Young Writers Society

11/05

There's a deer path behind the house. A thin little trail winding through the woods. I walked along it early this morning, through the mud and fog. No deer was spotted, though I did see a squirrel. A fuzzy little gray thing perched on a stump, that fled when I came around the corner.

I wonder what people at the church would do if I did that to them, if I made it obvious I wanted nothing to do with them. Would they leave me be, like I did with the squirrel? Just watch and stare as I ran off? Or would they chase me down? Be determined to make some sort of connection?

To be honest, I don't really care to know.

I don't want to know about them. I don't care about them. And I certainly don't want to go to church and act like I have to. If anything I'd just like to stay here in my bed and feel as gloomy and dreary as the weather is. Nobody likes depressing days. Maybe everyone will ignore me. Possibly forget I'm here.

But there's Papa calling. We have to leave. We have to.

I hate being a pastor's kid already.

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"Why do pastor's families always have to sit in the front?" Kylie wondered aloud, plunking into the first pew at the front of the church. "What if we wanted to sit in the back, or something?" She looked up at Mama. "Why can't we?"

"Because," said Jackson, deliberately settling in the pew behind her. "Front seats are for important people, and we want everyone in this church to know we're important." He flicked his tie in a mock air of superiority.

Ben was amused, snickering softly as he sat close to Jackson. "Well, why is she in the front, then?" I heard him whisper. Kylie promptly turned around and declared, "Because I'm keeping you out!"

"Hey." Papa raised his head from where he stood at the pulpit, and shook his head. "That's enough."

He had been in good spirits for most of the morning, and even arguing children couldn't bring him down.

I sat on the other side of Jackson, and folded my hands in my lap. The Roman numerals on his watch read exactly 10:00. Church began in half an hour.

Kentucky was fiddling with the piano, humming what sounded like a hymn. I wondered why the church even had a piano, if no one played. That is, at least, what Ivan had told him, and was evident, Kentucky had said, in the dust caked on the keys.

I found it strange. Sure, there were churches that probably sang a capella instead of using instruments, but why even bother with a piano if no one would use it or learn it?

There was a creak as the doors opened, and footsteps sounded on the floorboards. "Good morning!" said Papa, and an overexuberant "Hello!" responded.

I looked back, and saw Brenae, and a biker. Or what appeared to be one. Cedar Ravine didn't strike me as a place that had brawny men with full beards and leather jackets cruising around. Like this man appeared. This man with rips in his jeans, and a graying ponytail of dark hair, and blue curves of a tattoo creeping onto his thick wrists.

He filled the room, though he only stood in the aisle. Everyone saw him, and everyone shrunk in size. I was fascinated by that power he held. I felt small, but I didn't feel scared.

Brenae broke the silence. "This is my father." Her voice was as flat as her face. "Griffin."

I blinked. I wasn't sure whether to be shocked or nonchalant. Why else would a strange man walk in with Brenae and her husband?

She sat down beside Ivan, on the opposide side of the church, and looked straight ahead.

Papa stepped out from behind the pulpit, and extended a hand and greeting. "Nice to meet you, Griffin. We're glad to have you."

Griffin didn't say much. Only bobbed his head a little, and said "Thank you" very quietly. He had a hard jaw, and no smile touched his mouth, but he did not seem like a mean man. If anything, he seemed gentle.

Kylie was gawking up at him, so Jackson knocked her on the back of her head. Mama had stood, and offered a greeting, as well. I bowed my head over my lap to signal I didn't want to be involved in the courtesies.

I hated small talk. And Mama was talking to Brenae. Or at least attempting to. Brenae sounded as if she'd rather have her fingertails pulled out. 

I listened to their murmurings and Ivan's occasional loud laugh. I didn't think I had my head down for that long, but as time went on and the door squeaked open time and time again, I heard more and more voices and footsteps. Mama and Papa were warm in their welcome. Sometimes Jackson would say something, sometimes Kentucky would. Kylie moved a lot in front of me. I could hear the pew creaking.

I wondered how the church was doing in Reno, how many people had showed up for service. I wondered if Hannah was singing on the Praise Team today, and if old Sister Cash was playing the piano now that Kentucky couldn't.

I wondered if they missed us.

It wasn't always easy in a congregation of three hundred or so people to notice when someone was missing. Not as easy as it would be, say, in a congregation of around twenty.

Then there was a sudden stillness in the air. The voices died down, and even the child I heard shrieking somewhere behind me was silent.

I raised my head.

Papa was back in his position at the pulpit, notes in hand. He looked a bit taken back at the abrupt calm, but attempted to smooth it over with a light-hearted "Well, praise the Lord."

It was a standard Apostolic greeting, typically met by an enthusiastic response of people handclapping, or rising to their feet, or echoing the preacher's words. But other than my own family's echo, the church was silent.

I looked back at them. There weren't many people besides Brenae and company, just enough to fill the sanctuary. Two old ladies, a Mexican family, a beefy man in the back, and a middle-aged woman and her slightly overweight teenage son. They all wore blank expressions, staring at Papa. As if they didn't know how to respond.

Papa tried again with a "It's good to be in the house of the Lord."

Still no response other than Kentucky's solemn "Yes, sir."

Kiley had twisted around again, and was staring behind her with a puzzled face. Mama turned her around, but she looked disturbed, as well.

I twisted my fingers around the loose hem of my shirt, and listened. For anything. But there was only Jackson breathing beside me, and Papa fumbling with his words in front of me. I suddenly wanted to laugh. I wasn't even sure why. The whole situation was suddenly so ridiculous.

Papa had given up on any form of greeting, and moved on: "My son - er, Kentucky - here is going to play the piano and sing for us this morning. So, if we could all stand and worship."

I stood with the rest of my family, but behind us no one budged. Not even a single pew squeaked.

The silence was eerie. 

It was distressing Papa. This wasn't how our normal church services went. This wasn't what was supposed to happen at all.

I felt like laughing, again. 

Kentucky had started playing, after a few hesitant glances thrown toward Papa. They had gone unnoticed. He now began to sing:

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

that saved a wretch, like me...

It was an old, familiar song even the most hardcore agnostic had probably heard. But only the voices of my own family sang along with him. 

I looked back again.

Were they really just going to sit there and stare? Did they even know how awkward they were forcing this service to be?

The old ladies looked befuddled now, and the boy beside his mother appeared lost. Every other person in the place wore the same blank expression. They reminded me of dead people. No emotion, no expression. Just a flat, dull face.

"What the heck is going on?" Jackson hissed in my ear.

Papa had shut his eyes. Maybe he couldn't bear to see it. Maybe he was wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

But something about the blank faces wasn't intentional. It was almost as if, I realized, they didn't know how else to respond.

"This is no church," I mumbled.