the door.
“Where did he go?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. Something about how he had to go make some donoughts.”
To be continued!
Tune in next time to read about the rest of “Josh’s Weekend at the Buckel’s” and meet Mama Buckel, Daddy Buckel, Grampa “Suga” Unbuckel, Gramma Unbuckel, and Pastor Rick!