Billy was emotionally weary. The game was over. The Jets lost another one and Lucy wanted to talk. She was emotionally desolate. Billy sat on the couch and listened to her for two hours after the game. Finally he got up
“Don’t just get up and walk away,” Lucy said. “I want to hear what you think and feel.”
“Ya were talkin’ so much,” Billy said. “That’s what I was thinkin’ about, what ya was sayin‘.”
“Tell me what you thought of what I said,” Lucy said. “That’s what I mean.”
“I haven’t even had time to think about how the Jets lost this afternoon,” Billy said. “As soon as the game was over, the TV went off, and the next thing I know yer sayin’ ya want to take me on this emotional journey.”
“You mean you couldn’t go from the Jets to me in a moment?” Lucy said.
“Well yeah,” Billy said. “I didn’t even have time to change cloths. When ya go on a journey, any kind of journey, ya gotta change for it. Remember when we went out just to get a pizza the other night? It took ya an hour and a half for ya to get ready. We’re back home in less than an hour. An hour and half to get ready to go some place for an hour don’t make sense. No more than ten percent of yer time should be spent getting ready for something. It‘s a rule someplace.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Lucy said. “I’m talking about your feelings.”
“Exactly,” Billy said. “Ya want me to talk about feelin’s with half my face painted white the other half painted green and my lucky Joe Nameth jersey on? Ya don‘t want that do ya?”
“Just want your attention,” Lucy pleaded. “I want you to go with me on an emotional journey to search for who we are. To find an emotional get away, to explore the pathways to our hearts, and the caverns of our souls together. To go where only our imagination can take us.”
Billy wiped the white and green paint from his face. He slowly sat on the couch next to Lucy. Something happened to him that moment. It was as if his heart had surrendered and being led to a peaceful place. It was a garden full of wonder, sounds, and odors. There was the perfect blend of shade and sunlight. The birds fluttered and sung as if orchestrated by a master chorographer and maestro.
“You feel it don’t you, Billy,’ Lucy said. “Tell me what you feel from your heart.”
A tear trickled from Billy’s eye. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Oh, Billy,” Lucy said. “Just tell me what you feel.”
Billy smiled softly. “Can you take yer New England Patriot’s helmet off first?”