Hunted ch. 3

The farmer and Charlie strike up a conversation about something or other. I stare out the window, watching the landscape and thinking and daydreaming. He drops us off in some town in the middle of Idaho. A sign nearby reads:

So now we know where we are. We head into the town. We grab some food at a nearby gas station and sneak into a hotel called The Thunderbird. This one has two beds. We didn't get much sleep though because the motel was right next to the train tracks and the trains were constant. Charlie slept well, I could hear him snoring as loud as the trains.

The next morning, Charlie woke me up early.

"Whatsamatter?" I ask.

"It's Sunday," he says.

"So?" I ask.

"We've gotta go to church!"

"Why?"

"We don't have time to talk about this now. We're gonna be late."

"Fine." I get up, dress, and we sneak back out the window. We wander around the town looking for churches. They're easy to recognize. Charlie chooses one with a stone front and an giant iron cross on the outside. When we walk into the building, the service is already started. We sit in the back of the sanctuary. I don't pay attention, but when I glance over at Charlie, he's gripping the edge of his seat and leaning in. He could be the church's poster child. It must be pretty important to him, if he's paying such close attention. I try to listen for awhile, but lose interest after about five seconds.

I don't notice that the sermon's over until everyone stands up to sing a song. Charlie finds it in the hymnal. It's some old song I've never heard before that goes on forever.

Afterwards, we all shake the pastor's hand.

"Good morning," the pastor says as he shakes our hands, "It's always nice to have visitors. Especially ones so young. Where are you two boys headed?"

"We're just passing through the area," Charlie says, "Our parents couldn't come 'cause they were tuckered out from driving. We're from Washington." I glance at him. He's a better liar than I had expected.

"Ah," says the pastor, "The Lord be with you, feel free to join in fellowship."

"No thanks, we'd better go back to the hotel. Gotta get back on the road," Charlie says.

"Oh, well it was nice to meet you lads." He turns to the next person to shake their hand.

"Charlie," I say, once we're outside, "Are we gonna have to do that every week?"

"Sure," he says, "Why not?"

"It was boring," I say.

He turns to me, getting all serious, "Do you believe in God?"

"Yes, " I lie. The truth is, I'm not sure what I believe. That was my first time at church. God hasn't been that helpful in my life. I've never really needed Him. But if Charlie wanted to, that was his thing. And it didn't mean he had to go to church every week. Lots of people only go on Easter and Christmas, and it works for them fine.

"Well, if Jesus suffered and died on the cross for you, then you can at least go to church and be bored for awhile for Him. And maybe if you'd pay attention, you could learn a little. It can't hurt, can it?"

"Yes," I say.

"No, Bilbo, it couldn't. Eternity seems a pretty big thing to leave to chance."

"You've got to learn how to live like this. If They catch up with us, because we're sitting around in church, then we're dead. They don't care if we're in church. They'd kill us in the pews."

"Then I die a martyr. Come on, Bilbo, it's not that bad. Especially if you pay attention-"

"I'm not going to pay attention, don't think you can get me to do that. It's all just so lame. The preacher probably doesn't even know what he's saying. And my name isn't Bilbo. It's Bill."

"So we can go if I don't force you to pay attention."

"No guarantees," he rolled his eyes at me.

"And I'm not going to Sunday School, and we're sneaking out before it's done. I didn't like shaking the preacher's hand, and it's weird how everyone else stares at you."

"Oh... Fine." He didn't seem happy about it. I wasn't happy either.

Fine," I say, "We'll go to church like good little Christians. Now let's go steal a car."