More Than Memories

SUMMER OFTEN ARRIVED by the month of May in southwestern Kentucky, long before the calendar said it had. It seemed to Winsome Corrigan that this year was no exception. She waved her hand to fan the air around her face as she stood in the doorway of Nortonville High School’s gymnasium collecting tickets for the basketball game.
The evening was extremely warm, and she was beginning to wish she had put her long hair up in its usual ponytail. She lifted the silken fall of hair off her neck and swept it behind her back.
Adding to the heat in the building was the intense illumination from the strategically placed rows of overhead florescent lights that bounced off the highly glossed, varnished, floor and white cement-block walls that enclosed the gym.
The thunderous uproar of the basketball players was almost deafening as they raced in pandemonium back and forth across the floor—shooting hoops, all bouncy energy—squeaky sneakers—running—leaping—crashing bodies and animal-like grunts. A constant tattoo of the dribbling basketballs on the hardwood floor and the thump of the balls rebounding off the backboards increased the racket. The raised voices of the two coaches and the high-pitched sound of their whistles added to the cacophony.
Accustomed to the raucous scene, Winsome laughed at the antics of the two teams warming up on the gym floor. Her high school team, the Nortonville Badgers dressed in red and white uniforms while the opposing team, the Dalton Panthers wore purple shorts and bright, golden yellow tank tops. Both teams were putting on an adept exhibition as they moved in sync, sending balls swishing through the basketball hoops in rapid succession.
Suddenly, Winsome felt a prickly sensation in the center of her back. It was a quiet whisper of intuition, the feeling that someone was watching her.
In the milling throng of fans making their way around the outer edge of the floor toward the yellow bleachers to her right, no one seemed to be paying particular attention, or even looking in her direction. But still the sensation persisted, like a cold breath of disquiet, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck, making her shiver as goose bumps broke out on her arms.
Slowly, turning her head to the left seeking the source, her eyes were drawn to a lone figure near the side exit. A tall dark-haired guy in military uniform was staring in her direction. She had the unsettling notion that he’d been watching her unnoticed for sometime.
In between accepting basketball fans’ tickets, Winsome studied the stranger in detail. He definitely had not entered through the main entrance where she had been diligently collecting tickets for the past half hour.
Although from where she stood, the soldier didn’t appear to be overly tall. But stamped into his broad shoulders there was not only strength but also a coordination combined with a quiet air of authority and self-confidence with the ability to be motionless but supremely alert with an almost hunter-like appearance. She wondered if some specialized military training had instilled him with that quality.
Their eyes connected for an instant. And for a moment time seemed suspended.
Winsome felt the heat rushing to her face and she looked away. When she let her gaze return to the spot where he had been standing, the space was vacant.
Swiftly, she cast her eyes around the gym floor. There was no sign of the stranger. How had he disappeared so quickly? Perhaps he had gone out the side exit?
Puzzling thoughts plagued Winsome while she continued to gather the patrons’ tickets.
A man of mystery—no question about it.
Glancing around the gym, she found herself scanning the bleachers—searching the audience for a dark, mysterious stranger with clean-cut features and well-groomed wavy black hair.