ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I am both surprised AND delighted.
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White Life
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a well done weekend portion! With that ending I was not expecting it to finish right then but it does give me something to look forward to in the next portion! Great writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
I am really glad you're enjoying the story, and happy that its getting some new life. Thanks for reading and commenting.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Chris Powers laughed, pointed to the arch on the graph paper and said, “Do you see that, Sullivan! That, is your first successful parabola!”
Sully grinned down at it, feeling stupid for being so happy over this, and then he said, “But the real issue is will I able to do this without you standing over me from step A to... Z or whatever step it was.”
“You did it without me that time.”
“Sort of,” Sully shrugged.
“Look,” said Chris. “By Friday when you have this week’s quiz, I assure you: you will be able to do parabolas in your sleep.”
Chris stopped and looked at Sully who was grinning.
“What?”
“It’s just,” Sullivan said, “math is kind of cool.”
` “I think so,” Chris said earnestly. Then, “Dean Howard said you’re a poet.”
“Not really,” Sullivan said. “I mean, “I think one of my teachers told him that and—”
“I’ve seen you scribbling stuff in that notebook of yours,” Chris told him. “So I know you are. Everyone talks about it. How you’re going to be this writer one day.”
“I bet no one talks about it,” Sully told him, remembering that he was talking to the famous Chris Powers, and then, cocking his head and realizing he wasn’t as amazed as he had been an hour and a half ago when Chris had come to the door.
“Read me something,” Chris said sitting up on the bed and drawing his knees to his chest.
“No,” Sully said.
“I think you owe me,” Chris told him. “After the hour and a half I put in.”
“Like you read poetry!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” said Chris. “Cause I’m some meathead athelete? I’ll have you know that I’m on honor roll.”
Sully quoted: “Powers concentrates on his studies after school during the winter. A three-sport letter winner in climate seasons, Chris treasures the dark winter with its lack of athletics, as he continues to excel in academic honors. Powers is a winner of the Phi Kappa Psi Award and a member of the Collegae Honorum Society for Gifted Students.”
Chris’s eyes bugged out. “What’s that from?”
Sullivan sat up, went to his bookshelf, stretched to pull down the grey yearbook and flipped it open. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he knew the exact page it was on. Chris who, right now, looked like his football photograph in his sweats, unshaven, hair spiked up, scowled as he read and muttered, “Now, that’s embarrassing.”
“Yeah, I’d be embarrassed to be scholar of the year and athlete of the year.”
Chris studied him.
“What?”
“I like you Sully. But I don’t like the way you said that. That’s all.”
Sully was shocked.
“It’s just,” Sully began. “I didn’t mean to offend, but you’ve got it all. So why be embarrassed. I mean. look at me.”
“What about you?”
“Me. I have bad grades. No athletic skills—”
“You really think that’s everything?”
“No, but... yeah,” Sully said, suddenly defensive. “I do. In our world, right now, that is everything. And there probably isn’t a place in that yearbook you’ll find anything about Sullivan Reardon. You’re all over the place, Chris, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be. I’m just saying.... That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Okay,” Chris said after a moment. “So, when you see me... What do you see?”
Sully stopped to consider for a moment, and then he said, “The quarterback. The most popular guy in the school. You know, the one we’re all supposed to be.”
Chris shrugged and then Sully said, “Well, do I get to ask you the same question. Not that I’m sure I want to know the answer.”
Chris looked at Sully.
“I see Sully Reardon,” he said.
“And?”
“And that’s it,” Chris said. “I don’t know about you. I just know you write and I know your name. And from what I know you’re one of the good guys. I mean it’s lot of assholes at SV’s. But I don’t know you yet.” And then Chris added, “And you don’t know me. Remember that, Sully.”
Chris’s look was hard, like it had been at the Homecoming game last year right before he’d rammed his fist into a board. With those eyes he looked like a wolf. But the look passed. He was still serious, but not angry. “What you think is me and what really is...”
“I know, Chris,” Sully told him.
Chris didn’t know what else to say, so he just nodded.
“Dr.Powers!” Dean Howard said brightly rising from his desk to shake Mark Powers’ hand.
“Good afternoon. Good to see you. What can I do for you?”
Mark stood in front of Rick Howard looking only a little stupider than he actually felt. His hands were pressed together and Rick Howard regarded him hopefully, nearly joyfully. When Mark didn’t speak, because he couldn’t speak, the Dean added, “I hear that Chris and Sullivan are making excellent progress.”
“I have something very foolish to say,” Mark blurted out. “And you will have to forgive me for this. It’s not my foolishness. It’s really my friend’s, you see. I have actually been sitting in my car for the last half hour trying to phrase this and I can’t phrase it so I’m just going to say it. I’m going to say it.”
Rick Howard laughed now and his face crinkled up like a hound.
“I remember you now, Mark Powers,” he said. “You were on debate team my senior year. I remember you almost killed the first debate because you were...”
“Babbling.”
Rick looked for a better word, but then said, “I think that’s the word. Well, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged pleasantly. “As I remember you ended up doing quite well by the end of the year, and apparently you’re doing well now.” He added, “Dr. Powers.”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugged, forgetting himself, and he never forgot himself. When he remembered himself he said, “I just wanted to say I’m not gay is all.”
Rick Howard raised his eyebrows.
Because Rick Howard didn’t know what else to say he said, “Yes.”
Now Mark wished he hadn’t come here at all. He wished the floor would open up and suck him in. Rick Howard with his sleeves rolled up over his hairy arms at his desk and the football trophy behind him, Rick Howard of the perpetual tan and the weathered skin could not have even... Sidney was so wrong.
“It’s just that we—I think—made a sort of connection the other day, and...”
Rick was cocking his head, looking at Mark more and more like.... like he was the football varsity senior and Mark was the stupid Freshmen.
“And, you see, I had a red necktie on. And you had a red necktie on and...”
Innocently, Rick Howard said, “I have a navy blue one on today.”
“A red necktie means you’re gay,” Mark blurted out.
“Really?”
“Says a friend of mine who is an idiot and I should not have listened to him and if two men have red neckties then it’s supposed to... I think I’ll leave now before I do any more damage and my face gets any redder.”
“Well, now Mark, I don’t think it’s possible for your face to get any redder. But you are hitting a new shade of purple.”
“I feel so stupid!” The words tumbled out of Mark’s mouth. He felt so... fourteen.
“Look,” Rick said, standing up on the other side of the desk and stretching. He did that stretch and rumpled his hair just like the confident athlete he had always been, just like the head of the class. only now he was the head of the school, “Your friend, your silly friend, gave you a misunder-standing. Innocent. You checked it out. There’s nothing wrong with that. Alright, Mark? Which, you haven’t given me permission to call you. Mark. I should call you Dr. Powers.”
“That’s silly. Mark’s fine.”
“Well, Rick’s fine for me. I mean,” Rick continued, “I think we did make a sort of connection. But not like that. So, whaddo you say we start over again?”
Rick thrust out his hand. The hand and the confident smile, the rumpled hair and winning look of the Dean of Saint Vitus, who he had called a homosexual. Holy God.
Mark felt ashamed as he reassembled his dignity and returned Rick Howard a hearty handshake.
Sully grinned down at it, feeling stupid for being so happy over this, and then he said, “But the real issue is will I able to do this without you standing over me from step A to... Z or whatever step it was.”
“You did it without me that time.”
“Sort of,” Sully shrugged.
“Look,” said Chris. “By Friday when you have this week’s quiz, I assure you: you will be able to do parabolas in your sleep.”
Chris stopped and looked at Sully who was grinning.
“What?”
“It’s just,” Sullivan said, “math is kind of cool.”
` “I think so,” Chris said earnestly. Then, “Dean Howard said you’re a poet.”
“Not really,” Sullivan said. “I mean, “I think one of my teachers told him that and—”
“I’ve seen you scribbling stuff in that notebook of yours,” Chris told him. “So I know you are. Everyone talks about it. How you’re going to be this writer one day.”
“I bet no one talks about it,” Sully told him, remembering that he was talking to the famous Chris Powers, and then, cocking his head and realizing he wasn’t as amazed as he had been an hour and a half ago when Chris had come to the door.
“Read me something,” Chris said sitting up on the bed and drawing his knees to his chest.
“No,” Sully said.
“I think you owe me,” Chris told him. “After the hour and a half I put in.”
“Like you read poetry!”
“Why wouldn’t I?” said Chris. “Cause I’m some meathead athelete? I’ll have you know that I’m on honor roll.”
Sully quoted: “Powers concentrates on his studies after school during the winter. A three-sport letter winner in climate seasons, Chris treasures the dark winter with its lack of athletics, as he continues to excel in academic honors. Powers is a winner of the Phi Kappa Psi Award and a member of the Collegae Honorum Society for Gifted Students.”
Chris’s eyes bugged out. “What’s that from?”
Sullivan sat up, went to his bookshelf, stretched to pull down the grey yearbook and flipped it open. He didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he knew the exact page it was on. Chris who, right now, looked like his football photograph in his sweats, unshaven, hair spiked up, scowled as he read and muttered, “Now, that’s embarrassing.”
“Yeah, I’d be embarrassed to be scholar of the year and athlete of the year.”
Chris studied him.
“What?”
“I like you Sully. But I don’t like the way you said that. That’s all.”
Sully was shocked.
“It’s just,” Sully began. “I didn’t mean to offend, but you’ve got it all. So why be embarrassed. I mean. look at me.”
“What about you?”
“Me. I have bad grades. No athletic skills—”
“You really think that’s everything?”
“No, but... yeah,” Sully said, suddenly defensive. “I do. In our world, right now, that is everything. And there probably isn’t a place in that yearbook you’ll find anything about Sullivan Reardon. You’re all over the place, Chris, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be. I’m just saying.... That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Okay,” Chris said after a moment. “So, when you see me... What do you see?”
Sully stopped to consider for a moment, and then he said, “The quarterback. The most popular guy in the school. You know, the one we’re all supposed to be.”
Chris shrugged and then Sully said, “Well, do I get to ask you the same question. Not that I’m sure I want to know the answer.”
Chris looked at Sully.
“I see Sully Reardon,” he said.
“And?”
“And that’s it,” Chris said. “I don’t know about you. I just know you write and I know your name. And from what I know you’re one of the good guys. I mean it’s lot of assholes at SV’s. But I don’t know you yet.” And then Chris added, “And you don’t know me. Remember that, Sully.”
Chris’s look was hard, like it had been at the Homecoming game last year right before he’d rammed his fist into a board. With those eyes he looked like a wolf. But the look passed. He was still serious, but not angry. “What you think is me and what really is...”
“I know, Chris,” Sully told him.
Chris didn’t know what else to say, so he just nodded.
“Dr.Powers!” Dean Howard said brightly rising from his desk to shake Mark Powers’ hand.
“Good afternoon. Good to see you. What can I do for you?”
Mark stood in front of Rick Howard looking only a little stupider than he actually felt. His hands were pressed together and Rick Howard regarded him hopefully, nearly joyfully. When Mark didn’t speak, because he couldn’t speak, the Dean added, “I hear that Chris and Sullivan are making excellent progress.”
“I have something very foolish to say,” Mark blurted out. “And you will have to forgive me for this. It’s not my foolishness. It’s really my friend’s, you see. I have actually been sitting in my car for the last half hour trying to phrase this and I can’t phrase it so I’m just going to say it. I’m going to say it.”
Rick Howard laughed now and his face crinkled up like a hound.
“I remember you now, Mark Powers,” he said. “You were on debate team my senior year. I remember you almost killed the first debate because you were...”
“Babbling.”
Rick looked for a better word, but then said, “I think that’s the word. Well, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged pleasantly. “As I remember you ended up doing quite well by the end of the year, and apparently you’re doing well now.” He added, “Dr. Powers.”
“Yeah,” Mark shrugged, forgetting himself, and he never forgot himself. When he remembered himself he said, “I just wanted to say I’m not gay is all.”
Rick Howard raised his eyebrows.
Because Rick Howard didn’t know what else to say he said, “Yes.”
Now Mark wished he hadn’t come here at all. He wished the floor would open up and suck him in. Rick Howard with his sleeves rolled up over his hairy arms at his desk and the football trophy behind him, Rick Howard of the perpetual tan and the weathered skin could not have even... Sidney was so wrong.
“It’s just that we—I think—made a sort of connection the other day, and...”
Rick was cocking his head, looking at Mark more and more like.... like he was the football varsity senior and Mark was the stupid Freshmen.
“And, you see, I had a red necktie on. And you had a red necktie on and...”
Innocently, Rick Howard said, “I have a navy blue one on today.”
“A red necktie means you’re gay,” Mark blurted out.
“Really?”
“Says a friend of mine who is an idiot and I should not have listened to him and if two men have red neckties then it’s supposed to... I think I’ll leave now before I do any more damage and my face gets any redder.”
“Well, now Mark, I don’t think it’s possible for your face to get any redder. But you are hitting a new shade of purple.”
“I feel so stupid!” The words tumbled out of Mark’s mouth. He felt so... fourteen.
“Look,” Rick said, standing up on the other side of the desk and stretching. He did that stretch and rumpled his hair just like the confident athlete he had always been, just like the head of the class. only now he was the head of the school, “Your friend, your silly friend, gave you a misunder-standing. Innocent. You checked it out. There’s nothing wrong with that. Alright, Mark? Which, you haven’t given me permission to call you. Mark. I should call you Dr. Powers.”
“That’s silly. Mark’s fine.”
“Well, Rick’s fine for me. I mean,” Rick continued, “I think we did make a sort of connection. But not like that. So, whaddo you say we start over again?”
Rick thrust out his hand. The hand and the confident smile, the rumpled hair and winning look of the Dean of Saint Vitus, who he had called a homosexual. Holy God.
Mark felt ashamed as he reassembled his dignity and returned Rick Howard a hearty handshake.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“I mean, really, Sid!”
“No one told you to go over there, like a moron, and try to out the man!” Sidney was shouting over the phone. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s the doorbell. You know what a doorbell is?”
“Well, gee Mark, since you never bother to ring it whenever you come over, I’m starting to forget.”
“Ha ha you’re so funny.”
“I’d like to think so.”
Mark stuck the phone under his arm and went to answer the door.
“Sullivan,” he said.
“Hello, Dr. Powers. Is Chris home?”
“I thought your study day was tomorrow.”
“No, I just wanted to show Chris something. Sir, your armpit’s talking.”
Mark lifted a finger, picked up the phone and said, “I’ll call you back, Sid.”
Mark shrugged. “Friends.”
“Mom says they’re a blessing.”
“I wonder,” Mark murmured. “Chris is upstairs in his room. Do you have to rush back? We’re having dinner soon.”
Sully didn’t think Chris would really want him to hang around. That would be a little too weird. So he said, “I just stopped for a second. Thanks, though.”
Sully ran up the steps and crashed into Chris coming down them.
“Sully?” He looked surprised, but not unhappy.
Sully remembered why he was here, and said. “Wait. Look.”
He took off his backpack, reached into the mess of it, fidgeted and grunted because he could never find anything when he needed it, and then said, “Here. look at this.”
Chris’s face lit up and he said, “Shit, Sully!”
“I mean it’s only a B, and a low B, but I’ve never seen a B in a math class ever. I owe it all to you.”
“Chances are you owe a little of it to yourself too,” Chris grinned at him.
“But... I wanted to thank you. And... I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For what I said the other day about... you being a jock and all that and your life being perfect. Even though...” Sully looked around.
“Dad’s a clean freak. I’ m a clean freak. We look like Better Homes and Gardens. Guilty as charged,” Chris smirked. “Come upstairs for a minute, Sully. The stairwell’s no place to have a conversation.
Sullivan, dragging his backpack behind him, followed Chris up the stairs.
“Look, I was just miffed is all,” Chris said. “You shouldn’t pay any attention to what I was like the other night. I know it’s not easy... being anyone. I just.... I get tired of what people think I am. People think I’m this and that, and that gets in the way of me being able to make real friends and actually get to know people I’d like to know.”
‘Because everyone thinks you… wouldn’t want to know them.”
“Well, I guess,” Chris said. “But, I get sick of the football team and just knowing five other people. I get sick of being expected to be this and that. And I don’t know if you noticed this, but my life isn’t that perfect. I watched my mom die when I was in fourth grade. I watched her die of cancer. I watched my dad have to pull it together and…. I just wish people would stop acting like that didn’t mean anything.”
“I’m sorry, Chris,” Sully said. “Look, I never knew my dad. If that makes you feel any better.”
Chris looked at him, mystified, but more amazed than angry.
“Why would that make me feel better?”
“Because then my life isn’t perfect either. I mean, my mom didn’t die, but she’s kind of a bitch, so that’s my tragedy. And I bet your mom loved you a lot. And your dad. He’s a really great guy. He’s the kind of guy my mom would go for. I’m not saying you have it all, but I don’t think we get to have it all. So you’ve got half of it, I’ll bet. And it’s not a bad half.”
Chris just looked at Sully for a long time.
“Please don’t hit me,” Sully said.
Chrs shook his head and just laughed harder and harder.
“Sully, stay for dinner!”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do. We’ve got too much food and I hate leftovers. Why don’t you just stay for dinner.”
“I’d be like in the way. It’s family dinner and—”
“My family is me and my dad,” Chris gripped Sully’s shoulders. Chris Powers is holding my shoulders, and he shouted down the stair, “Dad, Sully’s staying for dinner.”
“Good!” Mark shouted up. “Too much food anyway!”
Downstairs Mark smiled to himself and took another plate from the cupboard. He had just heard something he didn’t even understand at first because he hadn’t heard it in a long time.
His son’s laughter.
Those are his favorite types, the ones who don’t look like they should be here, who probably feel like they shouldn’t. He sits there in the bar, sipping that same drink he’s been on for an hour, khaki pants, white shirt, blue tie, sleeves rolled up his arms, the light from the bar shining on the golden brown hair up and down his arms. He looks about thirty-five, but could be older. You can tell he shouldn’t be here. Almost. He looks good and preppy, proper, those are the best time. Sometimes you want a man who looks like a man. Call them johns, call them whatever the fuck you want to. He looks nice with his sandy brown hair, a little rumpled, a little part down the middle.
So you sit down two seats away from him. Just two seats.
He looks at you. And then looks at his drink. He looks nervous, like he has to be encouraged.
So you light the cigarette. You inhale, you blow it out, look a little fun, a little adventurous. Inhale, exhale out of your nose. Look at him. He looks at you again. You gesture.
You get up, you make a slight gesture with your head. He waits a moment and presses his fingers together, frowning/. He hasn’t done this in awhile. He gets up and walks through the bar, sweating.
You are waiting for him.
“You got protection?” you say.
“Um hum,” he says.
You brush his hand, take his hand and lead him out the door.
“What do you do?” you ask him.
“Stuff,” he says.
“Stuff like?”
Something gives in his face.
“High school,” he says. “I work in a high school. Catholic.”
“You gotta name?”
He is thinking. He’s the sort that’s always afraid of being caught. He probably thinks he’s given too much away already. God he’s good looking. Looks like a real man.
The real man says, “My name’s Rick. Now let’s get out of here.”
The other man looks back at him, then he takes his hand and they leave the bar.
END OF CHAPTER TWO
MORE TUESDAY
“No one told you to go over there, like a moron, and try to out the man!” Sidney was shouting over the phone. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s the doorbell. You know what a doorbell is?”
“Well, gee Mark, since you never bother to ring it whenever you come over, I’m starting to forget.”
“Ha ha you’re so funny.”
“I’d like to think so.”
Mark stuck the phone under his arm and went to answer the door.
“Sullivan,” he said.
“Hello, Dr. Powers. Is Chris home?”
“I thought your study day was tomorrow.”
“No, I just wanted to show Chris something. Sir, your armpit’s talking.”
Mark lifted a finger, picked up the phone and said, “I’ll call you back, Sid.”
Mark shrugged. “Friends.”
“Mom says they’re a blessing.”
“I wonder,” Mark murmured. “Chris is upstairs in his room. Do you have to rush back? We’re having dinner soon.”
Sully didn’t think Chris would really want him to hang around. That would be a little too weird. So he said, “I just stopped for a second. Thanks, though.”
Sully ran up the steps and crashed into Chris coming down them.
“Sully?” He looked surprised, but not unhappy.
Sully remembered why he was here, and said. “Wait. Look.”
He took off his backpack, reached into the mess of it, fidgeted and grunted because he could never find anything when he needed it, and then said, “Here. look at this.”
Chris’s face lit up and he said, “Shit, Sully!”
“I mean it’s only a B, and a low B, but I’ve never seen a B in a math class ever. I owe it all to you.”
“Chances are you owe a little of it to yourself too,” Chris grinned at him.
“But... I wanted to thank you. And... I wanted to apologize.”
“For what?”
“For what I said the other day about... you being a jock and all that and your life being perfect. Even though...” Sully looked around.
“Dad’s a clean freak. I’ m a clean freak. We look like Better Homes and Gardens. Guilty as charged,” Chris smirked. “Come upstairs for a minute, Sully. The stairwell’s no place to have a conversation.
Sullivan, dragging his backpack behind him, followed Chris up the stairs.
“Look, I was just miffed is all,” Chris said. “You shouldn’t pay any attention to what I was like the other night. I know it’s not easy... being anyone. I just.... I get tired of what people think I am. People think I’m this and that, and that gets in the way of me being able to make real friends and actually get to know people I’d like to know.”
‘Because everyone thinks you… wouldn’t want to know them.”
“Well, I guess,” Chris said. “But, I get sick of the football team and just knowing five other people. I get sick of being expected to be this and that. And I don’t know if you noticed this, but my life isn’t that perfect. I watched my mom die when I was in fourth grade. I watched her die of cancer. I watched my dad have to pull it together and…. I just wish people would stop acting like that didn’t mean anything.”
“I’m sorry, Chris,” Sully said. “Look, I never knew my dad. If that makes you feel any better.”
Chris looked at him, mystified, but more amazed than angry.
“Why would that make me feel better?”
“Because then my life isn’t perfect either. I mean, my mom didn’t die, but she’s kind of a bitch, so that’s my tragedy. And I bet your mom loved you a lot. And your dad. He’s a really great guy. He’s the kind of guy my mom would go for. I’m not saying you have it all, but I don’t think we get to have it all. So you’ve got half of it, I’ll bet. And it’s not a bad half.”
Chris just looked at Sully for a long time.
“Please don’t hit me,” Sully said.
Chrs shook his head and just laughed harder and harder.
“Sully, stay for dinner!”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do. We’ve got too much food and I hate leftovers. Why don’t you just stay for dinner.”
“I’d be like in the way. It’s family dinner and—”
“My family is me and my dad,” Chris gripped Sully’s shoulders. Chris Powers is holding my shoulders, and he shouted down the stair, “Dad, Sully’s staying for dinner.”
“Good!” Mark shouted up. “Too much food anyway!”
Downstairs Mark smiled to himself and took another plate from the cupboard. He had just heard something he didn’t even understand at first because he hadn’t heard it in a long time.
His son’s laughter.
Those are his favorite types, the ones who don’t look like they should be here, who probably feel like they shouldn’t. He sits there in the bar, sipping that same drink he’s been on for an hour, khaki pants, white shirt, blue tie, sleeves rolled up his arms, the light from the bar shining on the golden brown hair up and down his arms. He looks about thirty-five, but could be older. You can tell he shouldn’t be here. Almost. He looks good and preppy, proper, those are the best time. Sometimes you want a man who looks like a man. Call them johns, call them whatever the fuck you want to. He looks nice with his sandy brown hair, a little rumpled, a little part down the middle.
So you sit down two seats away from him. Just two seats.
He looks at you. And then looks at his drink. He looks nervous, like he has to be encouraged.
So you light the cigarette. You inhale, you blow it out, look a little fun, a little adventurous. Inhale, exhale out of your nose. Look at him. He looks at you again. You gesture.
You get up, you make a slight gesture with your head. He waits a moment and presses his fingers together, frowning/. He hasn’t done this in awhile. He gets up and walks through the bar, sweating.
You are waiting for him.
“You got protection?” you say.
“Um hum,” he says.
You brush his hand, take his hand and lead him out the door.
“What do you do?” you ask him.
“Stuff,” he says.
“Stuff like?”
Something gives in his face.
“High school,” he says. “I work in a high school. Catholic.”
“You gotta name?”
He is thinking. He’s the sort that’s always afraid of being caught. He probably thinks he’s given too much away already. God he’s good looking. Looks like a real man.
The real man says, “My name’s Rick. Now let’s get out of here.”
The other man looks back at him, then he takes his hand and they leave the bar.
END OF CHAPTER TWO
MORE TUESDAY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
An excellent end to the chapter! It was nice to read Mark and Sully getting to know each other. I think they are more similar then they realise. It was good to see that Rick actually is gay. Great writing and I look forward to seeing where this story goes!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Yes, I think you're right. Mark and Sully may actually have a lot in common and here we learn that Rick has been leading a secret life for some time. Things aren't going to be dull around here. Thanks for reading. More later.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
III
FAITH
“This is Persephone and Demeter,” Mason announced taping the lithograph over his nightstand.
“I like it,” Tommy Dwyer decided. “I don’t get it. But I like it.”
“They were the grain goddesses in ancient Greece, and they had this whole sort of cult and people would come to it and worship them.”
Mason set out the incense.
“Mason,” Tommy said. “Is this like an altar or something?”
He cocked his head, squinting at the goddesses for an answer.
“It’s more like a meditation space,” he decided at last.
“But it’s got incense and candles and... You should have a picture of Jesus instead.”
There’s no such thing as a picture of Jesus. Just little cheesy ideas of what people want Jesus to look like. I think I’m going to get something I can feel holy around.”
“But this is pagan,” Tommy said.
“Are you going to start praying for my soul too?”
“Mason, that’s not fair.”
“Well, you’re the one that told me I was building pagan altars.”
“Well, you kind of are. I think you might make God mad.”
“If God’s that easily pissed off, then I don’t think I need to be bothered with him.”
“Take that back, Mase.”
Mason opened his mouth, looked at Tommy and then said. “You know what?”
“What?”
And, suddenly, Mason fell to his knees and began to moan, “Oooom Oooom.”
“What are you doing, Mason!”
He began bowing and scraping in front of the night stand. He mumbled gibberish, folding his hands together.
“Pickledeekadeekadoopooburrybooburryboo. We praise you. We praise you!”
“Mason!”
“We praise you holy Demeter. We worship you. You are God!”
“Mason!”
“And we worship you, Persephone. We love you. You’re better than Jesus. Jesus sucks in comparison to you. Ooooom. We love you, we love you!”
“I’m going to leave if you don’t stop that, Mason.”
Mason fell on the floor laughing. He wanted to open his mouth to speak. But he couldn’t. He just kept laughing and Tommy, frowning, went through Mason’s bookshelf.
“What’s this?” He took a little black book from the shelf.
Mason, still laughing, wiped his eyes and said, “Oh, that’s my Satanic Bible?”
Tommy frowned at him, shocked and betrayed.
“Mason, what kind of Christian are you?”
Mason Darrow answered, “A curious one.”
That night Tommy Dwyer did his half hour of Bible study and then closed the book and took out his list. The List had everyone he prayed for. He prayed for Mason and Addison because they were his two best friends. He prayed for Matt Mercurio on the football team because he didn’t like him and Jesus always said pray for your enemies. He prayed for his mom who was trying to be a good Christian. He prayed for his Dad who had walked out. He prayed for all the kids that dads had walked out on. The only person he knew that didn’t have a broken home was Addison. But Addison was crazy.
Tommy prayed for the old woman without the umbrella he’d see when he was on the bus that morning.
He prayed, “Jesus, help me and Deborah to do the right thing and stay pure for you. My flesh is so weak sometimes. Heavenly Father, give us holy fear and a desire to do the right thing.”
And then Tommy crossed himself, but felt guilty. He wasn’t really Catholic anymore. Well, he didn’t know what he was. He was Christian.
“It doesn’t matter what I am,” Tommy said. “I shouldn’t be thinking about me all the time. Jesus, I know I know I know I shouldn’t be thinking about me but please let me get that pickup truck for my birthday. If it be thy holy will. Amen.”
He got ready to climb into bed and the phone rang.
“Hello?” he said.
“Tommy?”
“Mason?”
“Yes. Are we still going to that convention on the weekend?”
Mason was a Christian. But... it was different. Mason wasn’t Catholic. He wasn’t born again. He was Episcopalian and they were like Catholics except, well, lots of Catholics did get born again. Episcopalians didn’t really believe in it. They were... different.
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, Mason.”
“Of course I want to!”
Mason sounded so enthusiastic that Tommy was almost sure it was a lie.
“I just wanted to make sure, make sure my schedule was clear. Addison needs the house for something.”
“Too bad Addison won’t come with us. There’s going to be great music.”
“Yeah,” Mason said, dreading an entire Saturday of praise and worship. “Well, not much chance of that happening.”
“We could pray for it.”
“No,” Mason said, solidly. Some things weren’t worth praying for. Not even for Tommy. “I’m going to bed now. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Mason.”
“Good night, Tommy.”
“God bless, Mason,” Tommy prayed. “He’s a good Christian... Just not... the same kind.”
Episcopalians had gay priests and premarital sex, or at least they did at Mason’s church. Apparently at his church people didn’t get saved. They didn’t go to confession, though they could. They didn’t take life so... seriously. Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. You didn’t really see Episcopalians at Christian Bookstore and whenever Tommy was flipping through Left Behind books at Barnes and Noble, or reading over the Prayer of Jabez, there was Mason, surrounded by books on Hinduism, reading something with a pentagram on the cover.
“But Mason is saved,” Tommy said, drifting off to sleep.” It’s just a different sort of saved.”
“So I was at the bus depot,” Mason was telling them as he sat down for lunch, “and feeling a little bit on the low side. Asking questions about all sorts of things.”
“Meaning of life?”: said Addison.
“Why we have to take chemistry?” Tommy added.
“Are Brittany Spears’ tits real?” Seth Mc.Kenna offered.
“But we know they aren’t,” Mason said. “All of those questions. And then all of a sudden I saw this man. I mean, his feet were twisted up, he was kind of bald, mildly retarded. I mean, he was really fucked up. But goddamnit, he was happy! What’s that all about?”
Andrew Wehner, the resident philosopher, who was sitting a the same table said, “I would guess it means stupidity is a requirement for happiness.”
“Andrew’s got a point,” Addison said. “Stupid people are always the happy ones.”
“That’s not true,” Tommy said.
“Now you take those evangelicals at Tommy’s church—”
“Hey—!”
“They’re dumb as the day is long. And happy Happy HAPPY!”
Addison threw an arm around Tommy and said, “Just fuckin’ with you. Besides, you were like this before you got saved.”
“Stupid?” Tommy said, bristling.
“No,” Addison told him. “Innocent. You’ve got a joy de vivre.”
Seth snorted. “I’ve never met anyone with less joy de vivre than Tommy Dwyer.”
Tommy frowned, but Addison said, “Now, look, Mc.Kenna. If I wanna talk about Tommy I can because we go back and he’s my best bud. But anyone else knocking Tommy—”
“Accept me,” Mason threw in—”
‘That’s right,” Addison said. “Anyone else and I’ll have to get all mad and pretend I’m gonna fight you.”
“I don’t think it’s only stupid people who are happy,” Tommy murmured stubbornly. “I don’t.”
“I don’t either,” Mason said. “I’ve never met a dumb happy person, but I’ve met lots of people who pretend they’re dumber than they are just to stay happy. Like a fake happy.”
“And here we come to the difference between happiness and fulfillment,” chimed in Dan Bonner, another one of the resident philosophers. Dan and Whener were taking all AP classes next year, worked on yearbook and were preparing to apply to some East Coast schools with big names.
Addison frowned and screwed his middle finger into his left hand so only Mason could see, but Tommy said, earnestly, “Pastor Pitts says it’s the difference between happiness and joy. Like, joy is what comes from God, and it’s real. But happiness isn’t lasting. Only we want the thing that doesn’t last because we’re human and we’re weak and we don’t know how bad the flesh is.”
Tommy was about to shut up, but he realized he had an audience, and it was so rare that he had the floor. It was too much to seriously believe he’d win a soul for Jesus at just this one lunch, but he could begin working on it.
“Like, say, with sex. Or homosexuals. They might think they want to be gay, and people might think they want to have premarital sex just because the urge is there. It’s so strong and they don’t; have enough faith, so they give into it....” Tommy, who was very earnest now, did not see Addison eyeing him like a cat with a mouse. “You give into it, you sin, and then you feel horrible for having had sex, especially gay sex, because it’s not in God’s plan.”
“God has a plan?” said Addison.
Tommy frowned because Addison was ruining this. He’d witnessed to Addison several times before.
“For us to find friendship and salvation in Jesus Christ his only son.”
“Because if we don’t he’ll zap us with his pinky finger and we’ll fry in hell forever?’
Tommy looked aghast.
“God doesn’t want to do it,” Tommy said.
“But he will.”
“Because he has to.”
“But he’s like God, right?”
“But God has to be fair.”
“Fuck fair. I mean, if I was God I’d do what the fuck I wanted to do. I’d line all the angels in row, get some angel condoms and—”
“Addison!”
Addison shrugged.
“But if you just accepted Jesus—”
“And didn’t fuck until I was married, and didn’t get fucked up the ass—”
“You would be saved.”
“Well, “ Addison said, “I’m halfway there cause I’d never let anything up in my ass. But the first part...” Addison made a face.
“It’s all in the Good Book,” Tommy said.
Addison shook his head: “That’s one dumbass book.”
Despite himself, Mason cracked a smile.
FAITH
“This is Persephone and Demeter,” Mason announced taping the lithograph over his nightstand.
“I like it,” Tommy Dwyer decided. “I don’t get it. But I like it.”
“They were the grain goddesses in ancient Greece, and they had this whole sort of cult and people would come to it and worship them.”
Mason set out the incense.
“Mason,” Tommy said. “Is this like an altar or something?”
He cocked his head, squinting at the goddesses for an answer.
“It’s more like a meditation space,” he decided at last.
“But it’s got incense and candles and... You should have a picture of Jesus instead.”
There’s no such thing as a picture of Jesus. Just little cheesy ideas of what people want Jesus to look like. I think I’m going to get something I can feel holy around.”
“But this is pagan,” Tommy said.
“Are you going to start praying for my soul too?”
“Mason, that’s not fair.”
“Well, you’re the one that told me I was building pagan altars.”
“Well, you kind of are. I think you might make God mad.”
“If God’s that easily pissed off, then I don’t think I need to be bothered with him.”
“Take that back, Mase.”
Mason opened his mouth, looked at Tommy and then said. “You know what?”
“What?”
And, suddenly, Mason fell to his knees and began to moan, “Oooom Oooom.”
“What are you doing, Mason!”
He began bowing and scraping in front of the night stand. He mumbled gibberish, folding his hands together.
“Pickledeekadeekadoopooburrybooburryboo. We praise you. We praise you!”
“Mason!”
“We praise you holy Demeter. We worship you. You are God!”
“Mason!”
“And we worship you, Persephone. We love you. You’re better than Jesus. Jesus sucks in comparison to you. Ooooom. We love you, we love you!”
“I’m going to leave if you don’t stop that, Mason.”
Mason fell on the floor laughing. He wanted to open his mouth to speak. But he couldn’t. He just kept laughing and Tommy, frowning, went through Mason’s bookshelf.
“What’s this?” He took a little black book from the shelf.
Mason, still laughing, wiped his eyes and said, “Oh, that’s my Satanic Bible?”
Tommy frowned at him, shocked and betrayed.
“Mason, what kind of Christian are you?”
Mason Darrow answered, “A curious one.”
That night Tommy Dwyer did his half hour of Bible study and then closed the book and took out his list. The List had everyone he prayed for. He prayed for Mason and Addison because they were his two best friends. He prayed for Matt Mercurio on the football team because he didn’t like him and Jesus always said pray for your enemies. He prayed for his mom who was trying to be a good Christian. He prayed for his Dad who had walked out. He prayed for all the kids that dads had walked out on. The only person he knew that didn’t have a broken home was Addison. But Addison was crazy.
Tommy prayed for the old woman without the umbrella he’d see when he was on the bus that morning.
He prayed, “Jesus, help me and Deborah to do the right thing and stay pure for you. My flesh is so weak sometimes. Heavenly Father, give us holy fear and a desire to do the right thing.”
And then Tommy crossed himself, but felt guilty. He wasn’t really Catholic anymore. Well, he didn’t know what he was. He was Christian.
“It doesn’t matter what I am,” Tommy said. “I shouldn’t be thinking about me all the time. Jesus, I know I know I know I shouldn’t be thinking about me but please let me get that pickup truck for my birthday. If it be thy holy will. Amen.”
He got ready to climb into bed and the phone rang.
“Hello?” he said.
“Tommy?”
“Mason?”
“Yes. Are we still going to that convention on the weekend?”
Mason was a Christian. But... it was different. Mason wasn’t Catholic. He wasn’t born again. He was Episcopalian and they were like Catholics except, well, lots of Catholics did get born again. Episcopalians didn’t really believe in it. They were... different.
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, Mason.”
“Of course I want to!”
Mason sounded so enthusiastic that Tommy was almost sure it was a lie.
“I just wanted to make sure, make sure my schedule was clear. Addison needs the house for something.”
“Too bad Addison won’t come with us. There’s going to be great music.”
“Yeah,” Mason said, dreading an entire Saturday of praise and worship. “Well, not much chance of that happening.”
“We could pray for it.”
“No,” Mason said, solidly. Some things weren’t worth praying for. Not even for Tommy. “I’m going to bed now. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, Mason.”
“Good night, Tommy.”
“God bless, Mason,” Tommy prayed. “He’s a good Christian... Just not... the same kind.”
Episcopalians had gay priests and premarital sex, or at least they did at Mason’s church. Apparently at his church people didn’t get saved. They didn’t go to confession, though they could. They didn’t take life so... seriously. Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about that. You didn’t really see Episcopalians at Christian Bookstore and whenever Tommy was flipping through Left Behind books at Barnes and Noble, or reading over the Prayer of Jabez, there was Mason, surrounded by books on Hinduism, reading something with a pentagram on the cover.
“But Mason is saved,” Tommy said, drifting off to sleep.” It’s just a different sort of saved.”
“So I was at the bus depot,” Mason was telling them as he sat down for lunch, “and feeling a little bit on the low side. Asking questions about all sorts of things.”
“Meaning of life?”: said Addison.
“Why we have to take chemistry?” Tommy added.
“Are Brittany Spears’ tits real?” Seth Mc.Kenna offered.
“But we know they aren’t,” Mason said. “All of those questions. And then all of a sudden I saw this man. I mean, his feet were twisted up, he was kind of bald, mildly retarded. I mean, he was really fucked up. But goddamnit, he was happy! What’s that all about?”
Andrew Wehner, the resident philosopher, who was sitting a the same table said, “I would guess it means stupidity is a requirement for happiness.”
“Andrew’s got a point,” Addison said. “Stupid people are always the happy ones.”
“That’s not true,” Tommy said.
“Now you take those evangelicals at Tommy’s church—”
“Hey—!”
“They’re dumb as the day is long. And happy Happy HAPPY!”
Addison threw an arm around Tommy and said, “Just fuckin’ with you. Besides, you were like this before you got saved.”
“Stupid?” Tommy said, bristling.
“No,” Addison told him. “Innocent. You’ve got a joy de vivre.”
Seth snorted. “I’ve never met anyone with less joy de vivre than Tommy Dwyer.”
Tommy frowned, but Addison said, “Now, look, Mc.Kenna. If I wanna talk about Tommy I can because we go back and he’s my best bud. But anyone else knocking Tommy—”
“Accept me,” Mason threw in—”
‘That’s right,” Addison said. “Anyone else and I’ll have to get all mad and pretend I’m gonna fight you.”
“I don’t think it’s only stupid people who are happy,” Tommy murmured stubbornly. “I don’t.”
“I don’t either,” Mason said. “I’ve never met a dumb happy person, but I’ve met lots of people who pretend they’re dumber than they are just to stay happy. Like a fake happy.”
“And here we come to the difference between happiness and fulfillment,” chimed in Dan Bonner, another one of the resident philosophers. Dan and Whener were taking all AP classes next year, worked on yearbook and were preparing to apply to some East Coast schools with big names.
Addison frowned and screwed his middle finger into his left hand so only Mason could see, but Tommy said, earnestly, “Pastor Pitts says it’s the difference between happiness and joy. Like, joy is what comes from God, and it’s real. But happiness isn’t lasting. Only we want the thing that doesn’t last because we’re human and we’re weak and we don’t know how bad the flesh is.”
Tommy was about to shut up, but he realized he had an audience, and it was so rare that he had the floor. It was too much to seriously believe he’d win a soul for Jesus at just this one lunch, but he could begin working on it.
“Like, say, with sex. Or homosexuals. They might think they want to be gay, and people might think they want to have premarital sex just because the urge is there. It’s so strong and they don’t; have enough faith, so they give into it....” Tommy, who was very earnest now, did not see Addison eyeing him like a cat with a mouse. “You give into it, you sin, and then you feel horrible for having had sex, especially gay sex, because it’s not in God’s plan.”
“God has a plan?” said Addison.
Tommy frowned because Addison was ruining this. He’d witnessed to Addison several times before.
“For us to find friendship and salvation in Jesus Christ his only son.”
“Because if we don’t he’ll zap us with his pinky finger and we’ll fry in hell forever?’
Tommy looked aghast.
“God doesn’t want to do it,” Tommy said.
“But he will.”
“Because he has to.”
“But he’s like God, right?”
“But God has to be fair.”
“Fuck fair. I mean, if I was God I’d do what the fuck I wanted to do. I’d line all the angels in row, get some angel condoms and—”
“Addison!”
Addison shrugged.
“But if you just accepted Jesus—”
“And didn’t fuck until I was married, and didn’t get fucked up the ass—”
“You would be saved.”
“Well, “ Addison said, “I’m halfway there cause I’d never let anything up in my ass. But the first part...” Addison made a face.
“It’s all in the Good Book,” Tommy said.
Addison shook his head: “That’s one dumbass book.”
Despite himself, Mason cracked a smile.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Joel McKenna didn’t have to explain to anyone who rode the 4:30 Number Seven that when they stopped at the public library they waited a little longer. When he’d first started driving the route he’d noticed Shelley was almost always late.
“It’s everyday,” she told him. “That’s why you hardly see me.”
“He hadn’t really seen her that time. Joel knew that after the 4:30 the bus only came once every hour, and so he decided to drive slower. And then he had just stopped the bus altogether to wait for her. He wasn’t allowed to wait more than five minutes, and there was no one on this bus now who didn’t understand.
She ran anyway, and that’s what he liked about her. She didn’t take it for granted. Shelley knew everyone else wanted to get home like she did. Joel wanted to get home. He wanted to drop this bus off at the Highland Point Terminal and drive back to his apartment.
“Joel, you’re a lifesaver,” she told him.
“Get on,” he told her with his broad smile, and when she took out her fair, though no one saw, he put his hand over hers.
She didn’t make anything of it as the bus rolled on. An old woman got on a few minutes later her wrinkled black hand fumbling for her purse, digging around for her change and Joel told her, “You know you overpaid yesterday Mrs. Hanley.”
“I did?” Her dubious face was like and old dark raisin.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you only owe me fifteen cents. I’m sure” he added putting his large, tanned hand over hers, “you already gave to to me.” Jo
Shelley never sat down. She held on to the rail across from Joel and watched the sun on his hair. He smiled a lot. He had a lot of teeth, not too many, just enough to make a really pleasant smile. And he whistled a lot when he wasn’t asking her all about work. Joel knew everybody’s name and all the gossip at the library. He knew every single thing that bothered her.
“Naomi still coloring her fingernails every shade of the rainbow?”
“Yes!” she noticed his Saint Joseph’s Missal. “How was Mass?”
Joel shrugged. “It was Mass. It doesn’t change much.”
“But you go everyday.”
“Yeah,” Joel shrugged. “I guess. It’s the one thing I can count on.”
Shelley burst out laughing.
“What?” he smirked up at her.
“You’re so close mouthed,” she told him. “Do you know how many times I get tracts on the bus, from a bus driver, all about getting saved? Especially that one guy, the Jehovah’s Witness?”
“They get saved?”
“Something like it. They got the earthly paradise and all.”
“Cause heaven’s too crowded, right?”
Shelley shrugged as they turned on Birmingham. “Something like that.
“But here I am, asking you, and you’re just, um hum, um hum...”
Joel shrugged. “Well, you know Mass. Or maybe you don’t?” he had to stop assuming everyone was Catholic.
“Actually, I went to Francis Cabrini for high school.”
“Then you do know,” Joel said. He shook his head. “It doesn’t change. It does not change.”
He drove awhile, reflexive before he said, “And I suppose that’s why I like it.”
They were sitting around filling the bedroom with grey cigarette smoke, and Addison finally said, “Mase, what the fuck are we watching?”
“Duh,” Mason threw his hands up from his work and pointed to the cartoon people singing in Italian. “It’s Operavox. Animation meets opera. The best of Welsh television. I thought we agreed this would be an awesome idea.”
“Actually, you agreed with yourself when we were at the library, and I just said alright check it out. This shit is weird.”
“I know!” Mason was delighted.
Addison stubbed out his cigarette.
“Pass me one, mate?” Mason demanded in a flawless Cockney accent.
Addison stuck a cigarette between his friend’s lips and lit while Mason was on the edge of the bed, sculpting on a TV tray.
“Thanks for being a friend.
“I gotta hand it to you, Mason,” Addison told his friend who was exhaling around the lit cigarette stuck in his mouth, “You find things for us to do that most people have to get high for.”
“Drugs are greatly overrated.”
“I always feel high when I’m with you.”
Mason cocked his head in the midst of his work and bent back to flick his cigarette in the communal ashtray..
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“Behold,” he lifted the sculpture. “I have made the solution to everyone’s problems.”
“Oh, my God! It’s a... What the hell is that?”
On the television, the opera blared on.
“It’s a giant man eating worm with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.”
“That’s what I thought,” Addison said, eyes narrowed as the cigarette smoke trailed from his Maverick.
“You know what? I think you’re right? That’s exactly what everyone needs.”
MORE THURSDAY
“It’s everyday,” she told him. “That’s why you hardly see me.”
“He hadn’t really seen her that time. Joel knew that after the 4:30 the bus only came once every hour, and so he decided to drive slower. And then he had just stopped the bus altogether to wait for her. He wasn’t allowed to wait more than five minutes, and there was no one on this bus now who didn’t understand.
She ran anyway, and that’s what he liked about her. She didn’t take it for granted. Shelley knew everyone else wanted to get home like she did. Joel wanted to get home. He wanted to drop this bus off at the Highland Point Terminal and drive back to his apartment.
“Joel, you’re a lifesaver,” she told him.
“Get on,” he told her with his broad smile, and when she took out her fair, though no one saw, he put his hand over hers.
She didn’t make anything of it as the bus rolled on. An old woman got on a few minutes later her wrinkled black hand fumbling for her purse, digging around for her change and Joel told her, “You know you overpaid yesterday Mrs. Hanley.”
“I did?” Her dubious face was like and old dark raisin.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you only owe me fifteen cents. I’m sure” he added putting his large, tanned hand over hers, “you already gave to to me.” Jo
Shelley never sat down. She held on to the rail across from Joel and watched the sun on his hair. He smiled a lot. He had a lot of teeth, not too many, just enough to make a really pleasant smile. And he whistled a lot when he wasn’t asking her all about work. Joel knew everybody’s name and all the gossip at the library. He knew every single thing that bothered her.
“Naomi still coloring her fingernails every shade of the rainbow?”
“Yes!” she noticed his Saint Joseph’s Missal. “How was Mass?”
Joel shrugged. “It was Mass. It doesn’t change much.”
“But you go everyday.”
“Yeah,” Joel shrugged. “I guess. It’s the one thing I can count on.”
Shelley burst out laughing.
“What?” he smirked up at her.
“You’re so close mouthed,” she told him. “Do you know how many times I get tracts on the bus, from a bus driver, all about getting saved? Especially that one guy, the Jehovah’s Witness?”
“They get saved?”
“Something like it. They got the earthly paradise and all.”
“Cause heaven’s too crowded, right?”
Shelley shrugged as they turned on Birmingham. “Something like that.
“But here I am, asking you, and you’re just, um hum, um hum...”
Joel shrugged. “Well, you know Mass. Or maybe you don’t?” he had to stop assuming everyone was Catholic.
“Actually, I went to Francis Cabrini for high school.”
“Then you do know,” Joel said. He shook his head. “It doesn’t change. It does not change.”
He drove awhile, reflexive before he said, “And I suppose that’s why I like it.”
They were sitting around filling the bedroom with grey cigarette smoke, and Addison finally said, “Mase, what the fuck are we watching?”
“Duh,” Mason threw his hands up from his work and pointed to the cartoon people singing in Italian. “It’s Operavox. Animation meets opera. The best of Welsh television. I thought we agreed this would be an awesome idea.”
“Actually, you agreed with yourself when we were at the library, and I just said alright check it out. This shit is weird.”
“I know!” Mason was delighted.
Addison stubbed out his cigarette.
“Pass me one, mate?” Mason demanded in a flawless Cockney accent.
Addison stuck a cigarette between his friend’s lips and lit while Mason was on the edge of the bed, sculpting on a TV tray.
“Thanks for being a friend.
“I gotta hand it to you, Mason,” Addison told his friend who was exhaling around the lit cigarette stuck in his mouth, “You find things for us to do that most people have to get high for.”
“Drugs are greatly overrated.”
“I always feel high when I’m with you.”
Mason cocked his head in the midst of his work and bent back to flick his cigarette in the communal ashtray..
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.”
“Behold,” he lifted the sculpture. “I have made the solution to everyone’s problems.”
“Oh, my God! It’s a... What the hell is that?”
On the television, the opera blared on.
“It’s a giant man eating worm with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth.”
“That’s what I thought,” Addison said, eyes narrowed as the cigarette smoke trailed from his Maverick.
“You know what? I think you’re right? That’s exactly what everyone needs.”
MORE THURSDAY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Another great portion! I am getting a lot of enjoyment out of this story and I am glad you are posting it. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Oh, that's grand. I had actually forgotten how much fun this book is. I'm glad we can share it.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
HERE IS YOU HOT, FRESH, WEEKEND SERVING
“Are you going to take our order, or just stand there looking foolish?” Balliol said.
The pimply waiter, blinked at him, and Balliol said: “Well?”
The boy looked as if he were trying to figure out what reply to make, when Sully added:
“It’s just we’ve been waiting for about ten minutes.”
“While you were just standing around chatting with—” Balliol began.
The waiter said, “Well, do you know what you want?”
“What’s good?”
“I like the grilled cheese,” the boy told Sully.
“Well, then I’ll have that.”
“Sullivan, you can make grilled cheese at home.”
“Well, what do you see?” Sully said.
“I like the steak sandwich. And water,” Balliol said, then asked the boy, “Do you charge for water?”
The boy blinked at him.
“You never know,” Balliol said. “Some people do these days.:”
“We don’t,” the boy said.
“I’ll take water then.”
When the waiter had left Sully shook his head.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Sully said.
“The look on your face.”
“It’s nothing,” Sully muttered.
‘ Balliol raised his eyebrows and gave a theatrical smile.
“It’s this,” Sully said, turning over the dessert menu. “You didn’t have to snap at him like that. You snap at everyone, Bailey. Everyone’s your enemy.”
“No,” Balliol corrected him. “Stupid people are my enemy.”
“But you think everyone’s stupid.”
“Well, look around you,” he made a circular sweep over the restaurant. “Everyone is!”
“You’re unbelievable!”
Sully thanked the waiter when he came back with their drinks, but Balliol only gave a curt nod.
“Has it occurred to you that except for me you don’t have any real friends,” Sully said.
“I can’t really see that many people I want to be friends with.”
“That’s why!” Sully said. “You turn everyone off. That’s why you’ve only got me.”
Balliol cocked his head and gave Sully a crooked smile. That was always dangerous.
“I have no friends because I don’t want any. You want to be everyone’s friend, though. Don’t you, Sullivan? Well, then tell me why you don’t have anybody either?”
That hurt. Balliol knew it did. Sully’s eyes went so wide that Balliol almost wanted to take back what he said. But there was no taking it back, anyway.
“That’s not true!” Sully said.
“Oh?” Balliol raised his eyebrow. “Who’s your other friend? Jesus? He loves everybody. Or maybe you mean... Chris Powers?”
Sully just stared at him, genuinely angry.
“Oh,” Balliol murmured. “That’s exactly what you meant.”
With a self satisfied little smile Balliol, eyes downcast, lifted his water glass, and took a sip.
Joel McKenna slouched, self-satisfied, into the kitchen chair in his loose trousers taking a cigarette out from one of his breast pockets.
“Shelley’s coming to dinner on Saturday night.”
“And then you’ll get some?”
“Sidney!” Joel said in a voice that was actually wounded, “I don’t even know her.”
“Yes,” Mark agreed. “It’s called morals.”
“I don’t have anything against morals, but morals have had the old boy sleeping alone since his divorce.”
Sid shrugged and came to the table.
“I just think that Joel deserves a little happiness.”
“Straight he does,” Mark said. He never said “Darn straight,” and certainly not “Damned straight.”
“Actually,” Sidney said before Joel could protest all the well wishing. “He deserves lots and lots of happiness. As much as he can get. Which leads me to—” Sidney gestured with an egg roll, “my going out of town to the art convention. Keisha’ll be there.”
“So it’s you who will be,” Joel arched his fingers in quote marks, “who will be… ‘getting some’.”
“She’s still my wife. Technically. And that means I’m paying for it. And when you’re paying for it, it’s not getting some.”
“You still get each other hot,” Joel said frankly.
“She doesn’t look at other men. I don’t look at other women. I can’t shake the bitch—”
“The mother of your child…” Mark reminded him.
“I can’t shake the bitch,” Sidney continued, “And that’s the problem.” Sidney said.
“Did you ever…” Mark turned to Joel. “You know? Get hot for… your ex?”
“After I found her in bed with my brother? No.”
“We can stand each other for two days and that’s about it. And unless you haven’t noticed,” Sidney added. “She doesn’t have much of a mothering instinct. Artists should never get together. It’s a bad idea. Bad idea.”
“What?” Mason said as he led Addison and Tommy into the house. “whose a bad idea.”
“Artists marrying other artists.”
“You talking about mom again?”
The three men looked at him baffled. Mason shrugged as he opened the refrigerator an assessed:
“She’s a good artist,” Mason allowed. “Just... kind of lacking in the nurture department.”
“That’s why you’re here with me.”
Mason nodded, heading to his room:
“That and the restraining order you put on her three years ago.”
Sidney pressed his fingertips together and remarked, “Some people actually call getting full custody winning.”
Obsessive me
Obsessing about you
The object I can’t let go of
Don’t know of anything less sane than me
Than how I feel at this moment
Looking at you
Long for you
Touching you
Thinking about you
When I’m not talking about you
And you
You are the root of it all
I fall
Every time I look at you
And you are the balm
The melody
For the malady
Inside of me
While obsessing
Undressing
Caressing
Myself over you
“Alright that last part was a little nasty—” Sully interrupted himself.
“Sully, no,” Chris put his hand up. “That last part was…” Chris whistled. “The whole thing was…”
Sully turned white and then red.
“Sullivan if I could do what you do with words…” he shook his head.
“And that’s you? That’s all you?”
“Yup,” Sully nodded, sitting at Chris’s desk, across from him where he sat on the bed.
“Are you going to take our order, or just stand there looking foolish?” Balliol said.
The pimply waiter, blinked at him, and Balliol said: “Well?”
The boy looked as if he were trying to figure out what reply to make, when Sully added:
“It’s just we’ve been waiting for about ten minutes.”
“While you were just standing around chatting with—” Balliol began.
The waiter said, “Well, do you know what you want?”
“What’s good?”
“I like the grilled cheese,” the boy told Sully.
“Well, then I’ll have that.”
“Sullivan, you can make grilled cheese at home.”
“Well, what do you see?” Sully said.
“I like the steak sandwich. And water,” Balliol said, then asked the boy, “Do you charge for water?”
The boy blinked at him.
“You never know,” Balliol said. “Some people do these days.:”
“We don’t,” the boy said.
“I’ll take water then.”
When the waiter had left Sully shook his head.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Sully said.
“The look on your face.”
“It’s nothing,” Sully muttered.
‘ Balliol raised his eyebrows and gave a theatrical smile.
“It’s this,” Sully said, turning over the dessert menu. “You didn’t have to snap at him like that. You snap at everyone, Bailey. Everyone’s your enemy.”
“No,” Balliol corrected him. “Stupid people are my enemy.”
“But you think everyone’s stupid.”
“Well, look around you,” he made a circular sweep over the restaurant. “Everyone is!”
“You’re unbelievable!”
Sully thanked the waiter when he came back with their drinks, but Balliol only gave a curt nod.
“Has it occurred to you that except for me you don’t have any real friends,” Sully said.
“I can’t really see that many people I want to be friends with.”
“That’s why!” Sully said. “You turn everyone off. That’s why you’ve only got me.”
Balliol cocked his head and gave Sully a crooked smile. That was always dangerous.
“I have no friends because I don’t want any. You want to be everyone’s friend, though. Don’t you, Sullivan? Well, then tell me why you don’t have anybody either?”
That hurt. Balliol knew it did. Sully’s eyes went so wide that Balliol almost wanted to take back what he said. But there was no taking it back, anyway.
“That’s not true!” Sully said.
“Oh?” Balliol raised his eyebrow. “Who’s your other friend? Jesus? He loves everybody. Or maybe you mean... Chris Powers?”
Sully just stared at him, genuinely angry.
“Oh,” Balliol murmured. “That’s exactly what you meant.”
With a self satisfied little smile Balliol, eyes downcast, lifted his water glass, and took a sip.
Joel McKenna slouched, self-satisfied, into the kitchen chair in his loose trousers taking a cigarette out from one of his breast pockets.
“Shelley’s coming to dinner on Saturday night.”
“And then you’ll get some?”
“Sidney!” Joel said in a voice that was actually wounded, “I don’t even know her.”
“Yes,” Mark agreed. “It’s called morals.”
“I don’t have anything against morals, but morals have had the old boy sleeping alone since his divorce.”
Sid shrugged and came to the table.
“I just think that Joel deserves a little happiness.”
“Straight he does,” Mark said. He never said “Darn straight,” and certainly not “Damned straight.”
“Actually,” Sidney said before Joel could protest all the well wishing. “He deserves lots and lots of happiness. As much as he can get. Which leads me to—” Sidney gestured with an egg roll, “my going out of town to the art convention. Keisha’ll be there.”
“So it’s you who will be,” Joel arched his fingers in quote marks, “who will be… ‘getting some’.”
“She’s still my wife. Technically. And that means I’m paying for it. And when you’re paying for it, it’s not getting some.”
“You still get each other hot,” Joel said frankly.
“She doesn’t look at other men. I don’t look at other women. I can’t shake the bitch—”
“The mother of your child…” Mark reminded him.
“I can’t shake the bitch,” Sidney continued, “And that’s the problem.” Sidney said.
“Did you ever…” Mark turned to Joel. “You know? Get hot for… your ex?”
“After I found her in bed with my brother? No.”
“We can stand each other for two days and that’s about it. And unless you haven’t noticed,” Sidney added. “She doesn’t have much of a mothering instinct. Artists should never get together. It’s a bad idea. Bad idea.”
“What?” Mason said as he led Addison and Tommy into the house. “whose a bad idea.”
“Artists marrying other artists.”
“You talking about mom again?”
The three men looked at him baffled. Mason shrugged as he opened the refrigerator an assessed:
“She’s a good artist,” Mason allowed. “Just... kind of lacking in the nurture department.”
“That’s why you’re here with me.”
Mason nodded, heading to his room:
“That and the restraining order you put on her three years ago.”
Sidney pressed his fingertips together and remarked, “Some people actually call getting full custody winning.”
Obsessive me
Obsessing about you
The object I can’t let go of
Don’t know of anything less sane than me
Than how I feel at this moment
Looking at you
Long for you
Touching you
Thinking about you
When I’m not talking about you
And you
You are the root of it all
I fall
Every time I look at you
And you are the balm
The melody
For the malady
Inside of me
While obsessing
Undressing
Caressing
Myself over you
“Alright that last part was a little nasty—” Sully interrupted himself.
“Sully, no,” Chris put his hand up. “That last part was…” Chris whistled. “The whole thing was…”
Sully turned white and then red.
“Sullivan if I could do what you do with words…” he shook his head.
“And that’s you? That’s all you?”
“Yup,” Sully nodded, sitting at Chris’s desk, across from him where he sat on the bed.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Well that was really nice, Sully.”
“And completely unfair. I don’t have any way to mutually embarrass you.”
“I could run around and show you a few football passes.”
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s what’s going to win us the championship.”
“And that,” Chris tapped on Sully’s notebooks, “is what’s going to win you a Pulitzer. Besides, let me assure you, if I did some field moves right here, in this room, you’d laugh your ass off. No, watch.”
Eyes and mouth wide open in exaggeration Chris danced on his tip toes and moved backwards then forward jogging backward in the room and then turning around catching an imaginary ball, he jogged backward again careening to the right and to the left. Sully’s mouth was wide open in laughter already when Chris suddenly tripped on his sneakers and crashed on the bed.
Sully buried his face in the covers, laughing, and Chris said, “Ouch.”
“Are you alright?”
“Alright enough,” said Chris. “Just what I get for being stupid.”
Chris himself was chuckling as he pushed himself up.
“I never knew you were funny,” Sully said.
Chris kept chuckling, shrugged, and said, “Neither did I.”
“You know what?” Chris said.
“What?”
“I didn’t know you knew how to laugh. You don’t laugh.”
“I do too,” Sully said.
“No,” Chris corrected him, “you do this.” Chris smirked from the side of his mouth and made a little noise. “You smirk. It’s like you’re afraid to laugh. And then...”
“And then what?”
“Forget it.”
“You can’t say ‘forget it’ after you’ve brought it up.”
“It’s just sometimes you look sad. Like you want to be... I don’t know.”
“Balliol, the other day—”
“Oh, God, not Balliol! Go on,” Chris said. “What did he tell you?”
“He just said that I didn’t have any friends. But him.”
Chris stared at him. What did he look like? Upset? Angry.
“You’re an idiot, Sully,” he told him.
“What?”
“I’m your friend,” he told him.
“OKAY, IT’S TIME TO READ this key ring,” Mason said, flipping it over.
“You’ve never read it?”
“Actually, no.”
“What is it?” Addison took it from Mason. “Oh, this.”
“Don’t say, oh this,” Tommy told him.
“It was neutral,”
‘No, it wasn’t . It was like oh this,” Tommy gave a sullen imitation. “Oh, this stupid stuff. You’re always making fun of my faith.”
“Because it’s funny—”
“Enough,” Mason told Addison, flipping over the key chain.
“It’s the Prayer of Jabez,” Tommy said. “The one where—”
“I know what the Prayer of Jabez is,” Mason said.
“Yeah, it’s what all the hillbilly Christians are running around getting books on.”
Mason and Tommy both ignored Addison. Having read it, Mason frowned and muttered: “That’s it? Add, get my Bible.”
Addison got up and, raising his eyebrows at the bookshelf said, “which one.”
“Any of ‘em. Except the Satanic one.”
Tommy looked over at the bookshelf and said, “Oh, Mason!”
“Oh, Tommy,” Mason parroted and took the Good News Bible out of Addison’s hand flipping to the passage. “It’s gotta be more than that.” he said.
He cleared his throat and said, “Okay, here it is:
There was a man named Jabez, who was the most respected member of his family. His mother has given him the name Jabez because his birth had been very painful. But Jabez prayed to the God of Israel, “Bless me, God, and give me much land. Be with me and keep me from anything evil that might cause me pain.,” And God gave him what he prayed for.”
“That’s it?” Addison said.
Mason nodded.
“God,” Addison said. “That Jabez was one selfish motherfucker.”
Mason burst out laughing, and Tommy made and offended noise before stating: “That’s not the point of it.”
“So that’s why the Republican neo-conservative Christians like it so much,” Addison said. “Reminds me of,” he burst out in his Janis Joplin impersonation
Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz
‘my friends all have Porches
I must make amends
worked hard all my life
can’t remember the other lines
cause my Janis Joplin’s
a little rusty—
so lord, won’t you buy me
a Mercedes—”
“That’s enough, Tommy hopped up and snatched his school bag.
“That’s enough. I’m sick of you!”
Addison had actually started laughing harder before he saw how genuinely angry Tommy was. He was out the door and marching through the living room,. The men and Savannah saw him from the kitchen, but they didn’t stop to ask questions. Mason came after him to the stoop outside on the front lawn.
“Tommy!”
“Don’t Tommy me. I’m sick of him making fun of me. I’m sick of Addison always having something smart to say, always trying to call me an idiot. I’m not an idiot.”
“No one said you were.”
“Addison did. All he does is rag on me—”
“Tommy—”
“And all you do is let him!”
Mason released Tommy’s shoulder, and his eyes widened.
“That is not fair,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” Tommy said.
“If you were a real friend, you wouldn’t just sit there and laugh every time Addison said something mean.”
Tommy wheeled away and was headed down the lawn, strapping his book bag on. At the edge of the lawn he looked back and shouted, unnecessarily, “Goodbye!”
And then he was walking down Owens Street, past all the other ranch houses.
Mark Powers didn’t go straight home. They were out of milk and so driving to the Quik Mart was absolutely essential. He parked in the little lot of the strip mall, entered the Quik Mart and stood still. Transfixed by the flickering fluorescent bulbs he stood there in the entrance of the store, legs apart, arms down, and stared up.
“Sir,” a woman tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, can I help you?”
Mark looked at her in sudden amazement then shook his head.
He realized he’d been humming along with the fluorescent light.
“Uh?” he shook his head again.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Heart condition,” Mark lied with a smile. “It happens sometime.”
The girl looked around and said, “We have a employee bathroom. Do you need water. Or... an aspirin?”
“No,” he patted her gently on the arm. She was small, blond, wore a blue smock. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
He smiled at her and went for the milk, feeling his skin turn cold and hot all at once. What had that been all about? Why did he find himself in situations like these? He did. Now and again, doing odd things for no particular reason.
And as he thought about that Mark Powers made his second blunder of the night and pulled his glasses off his nose.
The man he had crashed into was also wearing glasses and blinking back at him, laughing.
“Are you alright, Dr—Mark?”
“Mark screwed his face up, squinted and realized it was Rick Howard. Only, Rick Howard in bifocals. Of course he wore bifocals. Neither one of them was that young anymore.
“I’m so sorry. It’s a... I’m having a clutzy night.”
“It happens to everyone,” Rick said.
“I’m just here for milk. That should be a fairly easy operation.”
“Milk is in aisle five,” Rick shook the little half gallon he held in his hand. “Usually I put away a gallon of this stuff a week. Some people are into booze. I’m a milk freak.”
“Milk freak,” Mark grinned. “I just get it for Chris. I still have a hard time getting excited about milk. But,” he shrugged. “Are you cutting back or something?”
“No,” Rick said, there’s this… It’s actually sort of silly. It’s an Irish memorabilia convention. Claddaghs, fake Blarney Stones, old road signs. I’m going to on Saturday. I was supposed to go with Dick Mathers. You know him?”
“Not really.”
“Teaches geometry,” Rick said. “He used to go to Saint Vitus’s. That’s why I thought you might know him. But now the jerk isn’t going and I’m stuck with a ticket I paid too much for.”
“Oh,” Mark raised an eyebrow. Then he said, “Well, have a good time.”
Mark nodded and went down the aisle.
“Mark?” said Rick.
“Yes?”
“You were about to say something.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Yes,” Rick corrected him. “You were.”
“It’s just,” Mark began. He looked genuinely frustrated.
“You wouldn’t believe this but I have a huge, well a semi-huge collection of little walking sticks and… a fake Blarney Stone, shot glasses from Dublin. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. My grandparents on both side are Irish… From Galway and I love all that stuff.”
“Well, then why don’t you go with me?”
“Really?”
The smile on Mark’s face was so hilarious Rick clapped his hands together and chuckled.
“Yes, really.”
“How much do I need to pay? For my half?”
Rick shook his head.
“That’s not necessary.”
ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND....
“And completely unfair. I don’t have any way to mutually embarrass you.”
“I could run around and show you a few football passes.”
“That’s not embarrassing. That’s what’s going to win us the championship.”
“And that,” Chris tapped on Sully’s notebooks, “is what’s going to win you a Pulitzer. Besides, let me assure you, if I did some field moves right here, in this room, you’d laugh your ass off. No, watch.”
Eyes and mouth wide open in exaggeration Chris danced on his tip toes and moved backwards then forward jogging backward in the room and then turning around catching an imaginary ball, he jogged backward again careening to the right and to the left. Sully’s mouth was wide open in laughter already when Chris suddenly tripped on his sneakers and crashed on the bed.
Sully buried his face in the covers, laughing, and Chris said, “Ouch.”
“Are you alright?”
“Alright enough,” said Chris. “Just what I get for being stupid.”
Chris himself was chuckling as he pushed himself up.
“I never knew you were funny,” Sully said.
Chris kept chuckling, shrugged, and said, “Neither did I.”
“You know what?” Chris said.
“What?”
“I didn’t know you knew how to laugh. You don’t laugh.”
“I do too,” Sully said.
“No,” Chris corrected him, “you do this.” Chris smirked from the side of his mouth and made a little noise. “You smirk. It’s like you’re afraid to laugh. And then...”
“And then what?”
“Forget it.”
“You can’t say ‘forget it’ after you’ve brought it up.”
“It’s just sometimes you look sad. Like you want to be... I don’t know.”
“Balliol, the other day—”
“Oh, God, not Balliol! Go on,” Chris said. “What did he tell you?”
“He just said that I didn’t have any friends. But him.”
Chris stared at him. What did he look like? Upset? Angry.
“You’re an idiot, Sully,” he told him.
“What?”
“I’m your friend,” he told him.
“OKAY, IT’S TIME TO READ this key ring,” Mason said, flipping it over.
“You’ve never read it?”
“Actually, no.”
“What is it?” Addison took it from Mason. “Oh, this.”
“Don’t say, oh this,” Tommy told him.
“It was neutral,”
‘No, it wasn’t . It was like oh this,” Tommy gave a sullen imitation. “Oh, this stupid stuff. You’re always making fun of my faith.”
“Because it’s funny—”
“Enough,” Mason told Addison, flipping over the key chain.
“It’s the Prayer of Jabez,” Tommy said. “The one where—”
“I know what the Prayer of Jabez is,” Mason said.
“Yeah, it’s what all the hillbilly Christians are running around getting books on.”
Mason and Tommy both ignored Addison. Having read it, Mason frowned and muttered: “That’s it? Add, get my Bible.”
Addison got up and, raising his eyebrows at the bookshelf said, “which one.”
“Any of ‘em. Except the Satanic one.”
Tommy looked over at the bookshelf and said, “Oh, Mason!”
“Oh, Tommy,” Mason parroted and took the Good News Bible out of Addison’s hand flipping to the passage. “It’s gotta be more than that.” he said.
He cleared his throat and said, “Okay, here it is:
There was a man named Jabez, who was the most respected member of his family. His mother has given him the name Jabez because his birth had been very painful. But Jabez prayed to the God of Israel, “Bless me, God, and give me much land. Be with me and keep me from anything evil that might cause me pain.,” And God gave him what he prayed for.”
“That’s it?” Addison said.
Mason nodded.
“God,” Addison said. “That Jabez was one selfish motherfucker.”
Mason burst out laughing, and Tommy made and offended noise before stating: “That’s not the point of it.”
“So that’s why the Republican neo-conservative Christians like it so much,” Addison said. “Reminds me of,” he burst out in his Janis Joplin impersonation
Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz
‘my friends all have Porches
I must make amends
worked hard all my life
can’t remember the other lines
cause my Janis Joplin’s
a little rusty—
so lord, won’t you buy me
a Mercedes—”
“That’s enough, Tommy hopped up and snatched his school bag.
“That’s enough. I’m sick of you!”
Addison had actually started laughing harder before he saw how genuinely angry Tommy was. He was out the door and marching through the living room,. The men and Savannah saw him from the kitchen, but they didn’t stop to ask questions. Mason came after him to the stoop outside on the front lawn.
“Tommy!”
“Don’t Tommy me. I’m sick of him making fun of me. I’m sick of Addison always having something smart to say, always trying to call me an idiot. I’m not an idiot.”
“No one said you were.”
“Addison did. All he does is rag on me—”
“Tommy—”
“And all you do is let him!”
Mason released Tommy’s shoulder, and his eyes widened.
“That is not fair,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” Tommy said.
“If you were a real friend, you wouldn’t just sit there and laugh every time Addison said something mean.”
Tommy wheeled away and was headed down the lawn, strapping his book bag on. At the edge of the lawn he looked back and shouted, unnecessarily, “Goodbye!”
And then he was walking down Owens Street, past all the other ranch houses.
Mark Powers didn’t go straight home. They were out of milk and so driving to the Quik Mart was absolutely essential. He parked in the little lot of the strip mall, entered the Quik Mart and stood still. Transfixed by the flickering fluorescent bulbs he stood there in the entrance of the store, legs apart, arms down, and stared up.
“Sir,” a woman tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, can I help you?”
Mark looked at her in sudden amazement then shook his head.
He realized he’d been humming along with the fluorescent light.
“Uh?” he shook his head again.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“Heart condition,” Mark lied with a smile. “It happens sometime.”
The girl looked around and said, “We have a employee bathroom. Do you need water. Or... an aspirin?”
“No,” he patted her gently on the arm. She was small, blond, wore a blue smock. “No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
He smiled at her and went for the milk, feeling his skin turn cold and hot all at once. What had that been all about? Why did he find himself in situations like these? He did. Now and again, doing odd things for no particular reason.
And as he thought about that Mark Powers made his second blunder of the night and pulled his glasses off his nose.
The man he had crashed into was also wearing glasses and blinking back at him, laughing.
“Are you alright, Dr—Mark?”
“Mark screwed his face up, squinted and realized it was Rick Howard. Only, Rick Howard in bifocals. Of course he wore bifocals. Neither one of them was that young anymore.
“I’m so sorry. It’s a... I’m having a clutzy night.”
“It happens to everyone,” Rick said.
“I’m just here for milk. That should be a fairly easy operation.”
“Milk is in aisle five,” Rick shook the little half gallon he held in his hand. “Usually I put away a gallon of this stuff a week. Some people are into booze. I’m a milk freak.”
“Milk freak,” Mark grinned. “I just get it for Chris. I still have a hard time getting excited about milk. But,” he shrugged. “Are you cutting back or something?”
“No,” Rick said, there’s this… It’s actually sort of silly. It’s an Irish memorabilia convention. Claddaghs, fake Blarney Stones, old road signs. I’m going to on Saturday. I was supposed to go with Dick Mathers. You know him?”
“Not really.”
“Teaches geometry,” Rick said. “He used to go to Saint Vitus’s. That’s why I thought you might know him. But now the jerk isn’t going and I’m stuck with a ticket I paid too much for.”
“Oh,” Mark raised an eyebrow. Then he said, “Well, have a good time.”
Mark nodded and went down the aisle.
“Mark?” said Rick.
“Yes?”
“You were about to say something.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Yes,” Rick corrected him. “You were.”
“It’s just,” Mark began. He looked genuinely frustrated.
“You wouldn’t believe this but I have a huge, well a semi-huge collection of little walking sticks and… a fake Blarney Stone, shot glasses from Dublin. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. My grandparents on both side are Irish… From Galway and I love all that stuff.”
“Well, then why don’t you go with me?”
“Really?”
The smile on Mark’s face was so hilarious Rick clapped his hands together and chuckled.
“Yes, really.”
“How much do I need to pay? For my half?”
Rick shook his head.
“That’s not necessary.”
ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND....
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
An excellent portion! These characters feel like real people and I am enjoying getting to know them. Rick continues to surprise me, especially with that ending. Great writing and I look forward to more in a few days! Enjoy your weekend too!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Thank you. You've given them a second life. I had forgotten about thm, or sold them short I think. I'm glad you are reading.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
WELCOME TO ANOTHER WEEK!
Mason Darrow was lying on his bed, basically feeling bad about himself and trying to blame Tommy. Only he couldn’t. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe he was a bad friend.
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes…
“But I don’t have blue eyes,” Mason murmured.
Mason wished he had a remote control for his stereo. Maybe he’d hit his parents up for one. He climbed off the bed and went to turn off the boom box, and then jumped back onto the bed and began sketching in his notebook.
“I could study,” Mason thought. There was a big history test tomorrow.
“I could,” Mason said again, looking at his history book on the floor, and then turning back to the sketch pad.
Mason jumped up and shouted.
He thought he’d heard a thump.
He took a breath and sat back down.
But there was another thump. And then another.
It was from the window.
Mason got up and went to the curtain. He pulled back the curtain in one quick move and saw a sign pressed to the window.
Mason opened the window and Tommy took the sign down and looked at his friend, smiling nervously.
Mason picked up the sign.
“I’M SORRY.”
Tommy took a breath.
Mason held out his hand. Tommy caught it and his friend pulled him into the window. They both sat on the bed.
“Mason—” Tommy began, and they both said, “I’m sorry—”
And then they both shook their heads and laughed.
“I went a little crazy,” Tommy said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t do anything right, either,” Mason said.
“Addison just gets to me, sometime.”
“Addison’s your friend. You know he doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes he does.”
“Well…” Mason agreed, “Yes. But he doesn’t mean to attack you. He just has... No tact. He forgets himself. He felt bad after you left.”
“I just wish Addison...”
“Was saved?”
Tommy looked at Mason, considering. Then he said, “No. I just wish we still got along the way we used to.”
“Do you know,” Addison began, pulling away from Becky and still kissing her as he talked, “there was this couple, a few years back? Got found outside of county limits dead, naked and in a snowdrift. In the guy’s pickup truck.
“They’d been,” he kept sucking on her throat as he whispered, “fucking. And then they went to sleep and left the car on.”
Addison kissed her again.
“Buh bye, lovebirds.”
“That,” Becky said pulling away from him, “is why we need a room.”
“We’ll have a whole house this weekend.”
“I can’t believe Mason is letting you do that.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Yeah… but still… He’s some friend.”
“That he is.”
“I mean… You should check with him about this. Is he really cool with it?”
“Do you want to or not?” Addison said.
“Of course I do. I asked you.”
“Because if you don’t want to.”
“I do,” Becky said. “Do you want me to beg?”
Addison grinned at her. “Yeah. On hands and knees in leather.”
“Wait for the weekend,” she told him, buttoning her blouse up and sitting up straighter.
“Did Mason tell Tommy?” Becky wanted to know.
“What? No! God, I hope not. I bet Mason would know better. That would be... Oh, God! Me and Tommy don’t even get along anymore. We had a huge fight. Well, really, I said something and then he just got up and left the house. Mason’s house. He and Mason had a huge fight. I didn’t even think about going after him. I’d pushed Tommy Dwyer’s buttons a little too much already.”
Becky looked at Addison sadly.
“Did you say something stupid again?”
“It wasn’t stupid. It was true. But...It probably wasn’t necessary.”
“You do that a lot to him.”
“I know. Usually it starts out as fun. But sometimes... Sometimes it’s all so stupid. I just wish he’d wake the fuck up and think. I get... He gets me upset after a while and then I just say things. And I need to make it up to him, and I will make it up to him. It’s just...”
“It’s his faith,” Becky said. “You know it means something to him.”
“I get that,” Addison said. “But lots of people have faith. Hell, Mason has faith. but it’s his faith. He’s not trying to get me saved and get me going to his fucking church and... The way Tommy goes on it’s like I’m going to hell any day, and that gets old after a while. Really it does.”
“Still,” Becky said, “it’s neat. You know. Having faith in something.”
“Even if it’s something stupid?” Addison said.
“Anything,” said Becky. “I sort of envy Tommy.”
“I don’t envy that at all.”
“That’s because you’re always saying you’re an atheist.”
“I am an atheist,” Addison told her.
Becky didn’t look at him. She just leaned into him and said dreamily, “I don’t believe you.”
The next morning there was a heavy slam in Balliol’s right ear and as he shut his locker he turned to see, of all people, Chris Powers.
First he looked to Mason and Tommy, who were taking books from their lockers. And then he turned to Chris
Chris Powers just glowered at him, and finally, belligerently, Balliol said, “What?”
“You...” Chris began, “Are not... a good person.”
“Do you have any more to say?” Balliol rubbed his ear and contemplated slapping Chris on the side of his head.
Chris really didn’t have anymore.
“Or are you just going to stand there to the end of the day looking stupid?”
“That’s what I mean,” Chris said. “You have no respect for anybody.”
“Respect for anybodies like you?” Balliol looked him up and down, “Because I certainly don’t have respect for fools who come to my locker and tell me, and not even in a half way intelligent fashion, that I’m no good. I might even ask what prompted this except that would imply that I cared. And I don’t.”
“You don’t care about anything.”
“I care about getting to class on time. Well,” Balliol furrowed his brow. “Not that either, really. Come to think of it…. You got me.”
“You don’t care about Sullivan. He told me what you said.”
Balliol did a double take and then looked around, wondering where Sully was. He took a breath.
“You know what?” Balliol said. “Against my better judgment, and completely out of character for me, I’m going to ask you what you’re talking about.”
“Last night Sully told me that you told him he didn’t have any friends but you—”
“Alright,” Balliol threw up a hand. Rage had sneaked up on him and now, he was finally pissed off.
“One: unless Sullivan Reardon’s sucking your dick or you’re sucking his, he has no business crying to you about the things we say in private arguments. Two: you don’t know me, so mind your business. And Three...” Balliol shook his head in disbelief and said, “Refer to One and Two.”
“Chris!” Sully said, coming down the hall, and then he turned and saw Balliol and Mason and Tommy. “What’s this?”
“Sully,” Chris said. “You wanna eat lunch with me and the gang today?”
Sullivan opened his mouth
“We might be jocks, but we’re not all idiots.”
Balliol opened his mouth, but Mason felt the need to gently touch him, and shake his head.
“Well,” Sully said, “yeah. Alright. If you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Chris said. He frowned at Balliol.
“Later,” Chris told Mason, and walked off.
“Well, we’re sitting with the football team,” Sully said. And then, at the look on Balliol’s face, Sully said: “What?”
When Balliol, who was never at a loss for words, said nothing, Mason stepped in and said, “I think it was you who was invited, Sullivan. Not both of you.”
“But—” Sully began.
“I hate Chris Powers,” Balliol said. “In fact, I hate all those bastards. But, yes, you go eat with them. Go to the mall with them. Go to the moon with them.”
“You know what?” Sullivan told him. “I think I will!”
“Great,” Balliol shrugged.
“And what’ll you do?” Sully demanded.
And then, for reasons as disparate as Black unity and a long dislike of Sullivan Reardon, Mason said, “For starters, he’ll be eating with us.”
After Mass, Joel went into the sacristy and came out with the candlesnuffer. Going back to the altar he encountered Mark approaching with the dishes and chalice.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
“In a church?” Mark said. “I’m clear for lunch today.”
“I’m free for about…” Joel stopped, genuflected, put out the lights around the altar and then, looking at his watch said, “forty-five minutes if you want to grab a bite.”
Mark nodded, and Father Gerlach came out with his stole in one hand.
“Thank you, boys,” he told them. And folded up the podium on the altar. “Good boys,” he murmured.
On their way back to the sacristy of Saint Patrick’s they both grinned and Joel said, “Do you think Father Gerlach will ever let us grow up? Or will we be kids forever?”
“When you’re almost a hundred years old, being forty probably means just about nothing,” Mark said, putting down the glass dishes. “And you know what? I kind of like being called a kid. Guess where I’m going this weekend?”
Joel, fallen into old habits, was taking meticulous care to straighten out the priests vestments that had been left on the table.
“Hum? he said.
“To The Irish Memorabilia Convention.”
“They have those?”
Mark looked offended.
“Yes,” he said at length. “They do. And Dick Howard had a spare ticket.”
“That’ll be good for you,” Joel said. “I think you get tied up with work too much.”
“That’s not true,” Mark said. “I hang out with you guys.”
“But you don’t get to do a lot of stuff. It’s neat to see you meeting new people.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“I’m not your mom, but I was almost your dad,” Joel said, winking at him.
Mark shoved him in the shoulder.
“It’s why you love me,” Joel said walking out behind him.
They both genuflected as they passed the tabernacle and then, waving at Father Gerlach, walked off the altar steps and headed out of the empty church.
“You getting a life,” Joel dipped his finger in the holy water of the baptismal font. “Me getting a date. Could be a miracle.”
“Or a symbol of the end of the world.” Mark crossed himself too as they headed into the sunlight.
“See,” Joel told him, “and I was trying to stay on the bright side of things.”
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Mason Darrow was lying on his bed, basically feeling bad about himself and trying to blame Tommy. Only he couldn’t. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe he was a bad friend.
No one knows what it’s like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes…
“But I don’t have blue eyes,” Mason murmured.
Mason wished he had a remote control for his stereo. Maybe he’d hit his parents up for one. He climbed off the bed and went to turn off the boom box, and then jumped back onto the bed and began sketching in his notebook.
“I could study,” Mason thought. There was a big history test tomorrow.
“I could,” Mason said again, looking at his history book on the floor, and then turning back to the sketch pad.
Mason jumped up and shouted.
He thought he’d heard a thump.
He took a breath and sat back down.
But there was another thump. And then another.
It was from the window.
Mason got up and went to the curtain. He pulled back the curtain in one quick move and saw a sign pressed to the window.
Mason opened the window and Tommy took the sign down and looked at his friend, smiling nervously.
Mason picked up the sign.
“I’M SORRY.”
Tommy took a breath.
Mason held out his hand. Tommy caught it and his friend pulled him into the window. They both sat on the bed.
“Mason—” Tommy began, and they both said, “I’m sorry—”
And then they both shook their heads and laughed.
“I went a little crazy,” Tommy said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t do anything right, either,” Mason said.
“Addison just gets to me, sometime.”
“Addison’s your friend. You know he doesn’t mean it.”
“Yes he does.”
“Well…” Mason agreed, “Yes. But he doesn’t mean to attack you. He just has... No tact. He forgets himself. He felt bad after you left.”
“I just wish Addison...”
“Was saved?”
Tommy looked at Mason, considering. Then he said, “No. I just wish we still got along the way we used to.”
“Do you know,” Addison began, pulling away from Becky and still kissing her as he talked, “there was this couple, a few years back? Got found outside of county limits dead, naked and in a snowdrift. In the guy’s pickup truck.
“They’d been,” he kept sucking on her throat as he whispered, “fucking. And then they went to sleep and left the car on.”
Addison kissed her again.
“Buh bye, lovebirds.”
“That,” Becky said pulling away from him, “is why we need a room.”
“We’ll have a whole house this weekend.”
“I can’t believe Mason is letting you do that.”
“He’s my friend.”
“Yeah… but still… He’s some friend.”
“That he is.”
“I mean… You should check with him about this. Is he really cool with it?”
“Do you want to or not?” Addison said.
“Of course I do. I asked you.”
“Because if you don’t want to.”
“I do,” Becky said. “Do you want me to beg?”
Addison grinned at her. “Yeah. On hands and knees in leather.”
“Wait for the weekend,” she told him, buttoning her blouse up and sitting up straighter.
“Did Mason tell Tommy?” Becky wanted to know.
“What? No! God, I hope not. I bet Mason would know better. That would be... Oh, God! Me and Tommy don’t even get along anymore. We had a huge fight. Well, really, I said something and then he just got up and left the house. Mason’s house. He and Mason had a huge fight. I didn’t even think about going after him. I’d pushed Tommy Dwyer’s buttons a little too much already.”
Becky looked at Addison sadly.
“Did you say something stupid again?”
“It wasn’t stupid. It was true. But...It probably wasn’t necessary.”
“You do that a lot to him.”
“I know. Usually it starts out as fun. But sometimes... Sometimes it’s all so stupid. I just wish he’d wake the fuck up and think. I get... He gets me upset after a while and then I just say things. And I need to make it up to him, and I will make it up to him. It’s just...”
“It’s his faith,” Becky said. “You know it means something to him.”
“I get that,” Addison said. “But lots of people have faith. Hell, Mason has faith. but it’s his faith. He’s not trying to get me saved and get me going to his fucking church and... The way Tommy goes on it’s like I’m going to hell any day, and that gets old after a while. Really it does.”
“Still,” Becky said, “it’s neat. You know. Having faith in something.”
“Even if it’s something stupid?” Addison said.
“Anything,” said Becky. “I sort of envy Tommy.”
“I don’t envy that at all.”
“That’s because you’re always saying you’re an atheist.”
“I am an atheist,” Addison told her.
Becky didn’t look at him. She just leaned into him and said dreamily, “I don’t believe you.”
The next morning there was a heavy slam in Balliol’s right ear and as he shut his locker he turned to see, of all people, Chris Powers.
First he looked to Mason and Tommy, who were taking books from their lockers. And then he turned to Chris
Chris Powers just glowered at him, and finally, belligerently, Balliol said, “What?”
“You...” Chris began, “Are not... a good person.”
“Do you have any more to say?” Balliol rubbed his ear and contemplated slapping Chris on the side of his head.
Chris really didn’t have anymore.
“Or are you just going to stand there to the end of the day looking stupid?”
“That’s what I mean,” Chris said. “You have no respect for anybody.”
“Respect for anybodies like you?” Balliol looked him up and down, “Because I certainly don’t have respect for fools who come to my locker and tell me, and not even in a half way intelligent fashion, that I’m no good. I might even ask what prompted this except that would imply that I cared. And I don’t.”
“You don’t care about anything.”
“I care about getting to class on time. Well,” Balliol furrowed his brow. “Not that either, really. Come to think of it…. You got me.”
“You don’t care about Sullivan. He told me what you said.”
Balliol did a double take and then looked around, wondering where Sully was. He took a breath.
“You know what?” Balliol said. “Against my better judgment, and completely out of character for me, I’m going to ask you what you’re talking about.”
“Last night Sully told me that you told him he didn’t have any friends but you—”
“Alright,” Balliol threw up a hand. Rage had sneaked up on him and now, he was finally pissed off.
“One: unless Sullivan Reardon’s sucking your dick or you’re sucking his, he has no business crying to you about the things we say in private arguments. Two: you don’t know me, so mind your business. And Three...” Balliol shook his head in disbelief and said, “Refer to One and Two.”
“Chris!” Sully said, coming down the hall, and then he turned and saw Balliol and Mason and Tommy. “What’s this?”
“Sully,” Chris said. “You wanna eat lunch with me and the gang today?”
Sullivan opened his mouth
“We might be jocks, but we’re not all idiots.”
Balliol opened his mouth, but Mason felt the need to gently touch him, and shake his head.
“Well,” Sully said, “yeah. Alright. If you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Chris said. He frowned at Balliol.
“Later,” Chris told Mason, and walked off.
“Well, we’re sitting with the football team,” Sully said. And then, at the look on Balliol’s face, Sully said: “What?”
When Balliol, who was never at a loss for words, said nothing, Mason stepped in and said, “I think it was you who was invited, Sullivan. Not both of you.”
“But—” Sully began.
“I hate Chris Powers,” Balliol said. “In fact, I hate all those bastards. But, yes, you go eat with them. Go to the mall with them. Go to the moon with them.”
“You know what?” Sullivan told him. “I think I will!”
“Great,” Balliol shrugged.
“And what’ll you do?” Sully demanded.
And then, for reasons as disparate as Black unity and a long dislike of Sullivan Reardon, Mason said, “For starters, he’ll be eating with us.”
After Mass, Joel went into the sacristy and came out with the candlesnuffer. Going back to the altar he encountered Mark approaching with the dishes and chalice.
“I’m surprised to see you here.”
“In a church?” Mark said. “I’m clear for lunch today.”
“I’m free for about…” Joel stopped, genuflected, put out the lights around the altar and then, looking at his watch said, “forty-five minutes if you want to grab a bite.”
Mark nodded, and Father Gerlach came out with his stole in one hand.
“Thank you, boys,” he told them. And folded up the podium on the altar. “Good boys,” he murmured.
On their way back to the sacristy of Saint Patrick’s they both grinned and Joel said, “Do you think Father Gerlach will ever let us grow up? Or will we be kids forever?”
“When you’re almost a hundred years old, being forty probably means just about nothing,” Mark said, putting down the glass dishes. “And you know what? I kind of like being called a kid. Guess where I’m going this weekend?”
Joel, fallen into old habits, was taking meticulous care to straighten out the priests vestments that had been left on the table.
“Hum? he said.
“To The Irish Memorabilia Convention.”
“They have those?”
Mark looked offended.
“Yes,” he said at length. “They do. And Dick Howard had a spare ticket.”
“That’ll be good for you,” Joel said. “I think you get tied up with work too much.”
“That’s not true,” Mark said. “I hang out with you guys.”
“But you don’t get to do a lot of stuff. It’s neat to see you meeting new people.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“I’m not your mom, but I was almost your dad,” Joel said, winking at him.
Mark shoved him in the shoulder.
“It’s why you love me,” Joel said walking out behind him.
They both genuflected as they passed the tabernacle and then, waving at Father Gerlach, walked off the altar steps and headed out of the empty church.
“You getting a life,” Joel dipped his finger in the holy water of the baptismal font. “Me getting a date. Could be a miracle.”
“Or a symbol of the end of the world.” Mark crossed himself too as they headed into the sunlight.
“See,” Joel told him, “and I was trying to stay on the bright side of things.”
MORE ON TUESDAY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great portion! This story is such a pleasure to read and I am glad you are posting it. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Do we need to get a change of clothes tomorrow,” Mason said, as he was pulling books out of his locker. “Why do I even take these? I know I won’t do it.” He said looking at his math book and his Latin book.
“No, it’s just for the day,” Tommy said. “We’ll be back at night.”
Then a thought went through Tommy’s head.
“Hey, Balliol?”
“Yes,” Balliol looked up cautiously, as he closed his locker.
“Do you think you’d want to go with us this weekend?”
“To?”
“It’s this Christian youth conference. There’ll be great music and everything...”
Mason’s eyes swiveled from Tommy to the look on Balliol’s face, and before Balliol could say anything, Mason gripped his arm and dragged him into the corner between the last locker and Mr. Affler’s classroom.
“If you have any respect for me,” Mason said, “you’ll say yes.”
Balliol opened his mouth.
“I have been dreading this day for months.”
“Tommy’s really into that, huh?”
“Yes,” Mason said desperately.
“You know what?” Balliol said. “It could be fun.”
Mason blinked at Balliol, who he didn’t know that well, and had only seen telling people off in the bathroom.
“That’s a yes?” Mason said, amazed.
“That’s a yes,” Balliol said, and walked out ahead of Mason.
Tommy was waiting for them, hands folded together.
“I just had to make sure I was free tomorrow,” Balliol said, lightly. It was strange because he was never light or deceptive. “And it turns out that I am.”
At the smile on Tommy’s face, Balliol wondered why he couldn’t be nicer more often.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Balliol said, and headed in the opposite direction. Outside the school he ran into Sully and asked, “How was lunch for you?”
“Lunch,” Sully proclaimed, “was wonderful. The guys on the team are really cool.”
“Are they?” Balliol said, and then tried to make himself sound a little nicer. “I mean... I never knew.”
“You should give them a chance,” Sully said. “And tomorrow there’s the football game.”
Balliol blinked twice at Sully.
“You’re going to a football game?”
“I love football,” Sully proclaimed.
“Since when?”
Sully looked slightly offended. “Since always.”
Balliol just turned him a frown.
“You’re going to a football game?”
“I thought we would go,” Sullivan said.
“I can’t,” Balliol told him.
Now Sully looked at him in disbelief.
“What?” Sully said. “You’ve suddenly got plans?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow just invited me to go with them somewhere.”
Sullivan Reardon was instantly incensed. It would take him awhile to realize that it was the upset over the truth that while he had been over the roof about having one friend, Balliol had just snapped his fingers and effortlessly gained two. Yes, that was part of it. And he wasn’t even invited to the whole thing. Balliol hadn’t thought of inviting him.
“Well,” Sully said, “I hope you have a good time.”
“I hope I do too,” Balliol replied, shifting his messenger bag on his shoulder.
And though they were still walking down the hall side by side, Balliol knew, in a way, that they had suddenly separated.
Yesterday had been, decidedly, a bad day. The truth was that Lincoln Balliol was not a blamer. He was too stubborn and had too much of a will to power to blame other people for the problems in his life. When you began to blame people, you might as well just give up and say you have no control anymore. And, at sixteen, while Balliol knew he didn’t have ultimate control, he was still sure he had a great deal of it.
That meant that to some extent things were his fault, to be fixed by him, even if he didn’t feel like fixing them right way, or didn’t know how. For days now his relationship with Sully had been on the fritz, and he knew what the matter was. He wouldn’t bend. He wouldn’t accommodate, he’d never lie and say, “Oh that’s nice, Sully,” when what his friend said was stupid. And Sully was the only friend he had.
It wasn’t until today, lying in Tommy’s face, that he realized how good it could feel to lie, how much power a good lie had to lighten up someone’s life. He could have lied to Sully a few times. He could have been nicer all these years. Hell, he could have been nicer yesterday.
He could have said, “Look, Sullivan, I just got invited two minutes ago, and it’s to something I really don’t want to go to. Mason begged me because he doesn’t want to go either and believe you me, you wouldn’t want to go. I’m not spiting you, which I know you think I am. I know you’re hurt, and I know that I’m mean enough to pretend that I don’t care. I’m sorry Sullivan.”
And every time he thought of picking up the phone and telling Sully that, he thought of that goddamned Sullivan Reardon, moaning about his problems to Chris Powers. Oh Chris, Chris Fucking Powers! That idiot! And he thought about him telling him “Balliol said this—Balliol did that, blah blah blah!” And it made Balliol want to push his fist through a wall. Which Balliol was far too dignified to do.
And Sullivan, running around going on about Chris Powers this, Chris Powers that...
Oh, God, yesterday had been so bad, really it had been. They had walked home together and they stayed at Sully’s house, but it was like they were far apart. They could hardly look at each other, and Balliol didn’t know how the hell to say that, or if Sully felt it. And he could not, absolutely not, be this Chris Powers, this bright light to Sullivan that Sullivan needed so badly.
Balliol sat there, in his room, absolutely at a loss for maybe the first time in his take charge, charge card life. If he’d had just twenty more seconds he could admit that he couldn’t control it all and didn’t know it all. He was just there. He was already there. It was already suggesting itself to him when he heard a car stop. Balliol looked down from his window and saw a beat up Toyota pick up.
Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow were here.
In the truck, Mason moved over so that Balliol could sit something like shotgun, and then all three of them were in the front of the truck, going up Metcalf.
“Is that enough room for you?” Mason asked Balliol.
Balliol put on a winning smile and said, “Ample room.”
And then he laughed.
“What?” said Tommy. “We haven’t even started the jokes yet.”
“Just...” Balliol began. But he couldn’t phrase it, or didn’t want to phrase it. So he said, “I’m not sure I know.”
“Shall we listen to some music?” Tommy began, reaching for his CDs.
“Yes, we shall,” Mason said, taking the CD out of Tommy’s hand and placing it on the floor, then turning on the radio.
“You’re listening to sunny 108.3 Cartimandua’s Christian Radio—”
“Nope,” Mason said and turned the dial until he heard:
“Mason—” Tommy began, but Balliol was singing along too.
Mason looked at him in surprise, and then they continued.
Reflections of what used to be
Reflections of the love you took from me
They raced down Britten Street until Tommy’s truck took them onto the overpass and they were heading:
“East. No, it’s west.”
“It’s west,” Balliol said. “We’re going toward the south end of downtown, and we all live east of downtown.”
“Told you so,” Mason told Tommy.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know. Balliol had to tell you why you were right.”
“Does it matter?” Mason argued. “As long as I’m right.
“Hey, look at this,” Mason bent down as they raced over the expressway, cars going back and forth while they zoomed above Cartimandua, he pulled a photograph out of his book bag.
“Here you go.”
“Is this you?” Tommy said, trying to pay attention to the photo and the road.
“I think so,” Mason said.
“It looks a bit old fashioned, though,” Balliol said.
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I mean the hair. These boys. The white ones.”
The photo was from the chest up, against a white wall with a large wicker sun on it. Two white boys, just like Balliol said, one with very thick, very dark hair, the other with very thick, very blond hair.
“They look like the Dukes of Hazzard,” Mason said.
“Only the Dukes of Hazzard had a Confederate flag on their car and these guys are holding you up. Or I think it’s you. I don’t know who they are.” said Balliol. “But you must, cause you’re laughing.”
Balliol was quiet awhile as they passed through downtown Cartimandua, the skyscrapers rising up to the north. He smiled as he cocked his head.
“They look so happy,” he said. “Like you all would be friends forever.”
“No, it’s just for the day,” Tommy said. “We’ll be back at night.”
Then a thought went through Tommy’s head.
“Hey, Balliol?”
“Yes,” Balliol looked up cautiously, as he closed his locker.
“Do you think you’d want to go with us this weekend?”
“To?”
“It’s this Christian youth conference. There’ll be great music and everything...”
Mason’s eyes swiveled from Tommy to the look on Balliol’s face, and before Balliol could say anything, Mason gripped his arm and dragged him into the corner between the last locker and Mr. Affler’s classroom.
“If you have any respect for me,” Mason said, “you’ll say yes.”
Balliol opened his mouth.
“I have been dreading this day for months.”
“Tommy’s really into that, huh?”
“Yes,” Mason said desperately.
“You know what?” Balliol said. “It could be fun.”
Mason blinked at Balliol, who he didn’t know that well, and had only seen telling people off in the bathroom.
“That’s a yes?” Mason said, amazed.
“That’s a yes,” Balliol said, and walked out ahead of Mason.
Tommy was waiting for them, hands folded together.
“I just had to make sure I was free tomorrow,” Balliol said, lightly. It was strange because he was never light or deceptive. “And it turns out that I am.”
At the smile on Tommy’s face, Balliol wondered why he couldn’t be nicer more often.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Balliol said, and headed in the opposite direction. Outside the school he ran into Sully and asked, “How was lunch for you?”
“Lunch,” Sully proclaimed, “was wonderful. The guys on the team are really cool.”
“Are they?” Balliol said, and then tried to make himself sound a little nicer. “I mean... I never knew.”
“You should give them a chance,” Sully said. “And tomorrow there’s the football game.”
Balliol blinked twice at Sully.
“You’re going to a football game?”
“I love football,” Sully proclaimed.
“Since when?”
Sully looked slightly offended. “Since always.”
Balliol just turned him a frown.
“You’re going to a football game?”
“I thought we would go,” Sullivan said.
“I can’t,” Balliol told him.
Now Sully looked at him in disbelief.
“What?” Sully said. “You’ve suddenly got plans?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow just invited me to go with them somewhere.”
Sullivan Reardon was instantly incensed. It would take him awhile to realize that it was the upset over the truth that while he had been over the roof about having one friend, Balliol had just snapped his fingers and effortlessly gained two. Yes, that was part of it. And he wasn’t even invited to the whole thing. Balliol hadn’t thought of inviting him.
“Well,” Sully said, “I hope you have a good time.”
“I hope I do too,” Balliol replied, shifting his messenger bag on his shoulder.
And though they were still walking down the hall side by side, Balliol knew, in a way, that they had suddenly separated.
Yesterday had been, decidedly, a bad day. The truth was that Lincoln Balliol was not a blamer. He was too stubborn and had too much of a will to power to blame other people for the problems in his life. When you began to blame people, you might as well just give up and say you have no control anymore. And, at sixteen, while Balliol knew he didn’t have ultimate control, he was still sure he had a great deal of it.
That meant that to some extent things were his fault, to be fixed by him, even if he didn’t feel like fixing them right way, or didn’t know how. For days now his relationship with Sully had been on the fritz, and he knew what the matter was. He wouldn’t bend. He wouldn’t accommodate, he’d never lie and say, “Oh that’s nice, Sully,” when what his friend said was stupid. And Sully was the only friend he had.
It wasn’t until today, lying in Tommy’s face, that he realized how good it could feel to lie, how much power a good lie had to lighten up someone’s life. He could have lied to Sully a few times. He could have been nicer all these years. Hell, he could have been nicer yesterday.
He could have said, “Look, Sullivan, I just got invited two minutes ago, and it’s to something I really don’t want to go to. Mason begged me because he doesn’t want to go either and believe you me, you wouldn’t want to go. I’m not spiting you, which I know you think I am. I know you’re hurt, and I know that I’m mean enough to pretend that I don’t care. I’m sorry Sullivan.”
And every time he thought of picking up the phone and telling Sully that, he thought of that goddamned Sullivan Reardon, moaning about his problems to Chris Powers. Oh Chris, Chris Fucking Powers! That idiot! And he thought about him telling him “Balliol said this—Balliol did that, blah blah blah!” And it made Balliol want to push his fist through a wall. Which Balliol was far too dignified to do.
And Sullivan, running around going on about Chris Powers this, Chris Powers that...
Oh, God, yesterday had been so bad, really it had been. They had walked home together and they stayed at Sully’s house, but it was like they were far apart. They could hardly look at each other, and Balliol didn’t know how the hell to say that, or if Sully felt it. And he could not, absolutely not, be this Chris Powers, this bright light to Sullivan that Sullivan needed so badly.
Balliol sat there, in his room, absolutely at a loss for maybe the first time in his take charge, charge card life. If he’d had just twenty more seconds he could admit that he couldn’t control it all and didn’t know it all. He was just there. He was already there. It was already suggesting itself to him when he heard a car stop. Balliol looked down from his window and saw a beat up Toyota pick up.
Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow were here.
In the truck, Mason moved over so that Balliol could sit something like shotgun, and then all three of them were in the front of the truck, going up Metcalf.
“Is that enough room for you?” Mason asked Balliol.
Balliol put on a winning smile and said, “Ample room.”
And then he laughed.
“What?” said Tommy. “We haven’t even started the jokes yet.”
“Just...” Balliol began. But he couldn’t phrase it, or didn’t want to phrase it. So he said, “I’m not sure I know.”
“Shall we listen to some music?” Tommy began, reaching for his CDs.
“Yes, we shall,” Mason said, taking the CD out of Tommy’s hand and placing it on the floor, then turning on the radio.
“You’re listening to sunny 108.3 Cartimandua’s Christian Radio—”
“Nope,” Mason said and turned the dial until he heard:
Reflections of the way life used to be
Reflections of the love you took from me…“Mason—” Tommy began, but Balliol was singing along too.
Mason looked at him in surprise, and then they continued.
Reflections of what used to be
Reflections of the love you took from me
They raced down Britten Street until Tommy’s truck took them onto the overpass and they were heading:
“East. No, it’s west.”
“It’s west,” Balliol said. “We’re going toward the south end of downtown, and we all live east of downtown.”
“Told you so,” Mason told Tommy.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know. Balliol had to tell you why you were right.”
“Does it matter?” Mason argued. “As long as I’m right.
“Hey, look at this,” Mason bent down as they raced over the expressway, cars going back and forth while they zoomed above Cartimandua, he pulled a photograph out of his book bag.
“Here you go.”
“Is this you?” Tommy said, trying to pay attention to the photo and the road.
“I think so,” Mason said.
“It looks a bit old fashioned, though,” Balliol said.
“Whaddo you mean?”
“I mean the hair. These boys. The white ones.”
The photo was from the chest up, against a white wall with a large wicker sun on it. Two white boys, just like Balliol said, one with very thick, very dark hair, the other with very thick, very blond hair.
“They look like the Dukes of Hazzard,” Mason said.
“Only the Dukes of Hazzard had a Confederate flag on their car and these guys are holding you up. Or I think it’s you. I don’t know who they are.” said Balliol. “But you must, cause you’re laughing.”
Balliol was quiet awhile as they passed through downtown Cartimandua, the skyscrapers rising up to the north. He smiled as he cocked his head.
“They look so happy,” he said. “Like you all would be friends forever.”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Thanks for breakfast, Dr. Powers.”
“Um,” Mark looked away from the sink where he was scrubbing dishes.
“I said—” Sully began.
“Oh,” Mark smiled, “don’t mention that. I cook all the time. It’s a nice habit to learn, Sullivan. If you ever want to eat.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, Sullivan, sit down and—” he suddenly turned around then said to Chris, “Why don’t you ever volunteer to do the dishes?”
Chris, sitting in the kitchen chair, sang out, “I can’t hear you!”
He wadded up a napkin and threw it at Sully who tossed it back. “You’re making me look bad.”
“Don’t you have to get dressed?” he said to Chris.
“Get dressed to roll around in the dirt with Cartimandua Central?” Chris said. “No. I think I’ll wash my face or something. That’s about it.”
“Well, I’m gonna go home and get dressed. What time is the game?”
“You’re getting dressed for the game?” Chris said.
“There’s not much else to get dressed for in Cartimandua.
Chris weighed the truth of this and nodded before asking Sully:
“Well, are you gonna hang out with us when we have our victory burger at Tom’s after the game?”
“If there’s a victory.”
“There will be a victory,” Chris declared. “Besides,” he added. “If there isn’t, then we’ll have a consolation burger at Tom’s. How do you think Hardesty got that fat?”
Sully shrugged and said, “I’ll come if you guys want me.”
“Stop that. Of course we want you. You’ll be the only one not covered in bruises. You can even bring Balliol with you,” Chris pronounced the name in a sort of disgusted, strangled voice.
“Balliol?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Sully’s friend,” Chris dismissed him.
“No,” said Sully. “He went off with Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow for some conference out of town.”
“Mason?” Mark and Chris said together. And then Chris murmured, “Tommy Dwyer and Balliol.”
“You all know them?” But of course Chris knew Mason, “You know him?” he said to Mark.
“He’s my godson.”
“Oh,” that caught Sully up. Life was weirder and weirder.
When Sully left, Chris said, “You know what? That’s a Balliol thing to do. Go off and leave Sully in the lurch. I think we should start hanging out more.”
“He makes you laugh,” Mark observed.
Chris looked at him strangely, and then he did laugh.
“Sully gets me is all. I get him and he gets me and... there aren’t a lot of people like that. You know, Dad?”
Mark nodded.
“Who’s this Balliol you hate so much?”
“I don’t hate him.” And then Chris said, “No, you know what, Dad? I do. I really do. He’s mean and he’s snarky and he’s richer than everybody so he wants to fight all the time and he treats Sully like a lap dog and...” Chris paused for a moment and then said, “God, Dad! I hate Lincoln Balliol! He’s.... he’s evil is what he is.”
“Chris.”
“I know you said I shouldn’t use the word hate. And it’s a strong word and... But that’s how I feel about him. The guy’s really the devil.”
Oh how I love Jesus
Oh how I love Jesus
Oh, how I love Jesus
Because he first loved me!
Balliol sang with Mason and Tommy.
“I haven’t sung that in so long,” Tommy told them. “It’s kind of a kid song, but it’s a good one. You know. When it’s true it’s true. I never knew you were saved, Balliol,” Tommy said.
Balliol was about to say something… Balliol when he switched tacks and said, instead, “I think you’ll find that there are a lot more saved people than you think there are, Tommy.”
Tommy stopped to consider this, and as he did, Mason hooted and pointed out the window.
They were driving past a dingy diner off of the road with a gravel parking lot filled with pickup trucks and a white plywood sign that in red letters proclaimed it THE BUTT HUTT.
“Too bad the convention isn’t there,” Balliol mused.
“Actually,” Mason said, as they turned off the road into a new a town, “chances are we’d be lynched and Tommy would be asked to join Aryan Nation.”
Balliol nodded to the likelihood of this and the town sprang up around them.
“Where are we?” Balliol said.
“Thrace.”
“How classic,” Balliol said, and then looking around at the two story buildings, the general store and the little town hall they were approaching, added, “How deceptive.”
“What church do you go to Balliol?” Tommy said. “You’re not Catholic, are you?”
“No,” Balliol pronounced, disgusted. “Saint George Anglican.”
“Oh, you’re Episcopalian. Like Sidney.”
“I’m Episcopalian like me, but I see what you’re getting at. I prefer calling it Anglican though. Technically I don’t think it’s part of the Episcopal Church, and there is a difference.”
Mason elaborated.
“All Episcopal churches are Anglican, but not all Anglican churches are Episcopal. Not even in America.”
Mason and Balliol were fascinated by the multifaceted levels of their religion and Balliol went on.
“Technically we’re Anglican Catholics. So we are Catholic, but not Roman and not like a lot of Episcopal churches around here. It’s all complicated.”
“But none of it matters if you’re saved,” Tommy said as if this silenced everything. And for Tommy it did.
Balliol thought Tommy was dead wrong and a little simpleminded there, but he let it slide. To relegate the last two thousand years of Western Christendom to meaninglessness was blasphemous.
When the car pulled into the parking lot of a large church that resembled the bastard child of a Pizza Hut a Cineplex, Balliol looked around and said, “I don’t know if I should feel more worried that everyone’s white or that everyone’s got a fish on their back and a cross around their neck.”
“You’re being silly,” Tommy said, with a laugh. “None of that matters. Color doesn’ t matter in Jesus.”
“I suspect we’ll have a talk about this later on,” Balliol told him before Mason could say anything, and Tommy parked his truck on the far side of the parking lot. Mason came out on Tommy’s side and rounded to join Balliol who said, looking ahead to a group of waving teenagers.
“You’re gonna owe me, Darrow.”
Mason looked at him and said, “I know.”
They walked on toward the large church. Past the open doors they could hear.
Lord, I lift your name on high
Lord, I love to sing Your praises
I'm so glad You're in my life
I'm so glad You came to save us
You came from heaven to earth
To show the way
From the earth to the cross
My debt to pay
From the cross to the grave
From the grave to the sky
Lord, I lift Your name on high
“This is great,” Tommy exulted as they entered Thrace Christian Church. It was large and filled with booths and teenagers and music piping all over the place. Some band Mason didn’t know was singing praise and worship music. People were waving. People were nice. There were a few posters up like “Choose Life.” “Children are a Gift From God.” “Pray for America!” and “Let’s win a Nation for the Lord!”
Tommy was lost in the wonder of this world. Behind him came Mason and Balliol and Balliol murmured, “These are good people... I suppose. About as harmless as Tommy. But I feel....”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “It’s almost like I’m not Christian enough.”
“Actually,” Balliol said, looking around, “I feel about just as Christian as I need to be. But I am afraid that someone’s put something in the water.”
Lord, I lift your name on high
Lord, of wonder and salvation
With one voice we magnify
God of every generation.
“What’s all that?” Mason shook Balliol’s arm, and pointed to a group of kids walking together.
“What’s what?” Tommy turned around.
“They got rosaries and shit,” Mason said.
“Mason!”
Mason shrugged, “Rosaries and shoot. Anyway, what’s that doing at a Born Again rally?”
“Why don’t you go up and ask?” Balliol challenged.
“Maybe I will.”
“But he didn’t have to. Apparently the group of teens had seen them already and was coming forward.
“They’re smiling,” Balliol murmured trying to hide behind Mason. “I’m afraid.”
“Hi!” cried a girl with fly away hair who was a little round for the short sleeveless she was wearing. A purple beaded rosary was in her fist.
“Hello,” Mason said stepping forward.
“I’m Sara, and this is my boyfriend, Derrick. And this is Meghan and this is Laura, and this is Katherine. And this is Valerie. And we go to Saint Mary’s on the Ridge up in Michael, Ohio.”
All three of the boys cocked their heads.
Her boyfriend, behind her, the one called Derrick, announced, “We’re born again Catholics.”
Balliol threw back his head and cackled for about thirty seconds until everyone was looking at him as Mason was trying to hold his chuckles in. And then, all at once, Balliol blinked and said, “Oh, you all were serious.”
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“Um,” Mark looked away from the sink where he was scrubbing dishes.
“I said—” Sully began.
“Oh,” Mark smiled, “don’t mention that. I cook all the time. It’s a nice habit to learn, Sullivan. If you ever want to eat.”
“Do you need any help?”
“No, Sullivan, sit down and—” he suddenly turned around then said to Chris, “Why don’t you ever volunteer to do the dishes?”
Chris, sitting in the kitchen chair, sang out, “I can’t hear you!”
He wadded up a napkin and threw it at Sully who tossed it back. “You’re making me look bad.”
“Don’t you have to get dressed?” he said to Chris.
“Get dressed to roll around in the dirt with Cartimandua Central?” Chris said. “No. I think I’ll wash my face or something. That’s about it.”
“Well, I’m gonna go home and get dressed. What time is the game?”
“You’re getting dressed for the game?” Chris said.
“There’s not much else to get dressed for in Cartimandua.
Chris weighed the truth of this and nodded before asking Sully:
“Well, are you gonna hang out with us when we have our victory burger at Tom’s after the game?”
“If there’s a victory.”
“There will be a victory,” Chris declared. “Besides,” he added. “If there isn’t, then we’ll have a consolation burger at Tom’s. How do you think Hardesty got that fat?”
Sully shrugged and said, “I’ll come if you guys want me.”
“Stop that. Of course we want you. You’ll be the only one not covered in bruises. You can even bring Balliol with you,” Chris pronounced the name in a sort of disgusted, strangled voice.
“Balliol?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Sully’s friend,” Chris dismissed him.
“No,” said Sully. “He went off with Tommy Dwyer and Mason Darrow for some conference out of town.”
“Mason?” Mark and Chris said together. And then Chris murmured, “Tommy Dwyer and Balliol.”
“You all know them?” But of course Chris knew Mason, “You know him?” he said to Mark.
“He’s my godson.”
“Oh,” that caught Sully up. Life was weirder and weirder.
When Sully left, Chris said, “You know what? That’s a Balliol thing to do. Go off and leave Sully in the lurch. I think we should start hanging out more.”
“He makes you laugh,” Mark observed.
Chris looked at him strangely, and then he did laugh.
“Sully gets me is all. I get him and he gets me and... there aren’t a lot of people like that. You know, Dad?”
Mark nodded.
“Who’s this Balliol you hate so much?”
“I don’t hate him.” And then Chris said, “No, you know what, Dad? I do. I really do. He’s mean and he’s snarky and he’s richer than everybody so he wants to fight all the time and he treats Sully like a lap dog and...” Chris paused for a moment and then said, “God, Dad! I hate Lincoln Balliol! He’s.... he’s evil is what he is.”
“Chris.”
“I know you said I shouldn’t use the word hate. And it’s a strong word and... But that’s how I feel about him. The guy’s really the devil.”
Oh how I love Jesus
Oh how I love Jesus
Oh, how I love Jesus
Because he first loved me!
Balliol sang with Mason and Tommy.
“I haven’t sung that in so long,” Tommy told them. “It’s kind of a kid song, but it’s a good one. You know. When it’s true it’s true. I never knew you were saved, Balliol,” Tommy said.
Balliol was about to say something… Balliol when he switched tacks and said, instead, “I think you’ll find that there are a lot more saved people than you think there are, Tommy.”
Tommy stopped to consider this, and as he did, Mason hooted and pointed out the window.
They were driving past a dingy diner off of the road with a gravel parking lot filled with pickup trucks and a white plywood sign that in red letters proclaimed it THE BUTT HUTT.
“Too bad the convention isn’t there,” Balliol mused.
“Actually,” Mason said, as they turned off the road into a new a town, “chances are we’d be lynched and Tommy would be asked to join Aryan Nation.”
Balliol nodded to the likelihood of this and the town sprang up around them.
“Where are we?” Balliol said.
“Thrace.”
“How classic,” Balliol said, and then looking around at the two story buildings, the general store and the little town hall they were approaching, added, “How deceptive.”
“What church do you go to Balliol?” Tommy said. “You’re not Catholic, are you?”
“No,” Balliol pronounced, disgusted. “Saint George Anglican.”
“Oh, you’re Episcopalian. Like Sidney.”
“I’m Episcopalian like me, but I see what you’re getting at. I prefer calling it Anglican though. Technically I don’t think it’s part of the Episcopal Church, and there is a difference.”
Mason elaborated.
“All Episcopal churches are Anglican, but not all Anglican churches are Episcopal. Not even in America.”
Mason and Balliol were fascinated by the multifaceted levels of their religion and Balliol went on.
“Technically we’re Anglican Catholics. So we are Catholic, but not Roman and not like a lot of Episcopal churches around here. It’s all complicated.”
“But none of it matters if you’re saved,” Tommy said as if this silenced everything. And for Tommy it did.
Balliol thought Tommy was dead wrong and a little simpleminded there, but he let it slide. To relegate the last two thousand years of Western Christendom to meaninglessness was blasphemous.
When the car pulled into the parking lot of a large church that resembled the bastard child of a Pizza Hut a Cineplex, Balliol looked around and said, “I don’t know if I should feel more worried that everyone’s white or that everyone’s got a fish on their back and a cross around their neck.”
“You’re being silly,” Tommy said, with a laugh. “None of that matters. Color doesn’ t matter in Jesus.”
“I suspect we’ll have a talk about this later on,” Balliol told him before Mason could say anything, and Tommy parked his truck on the far side of the parking lot. Mason came out on Tommy’s side and rounded to join Balliol who said, looking ahead to a group of waving teenagers.
“You’re gonna owe me, Darrow.”
Mason looked at him and said, “I know.”
They walked on toward the large church. Past the open doors they could hear.
Lord, I lift your name on high
Lord, I love to sing Your praises
I'm so glad You're in my life
I'm so glad You came to save us
You came from heaven to earth
To show the way
From the earth to the cross
My debt to pay
From the cross to the grave
From the grave to the sky
Lord, I lift Your name on high
“This is great,” Tommy exulted as they entered Thrace Christian Church. It was large and filled with booths and teenagers and music piping all over the place. Some band Mason didn’t know was singing praise and worship music. People were waving. People were nice. There were a few posters up like “Choose Life.” “Children are a Gift From God.” “Pray for America!” and “Let’s win a Nation for the Lord!”
Tommy was lost in the wonder of this world. Behind him came Mason and Balliol and Balliol murmured, “These are good people... I suppose. About as harmless as Tommy. But I feel....”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “It’s almost like I’m not Christian enough.”
“Actually,” Balliol said, looking around, “I feel about just as Christian as I need to be. But I am afraid that someone’s put something in the water.”
Lord, I lift your name on high
Lord, of wonder and salvation
With one voice we magnify
God of every generation.
“What’s all that?” Mason shook Balliol’s arm, and pointed to a group of kids walking together.
“What’s what?” Tommy turned around.
“They got rosaries and shit,” Mason said.
“Mason!”
Mason shrugged, “Rosaries and shoot. Anyway, what’s that doing at a Born Again rally?”
“Why don’t you go up and ask?” Balliol challenged.
“Maybe I will.”
“But he didn’t have to. Apparently the group of teens had seen them already and was coming forward.
“They’re smiling,” Balliol murmured trying to hide behind Mason. “I’m afraid.”
“Hi!” cried a girl with fly away hair who was a little round for the short sleeveless she was wearing. A purple beaded rosary was in her fist.
“Hello,” Mason said stepping forward.
“I’m Sara, and this is my boyfriend, Derrick. And this is Meghan and this is Laura, and this is Katherine. And this is Valerie. And we go to Saint Mary’s on the Ridge up in Michael, Ohio.”
All three of the boys cocked their heads.
Her boyfriend, behind her, the one called Derrick, announced, “We’re born again Catholics.”
Balliol threw back his head and cackled for about thirty seconds until everyone was looking at him as Mason was trying to hold his chuckles in. And then, all at once, Balliol blinked and said, “Oh, you all were serious.”
MORE THURSDAY
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was an excellent portion! Interesting to see some of the characters getting to know each other better. Thanks for posting so often and I look forward to more tomorrow!
