Lydia had to trace her memory all the way back to last year's trip to the Bay for the last time she didn't feel the need to set the alarm clock on a weekday morning. With her husband usually up and out the door by 6 am, the ability to lay uninterrupted in bed until 11 o' clock rarely came.
It was a good thing Lydia Benson had the luxury to do that because, as she rested in a lump under the covers, she knew even before she opened her eyes to peek out, she was in the midst of her first serious hangover in nearly a decade.
When Lydia finally swung her feet off the edge of the bed and tried raising herself up, the cobweb-like taste in her mouth and the distant tingling in her extremities made her quickly realize that she was going to have a difficult time accomplishing any of substance for a while.
Feeling every bit of her 41 years of age, Lydia limped out of bed and started the slow trek to the bathroom. As she grazed the side of the nightstand on her way up, she accidentally knocked off the remote control that was resting on the edge. Instinctively, Lydia reached down to pick it up but as soon as her back bent, the haze of dizziness that followed told her to stay standing up. Looking down at the innocent piece of black plastic on the floor, the foggy memory of what she had done with the thing before she went to sleep caused her to disgustedly turn her head as she resumed her arduous trip to the safety of a hot shower.
After dragging herself into the tub and pulling the shower curtain secure, Lydia allowed the soothing water to have its way with her for nearly 15 minutes. Once she finally pulled herself out of the invigorating cascade, Lydia's next goal was to get the raw, bitter taste of the vodka's residue out of her mouth. Swirling mouthwash around her throat for almost a minute, Lydia finally spit it down the sink and looked into the fogged up mirror in front of her to assess the damage.
"UUGGGGHHH," was all Lydia managed to groan as she began the formidable task of making herself presentable.
After slipping on the loosest fitting sweater and leggings she could, a haggard but slowly improving Lydia decided to make a quick trip to Starbucks to get some caffeine to juice herself up as she planned out the course of the rest of the day.
* * * * *
Sitting alone in a corner booth, sipping gently at her steaming cappuccino, Lydia decided the first thing on her agenda should be crafting a simple reply to the Kenyan boy that had sent her and Jefferey the kind letter of appreciation.
After getting the words, "Dear Kwame," down on her flowery pink stationary, Lydia found herself stuck over what to write next.
She didn't think a simple "Thank You" was nearly good enough to express her joy over receiving the letter. On the other hand, Lydia's head still throbbed and pulsed too much from her lingering hangover to come up with anything creative and fitting enough to explain her appreciation to the young boy.
Lydia decided to shelve the barely started reply for the moment and shoved it back into her purse until she could come up with something more suitable to mail back to the exchange student.
Being the church treasurer, Lydia looked at her watch and decided her next stop for the afternoon would be to swing by the church so she could catch up on some accumulated accounting work.
* * * * *
Lydia couldn't help but feel a little weird walking into her church with the stubborn remnants of her hangover still dancing through her body. After hearing some of the gossip about other members of the parish however, Lydia figured a little overindulgence with the bottle was way down the list of indiscretions and she walked through those stained glass doors, burdened with only a modest amount of shame.
As Lydia sat down at her makeshift desk to organize a few financial statements, she made small talk with two older ladies that were milling about.
"Are you and Jefferey coming to the Thursday night social tomorrow night, Lydia?" one of the elderly women, Patrice, asked.
"Ahhh..." Lydia replied, without looking up from her figures. "I haven't even really thought about it Patrice...Jefferey's out of town on business...I don't guess I have anything else planned."
"Reverend Dudley is bringing in an associate of his to speak about warding off temptation and vice," Myrtle, the other older woman, offered sanctimoniously, as if she sarcastically thought many in the church's flock needed to hear what the speaker had to say.
"We could ALL use a little help with that Myrtle," Lydia answered, looking up at the sour older woman as if to say, "don't throw rocks..."
Looking down at the kinder older woman, Lydia said," Yeah Patrice...mark me down...I'll be there...it'll give me a chance to socialize with a few of the folks I haven't seen in a while...Jefferey's always in such a hurry to leave after the speaker finishes."
Lydia dropped her head and went back to work as the two older ladies shuffled off to another part of the church. Fiddling with her pencil, thankful not to have anymore distractions, a bullet of an idea burst through the haze of Lydia's slowly subsiding malaise.
"Humm...Church meeting tomorrow night...Jeff's out of town...I don't have any other plans...I wonder if what's his name...yeah Kwame...if Kwame would like to come down," Lydia coyly wondered to herself as she tapped her pencil led on the desk. "Why not invite him down to meet a few of us...that's much better than a postcard and this way everyone in the church can get the same feeling of accomplishment as I did when I got his letter."
The first thing Lydia Benson did when she returned home, an hour or so later, was look Kwame's number back up, and this time he was actually in his dorm room when she called.
After a little shy hemming and hawing, the young Kenyan boy tentatively accepted Lydia's open invitation to come down and sit in with the members of Lydia's church as well as the opportunity to eat some home cooked food at the pot luck buffet afterwards.
* * * * *
What Lydia Benson saw when she turned her head towards the back of the church nearly took her breath away.
Hearing several members of her congregation behind her audibly gasp when they saw Kwame walk into the room, Lydia instantly felt two inches tall because of the awkwardness the exchange student must of felt when he walked through the church doors.
A smooth, dark black face in a sea of white, the 18 year old boy took four steps inside the room before Lydia and her welcoming party met him in the center aisle.
"You must be Kwame," Lydia exclaimed, offering her slightly shaking hand to the Kenyan student, who in return shook it.
