His Name Was Bill

by

Stefanie Hutcheson

Mark? Jeff? I'm sure it was a four-letter name.

Bill. His name was Bill.

Bill! That's right! Good grief, how could I forget that? 

Honestly, pretty easily. We only had that one night together. One fun-filled, exciting, happy-go-lucky evening of adventure. Perhaps if I had known then the impact it would have on me I might have paid more attention to the details. Hindsight is great that way, huh? Alas! 

Oh sure. I had seen him around. Mars Hill wasn’t that big of a campus. He was a football player and…how do I say this? Attractive, definitely. Sexy? Mmn, I guess. If you're in to tall, blonde, blue-eyed hunks then sure. Bill was sexy. To most. And maybe in another place and at another time I might have fallen for him.

I tried.

I mean it: I really tried to want this guy. That night, especially, I needed a distraction and that was what Bill gave me. 

{Why “that night,” you ask? Hmn. If I tell you, then the story would go another way and you’d lose the fun of this one. And besides, do we really know enough about each other to share all of our secrets on our first date?}

With a flash of a brilliant smile, a twinkle in those sparkling baby blues, and a gallant hand extended to indicate I should drive, we were off! Making himself right at home, Bill began fiddling with the radio dial. He was so easy to be with and I was filled with anticipation that perhaps this time, with this guy, might be the start of something.

Joe Jackson was singing "Breaking Us In Two." Yeah, Joe: I did feel like trying something new! Bill especially liked this song and many times through the years--even though his face is only a blur--I go back to Mars Hill College (University now), the fall of 1982, my yellow station wagon, and a night of mischief.

Somehow Bill and I wound up together in an otherworldly jaunt. Whether his idea or mine, we thought it would be hilarious to trade the portraits hanging over the mantles of the women's dormitories for those of the men's in the--well, (pardon the pun) you get the picture. Such a prank surely had never been done before and we plotted the best way to make this caper be one for the books. 

I drove, backing my wagon as closely as possible to the steps, while Bill raced inside to remove the painting. Maybe there was another fella along with us. Yeah, probably so. Had to have been, for this was too much work--even for a stud like Bill. 

Gingerly placing the treasure in the back, Bill, unremembered person, and I drove off. We raced to the dorm on Men’s Hill, swapped out portraits, and then repeated the process back up to Women’s Hill, alternating until at least six important pillars of the college had new homes. We dared not push our luck by attempting this in any other buildings.

Did I mention that I was--for the most part--a good girl? Oh yes. Mars Hill is a Baptist college and certain credentials (other than a fat wallet) were required for acceptance into this institution. As though in a trance, I watched myself being this crazy co-ed, fearing nothing from being caught. Proud of myself for getting some street cred, in innocent ignorance I blithely played my part in this escapade and, of course, denied it all the next day. 

To most. Hey, some secrets are just too good to keep to one’s self. Also, how could I get a bad-girl reputation if no one hears of my daring deeds?

The night wound down. Bill started to kiss me, and again, I tried. I really wanted to be…

Sigh.

I didn't know what I wanted to be. Who I wanted to be. Or with. But something inside told me it wasn't Bill. So (again please pardon the pun) after giving it the good ol' college try, I drove Bill back to his dorm. This time the kiss was on the cheek, a smile of slight regret in both of our eyes, and a one-night stand that didn’t quite make it past midnight was complete. 

I can't recall Bill's last name. For some reason, he wasn't in the yearbook. Nor did he return for the spring semester. If I hadn't gone downstairs the next morning and seen Professor Claude Myers staring down at me where Ms Edna Corpening Moore usually glared at me, I might have thought it had been a dream. Was the Prof looking at me with amusement? Did he even wink perhaps? Again, I can't recall. Nonetheless, as I exited the dormitory, I didn't look back. Repressing my laughter, it was hard to keep the smirk off of my face as I meandered between Spillman Dorm and the hedges on my way to my first class of the day.

It would have been nice to have been a fly on the wall in the lobbies of the other residence halls. I wonder how long it took other students to realize that Mr Frank Gibson was not supposed to be in Ms Virginia Fox’s special place over the closed-up fireplace? I daresay Ms Louise Stroup gave those freshmen and sophomore fellas quite the start as they dashed out of their rooms, passing her on the way to the front doors while on their way to class. Did they automatically apologize to her for some word spoken hastily that was too harsh for her delicate ears to hear? I wonder. 

So, the morning after this tumultuous evening, I didn’t look back. Then. But every once in a while? Ah, every once in a while, I sneak a peek back into my rebellious college days and nights, thank God He did not grant my petitions the way I had thought I wanted, and whisper instead a prayer of thanksgiving to Him for His mercies and Him knowing what and who I really needed to be.