Nan Rossiter - The Gin and Chowder Club

Autumn whispered through the leaves, leaving a blush of rouge along the treetops. Against this tapestry of change, the September sky had a cobalt hue, bluer than that of any summer day. In spite of himself, Asa fell into the routines of college life. For the most part, he kept to himself. He was not at all surprised one afternoon to overhear his roommate complaining that he was a bore. The boy was trying to make arrangements to move in with two other students whose extracurricular activities were a bit more exciting. Asa didn’t care. He could certainly understand his roommate’s situation. He had never been one to reveal too much about himself, and now he was even less likely. Now, because of his promise to Noelle, no one could ever know the person he had become. He had unwittingly sentenced himself to a lifetime of solitary confinement. He would never be able to share-with anyone-the events that shaped him, and even if he did try someday, he doubted that mere words would ever be enough.

After his roommate finally succeeded in securing different living quarters, Asa became an even more solitary figure in the landscape of freshmen. He threw himself into his schoolwork and rarely socialized. He briefly considered trying out for the cross-country team, but after enduring one testosterone-induced conversation he had while they worked out, he decided that he preferred to run alone. He ran early, slipping out of the silent dorm and into the cool northern air. In the predawn light, he explored the historic campus and the surrounding old New England neighborhoods. He was usually back to his room and showered before any other doors had creaked open. At meals, Asa also sat alone. He kept an open book in front of his tray and maintained a demeanor that was not inviting to passersby.

To Asa’s surprise, the days passed quickly, and even though each day seemed to blend into all the rest, there was one daily occurrence that gave him something to look forward to: the delivery of mail. Taking two granite steps at a time into the school post office, Asa would quickly scan the rows of mail slots with small combination locks on their doors. With a tightening in his chest, he would peer through the tiny glass window to see if there were any envelopes leaning up against the inside wall. Noelle had proven true to her word, and after her first letter, Asa had forgiven her for not meeting him that last night. She wrote often-two or three times a week. Asa would slip her envelope into a book and find a seat on the grass under the reaching boughs of an old oak tree or at a worn secluded table by the window in the library. There, with the sun casting light across the pages, he would slowly read, running his fingers over the pale stationery and thinking of the slender hands that had touched it last, the hands that had touched him and given him such pleasure.

Noelle’s letters were warm and funny and spoke of life at home and at work. She wrote about the changing weather and the ocean and the stars. She wrote about Nate finding a bottle of champagne by the pool- where in the world had that come from??? And she always closed with thoughts of him- she missed him, every part of him. Her thoughts stirred his fire and kept the embers burning. Asa clung to her words, and they sustained him-more than food or drink or air. He lived for these, elegant lines linked together to give him hope.

Asa could not write back. There was no safe address for him to send letters, so he filled his notebook with his thoughts and kept it in a box with her letters. Night after night, he sat by the open window in his room and listened to the wind in the hills. He heard the haunting call of an owl and then a distant reply of interest. He listened to the endless cry of the whip-poor-will and the sad lonely whistle of a freight train. He wrote as if he were writing to her-about these sounds and about the memories he held close, reliving them over and over, burning them into his mind.

Noelle’s letters were not the only ones Asa received. There were almost as many from his mother. She, too, wrote about the changing weather and her daily activities. She had continued to stay at the summerhouse because it was her favorite time of year- so quiet and peaceful, now that all the vacationers have gone home. While he was out running early in the morning, it was comforting for Asa to know exactly where Sarah could be found at that very moment. He pictured her sitting on the back porch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a hot cup of coffee in one hand and her worn Bible in the other. The day before he was to head to Boston for the game, Asa received a package from his mother. When he pulled away the paper, he found a tin of chocolate chip cookies, a short note, and some photos:

Enjoy! Also enclosed are some pictures

from your birthday! Miss you!

Love, Mom

P.S. Martha approves of the cookies and misses you too!

Asa quickly flipped through the snapshots and then stopped and stared. He had completely forgotten that Isaac had taken pictures of Noelle standing beside him, but there it was, an intimate moment captured and preserved-a moment he could save, and savor, a part of Noelle that was his to keep. He looked at her smile and felt her arm around his waist. He smelled the scent of sandalwood soap and felt the cool ocean breeze billowing in off the water. He looked at the picture and thought of the words she had spoken before and after the picture was taken.

The following morning, Asa was up early. He skipped his run, showered and dressed, and grabbed his old Red Sox cap. He tucked the picture of Noelle into the book from his father and put the book, the tin of cookies, and his poetry notebook into his shoulder bag.

It was a cool, overcast day, and Asa was glad that he had remembered his jacket. After hitching a ride to the bus station, he ran across the street for a cup of coffee. Back inside, he paid for a round-trip ticket, climbed onto the bus, and found a seat toward the back. There weren’t many travelers leaving Hanover that morning, but Asa figured they would pick up more along the way. He settled into his seat, looked out the window at the changing colors, and thought about the day ahead. He was excited about the game, and he looked forward to seeing some familiar faces. He realized that it wasn’t just Noelle he missed.

Asa arrived at South Station and took the T to Fenway. Although he knew his way around Boston, he felt out of place being away from school on a school day. Asa had given two of the tickets to his father, one to Isaac, and had kept the last for himself. Over the weekend, they had spoken on the phone and confirmed the arrangements to meet at their seats. Asa went in and checked behind the Red Sox dugout to make sure he was the only one to arrive early and went to buy a Coke. Drink in hand, he sat down and watched batting practice. Almost immediately, he spotted the # 9 jersey at the plate and smiled. He didn’t care if the Sox were having their worst season in twenty years; he was just happy to be there with all the other Hub fans cheering for the Splendid Splinter one last time.

Isaac came up behind him and climbed over the seats with two beers in his hands. He was grinning and singing dramatically along with Fenway’s thundering organ.

He glanced at Asa’s soda and asked, “What happened to the I.D. I made for you?”

Asa ignored the question. “You should keep your day job,” he teased.