Not So Pure and Simple

by Lamar Giles

  Uh oh.

  “We know the domino effect can be devastating, as it was for Lot, whose decisions eventually led to his tragic fall in Sodom. . . .”

  My stomach sank. I knew this story from Purity Pledge, and it was mad creepy. A city destroyed. A wife turned to salt. All sorts of implications that trash people have used for centuries to justify oppression, and racism, and homophobia, and misogyny.

  Please, I thought—prayed, if there’s anyone listening, steer him away from this. Don’t let it be what it’s always been.

  “. . . Lot’s wife made the mistake of looking back,” Newsome said, “and . . . and . . .”

  Silence. A few light coughs rattled in the sanctuary. Murmurs as the quiet stretched a few seconds too long. I opened my eyes and watched a lone moth lurch up and down toward the pulpit.

  Newsome seemed in deep thought, staring intently at his Bible’s cover. Finally, he said, “As I gaze upon the faces of you all, the faithful I see every Sunday, and you newcomers, I’m reminded of what our church’s First Lady used to say to me when we were home on quiet nights. She’d say, ‘Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing themselves.’ Now, that’s not Bible, y’all. And when she said it, she mostly meant my long-standing habit of watching Wheel of Fortune every evening. She despised that show.”

  The congregation laughed! Deep, genuine belly laughs. Had Newsome ever cracked a joke from the pulpit? Don’t suppose I’d know, since I hardly ever listened. But I was listening then.

  “There is some Bible that supports her thinking,” he said. “Isaiah 43:19 tells us ‘I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.’ This is Green Creek. This is our stream, we can make a way, together. I’d like to lead you, but someone reminded me of my dear wife, who I miss so much. Reminded me that she had a lot of ideas for how we might change the world. I got too stuck in my ways to consider them. With that in mind, we’re going to shift gears. For now.”

  He left the lectern, mic in hand, walked to the edge of the pulpit, eyes cast in the general direction of Kiera. “You First Missionary regulars, I’m going to change the plan a bit today. I will be the only one in the pulpit for the rest of service. No one else.”

  Kiera’s shoulders sagged with relief. Her parents’ heads cocked, quizzical, though they didn’t object.

  “We have so many new faces in the building, I think they should get a good, long look at the leader of the house, so maybe I can entice them to come back next Sunday, and the Sunday after.” Then his gaze swung to me, pinned me. “I recognize an opportunity when I see it.”

  To the rest of the congregation: “Please open your Bibles, and turn to John 16:33, we’re going to talk about hope.”

  We did. And it was good.

  Exiting the church after service was an ordeal. Many of these visitors had spotted me and Cressie and wanted to say hello. We were almost as popular as Pastor Newsome.

  He had an expanded crowd around him. The usual well-wishers, and some of the visitors who felt especially touched by his upbeat message.

  Me and my sister shook hands, and gave hugs on the move, as Mom and Dad were anxious to beat traffic. We cleared the foyer and were in daylight when I heard my name.

  “Del!” Kiera called. “Del, wait!”

  My entire family gave me the “what you wanna do here?” look. I said, “Go on. I’ll catch up.”

  They left me to it.

  Kiera, so beautiful, as hard to look at as the sun itself. I focused on the gravel at our feet. “Hey.”

  “Did you know Pastor was going to do that?”

  “I asked him to. I wasn’t sure.”

  “Why? I thought you were mad at me. And Mason. I thought—”

  I knew what she thought. I didn’t like it, but I also gave her reason to think I’d get some sort of pleasure from her shame. A few weeks ago, I probably would’ve. To answer her question, “First Missionary Crew!” I raised my hand for a high five.

  She slapped my palm lightly. “Thank you.”

  Kiera turned away. She climbed the church steps, then faced me again. “It was nice getting to know you in the pledge.”

  “Same.”

  She disappeared into the church. Though we’d greet each other in the halls at school, and run into each other around town—Green Creek was so small—that was the last time we were First Missionary Crew.

  Me and my family haven’t been back since.

  Chapter 31

  NOT THAT WE GAVE UP on church completely.

  After another family meeting—low-tech, face-to-face, immediately after that final First Missionary service—we decided we’d do a bit of a church hunt. Different towns, different denominations, all within a half hour or so of Green Creek. We’ve heard fire-and-brimstone sermons. Super-cool live-and-let-live sermons. Saw one preacher pull a gun in the pulpit (he said it wasn’t loaded, but we still scratched that church off our list). It’s been . . . educational.

  Not going to lie, I was uncertain where I landed on religion, but the family agreed we’d do this, and I was a team player, if nothing else. Mom felt better when we sought divine guidance, Dad felt better being supportive of Mom, and Cressie, when she wasn’t at school and running her increasingly popular YouTube channel, loved us doing the church tour thing together. She even did an episode on it.

  My episode was still one of her Top Five most viewed, a surprising number of those coming from my Green Creek classmates. Post-holiday break, I’d expected jokes, and there were some, but not nearly as much as the support I got from many who expressed their own anxieties about sex. MJ asked me to stay back after English class, and when the room cleared, he said, “It was a brave thing you did.”

  “I’m not so brave,” I said. “I’m the one who talked about you telling personal stories in Healthy Living. I got the class canceled.”

  Seemed I was addicted to this confession thing.

  MJ wrote notes on the board, and didn’t look at me when he said, “I kind of figured. Once I saw your video, and you mentioned First Missionary church, you were the only clear connection between the class and Pastor Newsome.”

  “Were you mad?”

  He faced me, amused. “Not at all. By then, I’d already sent some anonymous emails to your sister about the whole thing. Local girl, big social media following, outrage. The curriculum committee is going to review the course again.”

  “That was you feeding Cressie info? I—” I recalled Cressie referring to her source as a “her.” “I thought that was a girl.”

  “Your sister likes heroic women. Nothing wrong with that. Her assumption helped with the whole anonymity thing, so I let it ride.”

  “Will Pastor Newsome be a problem?”

  “If he was still involved. I’ve been told a new religious liaison will be joining the curriculum committee. Vanessa Newsome. You know her?”

  Sister Vanessa? New blood, new ideas! “I’m familiar.”

  “I expect good things.”

  So did I.

  In March, Vice Principal Terrier instituted another new rule, and sentenced a bunch of people to detentions over it. For once, I didn’t mind. The use of “Baby-Getters” and “BabyGettersToo” was pretty much banned at Green Creek. We had to opt for calling the participants what we should’ve been calling them the whole time. Students, and nothing else.

  I quit my job at FISHto’s despite Tyrell hounding me about the management program. Not that things weren’t going well, but I’d been hanging in the public library on the day that tatted, cranky librarian tacked a “Help Wanted” sign to the bulletin board. I immediately took it down, handed it back to her, and said, “I’m it.”

  She didn’t argue, and I’ve since become the fastest shelver they’ve got.

  By late April, Jameer frequently dropped by during my evening shifts, and my librarian boss didn’t give a damn if I was chatty during work, as long as it was a quiet kind of chatty. He tagged behind my book cart, and kept me up on how the
Pledgers were doing. Ralph and Bobby were still making horrible—but improving—music, and apparently had girlfriends. More material for their songs, I guess. Helena and Shanice got that praise dance team off the ground. Apparently, they all missed me.

  “They need their answer man, right?” I didn’t intend for it to sound mean.

  Jameer checked me immediately. “They miss their friend.”

  They were younger than me, so I rarely crossed paths with them at school. I’d make a point to change that, even if it got me a few tardy slips.

  “What about you?” I asked. “I know things have been changing at First Missionary, but I can’t imagine it’s changed that much.”

  “Actually, all those new people who came, a few were LGBTQ, Del. Openly. And they’re still coming.”

  I was shelving books on theoretical mathematics, working the social calculations in my head. “What Newsome have to say about that?”

  “He’s . . . adjusting. Sister Vanessa is helping him navigate the new rainbow-colored sheep in his flock. No one’s run away yet. So, progress.”

  “Your parents, too.”

  Sadness wafted off him. I rolled my cart to the next bank of shelves, still felt it as he followed. “Not so much. I honestly think if anyone leaves this new version of First Missionary, it’s going to be them. But, their frustration has been more with Pastor than me. They don’t have any new, great ways to punish me. No matter what they do, I’m not hiding myself anymore. So, it’s acceptance or bust. I only know I’m not going to be the one who breaks. Not ever again.”

  “Damn. Ramsey ain’t coming over for dinner, then.”

  Jameer scrutinized the spine of some rock-and-roll singer’s memoir. “We broke up, so no.”

  “Why? Was it because of your people? They messed y’all up?”

  “No, Del. He bored me. Everything isn’t tragic.”

  “Oh.” Moving on. I said, “Can you still help me after work?”

  “You brought it?”

  “In the car.”

  “Then I’m helping you. But you’re going to have to practice a lot to get it right by Saturday.”

  “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t have waited so late.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t say ‘better late than never.’ It’s trite, and you can be more refined than that.”

  “I wasn’t.” I was. He still had a way with words.

  I wrapped up my shift, walked Jameer out to my car, where warm, humid spring was in full effect. I passed him a small box from my passenger seat. He slid it open, revealing a simple black bow tie.

  I said, “Now show me your ways.”

  Prom was right around the corner, and there would be no more clip-ons for me.

  The limo driver took my twisting, inefficient route as instructed. We picked up Qwan first, rocking his black pants, purple paisley jacket, and black-on-black Jordan Elevens. Angie next, her purple sequined mermaid dress expertly coordinated with his ensemble. Her mom made them do the picture thing for like a hundred hours. Then we were off again because Shianne was losing her shit over us taking so long.

  Shianne: If you don’t get me out of here before Zoey wakes up from her nap, I swear to God!

  We did the picture thing, too. My classic black spy tuxedo (“Rainey, Del Rainey”) contrasted with her flowy peach-colored gown. Zoey did wake up, but seemed hypnotized by the light sparkling off Angie’s outfit, so she joined us in a few photos, snug on her mother’s hip, grinning toothlessly as we got immortalized in our formal wear splendor.

  Mister and Missus Griffiths were kind enough to distract Zoey with some applesauce while we escaped to the ride, and we completed the trip to the golf resort clubhouse where Green Creek High’s prom cranked, classmates dancing even before they entered the building.

  Inside, the juniors and seniors mingled, formed dance circles, mobbed the food and drink table, while chaperones tried to maintain control like survivors fending off zombies on The Walking Dead.

  The ladies separated from us, greeting friends and friends-of-friends for selfies and IG stories, while me and Qwan made our rounds. We ran into Jameer almost immediately, looking dapper in a maroon tux with black lapels. He was playing wallflower, and I thought I’d encourage him to join us, but I backed off when a senior by the name of Carlos Lumbly brought Jameer a cup of punch with an easy smile that suggested more than casual buddies. I’d have some questions for Jameer later, but I knew better than to throw salt in his game.

  Taylor Burkin was in attendance with some out-of-town dude. All the Baby-Getter drama had long tapered off but she was still a hot topic because of Colossus. In the wake of everything, girls started avoiding him like the plague. And with Taylor being so public with her complaints, his parents came down hard on him to own up to his responsibilities, if for no other reason than to save face. Seeing her here drew mad whispers because he wasn’t in attendance.

  Word on the street: he was home. Babysitting.

  Center of the dance floor was Kiera, battling some college freshman she’d met while touring Old Dominion University. They were going hard, popping in and out of each other’s faces, pulling cheers and “ooooohhhhs” from the onlookers and instigators. Really getting it in.

  All the time I’d been around Kiera, I never knew she could dance. Never learned much about her at all, really. I hoped her college date was better about that sort of thing than most in her orbit were. She deserved that.

  On the outskirts of the dance circle, covetously watching the show, were Mason Miles and his soldiers. Him and her hadn’t lasted very long after New Year’s, but she still drew his attention. Mine, too.

  I’d learn to pull away.

  After a circuit around the room, Angie materialized, grabbed Qwan by his jacket sleeve, and dragged him into the next dance battle. He loathed dancing, but didn’t fight it. Angie had her way with him, and I thought it made my best friend better somehow. It put me on alert, though. Was Shianne going to swoop in and demand the same?

  A quick search confirmed I didn’t have to worry. She was with a couple of the other new mothers who’d made it out this evening, swapping phones—likely sharing photos of their little ones. Which left me looking lonely.

  I gravitated to the preferred loner destination, the punch bowl, being watched by an eagle-eyed MJ. He saw me coming, popped the collar on a tuxedo jacket nearly identical to mine. “I see you’ve got good taste in attire, young man.”

  “Thanks, MJ. How long they got you on guard duty?”

  “I’m doing this and the After Prom. My lady’s going to bring little man so he can play some games. He’s been excited all day.”

  He wasn’t the only one. After Prom was back at the high school gym. Everyone knew it was the community’s way of keeping us off the roads, or away from hotels, or from drinking. We all tried to play like it was goofy and childish. But, for real, the school went all out with games, and fire prizes. GoPros, iPhones, TVs, and game systems. The best stuff got raffled off closer to sunrise to make sure you stayed. A brother could use a new TV.

  I dipped the ladle into the icy pink potion, and filled a cup. “How you been?”

  MJ said, “Making it, Del. Everyone’s tired by this point in the year. You know. I take it you’ve heard the good news.”

  “Healthy Living?”

  “Well, it’s going to be called ‘Positive Prep,’ but that’s one of those ‘ketchup’ or ‘catsup’ things. The big difference is the committee agreed to make some adjustments, focusing on a wider variety of safe sex practices, consent, and self-care. In other words, things that were proven to actually be helpful in reducing unwanted pregnancy, disease, even sexual assaults. Plus, no questions will be off-limits. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  “Damn right.”

  A petite gloved hand extended over the punch bowl. “Question: Are you going to drink all this?”

  I glanced sideways, almost didn’t recognize her. “Mya?”

  She lo
oked, literally, like a princess. Not just any princess either. Her green-and-cream dress, those gloves, and the tiara fixed in her hair were familiar. “Your outfit? I’ve seen it somewhere.”

  “Princess Tiana, from The Princess and the Frog. First black Disney princess. If you’re gonna go formal, go big.”

  “‘I’m rooting for everybody black,’ right?”

  “Sure am.”

  I stroked my chin. Curious about something. “You’re dressed like Tiana, but is she your favorite Disney princess?”

  Mya shuffled uncomfortably.

  “Tell the truth!” I said. “I’ve heard you humming at FISHto’s.”

  She was caught. “Fine. It’s Elsa from Frozen. Okay?”

  “I knew it. She’s like the whitest one!”

  “Shut. Up! That song is bars!”

  We laughed, a little like the good times, but also a little different. A little better. “You look great, though!”

  “Thank you.”

  “How are things at FISHto’s?” I sipped punch.

  “Fried.”

  I almost choked. “Good one. Who’d you come with?”

  “Jameer.” She cocked her head toward him in the corner with Carlos, cackling at something the upperclassman said. “I think he’s ditching me, though. Guess our engagement is off.”

  Mya poured her punch, faced the dance floor. More people jumped into the dance circle, including my date. “You came with Shianne. That a thing?”

  “Naw. Just friends. It works.”

  A pulsing beat couldn’t totally erase the long, awkward pause. Mya resorted to one of the many conversations we’d engaged in during my last weeks at FISHto’s. “Batman’s an a-hole, Del.”

  “You finally read Tower of Babel?”

  “I did not. I read Kingdom Come. Why do they name so many of the books after Bible stuff?”

  “Gravitas.”

  “Eh.”

  “Batman is not an a-hole, though. He’s stern.”