“We just need to pray for her, Dad,” Lonnie said.
Darrel looked at Lonnie, unsure of how to deal with his son, who stared back at him, completely convinced prayer was the solution. They were downstairs in Darrel’s office, where he kept all his hunting gear. “I’m not sure God heals cows, Lonnie,” was all Darrel could think to say as he loaded bullets into his twenty-gauge.
“Why not?”
Darrel wished Sheila was there to answer this question. She was the more spiritually informed of the two, and he had half a mind to tell Lonnie to go ask her. Instead, he cocked the gun and avoided Lonnie’s intent stare as he said, “Well, cows are animals.”
“Well, you said animals go to heaven when Socks died,” Lonnie countered. “If God lets cats into heaven just like people, why wouldn’t he heal animals just like people?”
Darrel couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it. It was very clear that if he killed Star, it would be tantamount to murdering the very spiritual teachings Darrel and Sheila had been trying to impart to Lonnie. However, if he let the cow live, lying around like she was would turn her muscles to jelly in a couple of weeks, and she wouldn’t even be worth eating. Hoping Lonnie’s spiritual concerns for the cow might quickly dissipate, Darrel set his gun down and turned to his son. “All right. Tell you what, lets just go give her some hay for now, and while we’re there you can lay your hands on her and pray for her.”
Lonnie brightened. “I know she’ll walk again, Dad. I just have to have faith bigger than a mustard seed, right?”
Darrel grimaced at Lonnie’s recitation of the Biblical passage. “Right.”
Neighbors who heard about the McAllisters’ cow situation were amused and appalled. To let a little boy decide the fate of a cow, whose future God had already clearly ordained to be ground chuck was impractical not to mention a waste. As one farmer pointed out to Darrel, even if the bovine’s broken back were somehow miraculously healed by God, her leg muscles wouldn’t be strong enough to work after even a week of lying around. Still Lonnie prayed, and Darrel waited, and Sheila worried for every party involved.
After a week, when Star had made no significant progress, Darrel once again grabbed his rifle, but Lonnie was adamant they not do a thing to harm Star. Darrel said he would give God one more day to make up his mind. If nothing changed, Darrel assured Lonnie that meant God had given them his answer; the cow was to be put out of her misery. However, the next morning when he and Lonnie went to check up on her, Star had moved all the way across the corral to the water trough in the middle of the night. Darrel was flabbergasted. The vet was surprised. Lonnie was thrilled. None of this really mattered, however, because now that Star was crawling, her knees had begun to bleed. This meant, to an even greater extent, she would have no hope of walking due to the hardship it put on her joints even if her back made a full recovery. Still, Lonnie was convinced God just needed a little more time, and at this point, Darrel couldn’t help but appease him. After another week of dragging herself all over the corral on her knees, Star’s destiny was sealed, however, when it was discovered that she had developed an infection.
The night after this most devastating discovery, Darrel entered Lonnie’s room after Lonnie had turned out the light and crawled into bed. Darrel sat down on the edge of the mattress, his hands folded, unable to look at his son even in the dark.
Lonnie knew what this unexpected bedtime visit was about. “You’re gonna kill her, aren’t you?” he said.
“God does things we don’t always understand,” Darrel replied. “It’s not fair to Star to let her go on living.”
Lonnie was quiet.
Darrel looked over at his son, embarrassed of himself and ashamed of the God he’d raised his son to believe in. “I’m sorry.”
“I had faith greater than a mustard seed,” was all Lonnie said, completely confused, and he turned over away from Darrel.
Lonnie sat on the stairs the next morning listening to Darrel in his office selecting his rifle and loading the appropriate slugs in the chamber. Sheila called Lonnie for breakfast in hopes of distracting him, but instead of charging for any offer of food as he usually did, Lonnie ran out of the house. The world was a blur from the tears streaming down his flushed cheeks, the fate of everything he believed in that allowed him to survive the farm and his parents and his sisters and schoolwork and everything else at stake. He had decided he would throw himself over Star’s black-and-white body. If Darrel wanted to kill Star, he would have to shoot Lonnie first. Lonnie flung open the corral gate and charged for the corner of the barn where Star was usually found lying about casually chewing her cud. But she wasn’t there. The tears in Lonnie’s eyes stopped instantly, and the brisk morning air revealed the shortness in his breath as he stood in shock. No, Star wasn’t in the barn at all. She was standing in the corral over by the fence next to the field munching on some wild onion blossoms.
After his successful intercession on behalf of Star, Lonnie began to pray for everything, from the car when it wouldn’t start to the groceries Sheila needed to buy to be marked down so she could stay within her tight monthly budget. His prayers were sincere and prolific and were answered so frequently that he was called “prophetic” more than a few times by those who witnessed his unfaltering conviction. When Lilly Pharmaceuticals laid Darrel off four years into his employment with them and talk spread through the McAllister household about the possibility of leaving Squirrel Ridge, Lonnie interceded about that as well. And instead of giving up his farm and taking his family back to the city, where jobs were more plentiful, Darrel disappeared into the hay barn, working on a mystery project that required steel and a lot of welding. At night, ominous sparks and electric blue shadows could be seen flashing across the barn walls from the house, where the kids secretly fretted for their future.
To keep her mind off of the financial turmoil that had suddenly befallen her family, Sheila became the volunteer youth pastor for an upstart charismatic church called Rock Harbor that the McAllisters’ had joined. It was thirty minutes away in a town called Licking. The group was small, made up of only six junior high and high school kids, whose attendance was mandatory because their parents were pillars of the burgeoning institution, as well as the McAllisters’ three oldest. However, with each Wednesday night that Sheila taught, more and more youth began to fill up the unfinished room in the cold basement of the church’s new building. The growth of the Rock Harbor Lifesavers, which the group voted to call themselves, had to do with Sheila’s enthusiasm and all she had learned over the last several years teaching her children at home. She had discovered little tricks and games that broke the ice and made the youth enjoy themselves. But she was also passionate about what she was teaching, and that passion was contagious.
By the time the youth group had grown to thirty-five kids, Sheila had decided, along with the church’s senior pastor, Rick, that the teenagers should attend a church camp over the summer. Within weeks of this decision, a campground had been secured, and notices went out to other nondenominational churches around the area that “Reignite the Fire,” a one week camp for youth, would be put on in Poplar Bluff, Missouri the first week in July to “rekindle the passion of young people for the Lord.” Darrel was not eager for Sheila to leave for so long. But he wasn’t supportive of her work at the church in general. It would be one thing if all the time Sheila spent planning lessons and parties and outreach programs for the youth group was a paid position, but the way Darrel saw it, she received no compensation other than the opportunity to “serve God,” and that wasn’t putting bread on the table so far as he could see. She had a different opinion, which, of course, led to more than a few fights. Once lights were out and everyone was in bed, Sheila and Darrel could be heard starting up. It would begin with quiet talking, like the mews of a kitten, from Sheila. Then Darrel would burst out angrily. Then Sheila would begin crying. Darrel would get angrier. Then one or the other would storm out of the bedroom, though usua
lly it was Sheila who would end up spending the night on the couch. In the end, despite the conflict it had caused, Sheila loaded up Kristy, Rebecca, and Lonnie, and they headed to Poplar Bluff.
Church camp was magic to Lonnie, despite the rather primitive conditions of the campgrounds, a cluster of buildings along a ridge that overlooked the Current River, which had been given that name because of the naturally strong current that swept down through the middle of it. The bunk bed mattresses in the boys’ dorms were dingy to say the least, and the bathrooms were hardly sanitary. There was mold and mildew anywhere and everywhere, and there was no air-conditioning to provide relief from the sweltering summer heat. Still, Lonnie made the best of it, reminding himself this living arrangement was temporary and enjoying the bright side—he was in a massive room surrounded by dozens of men he would be living with for an entire week! He was fascinated by these men and their variations, by their conversations, their laughter, the reckless raw with which they interacted. He suspected the feelings he had begun to develop for them, which were arousing, were homosexual, according to what he’d researched in the dictionary back home. And by the end of the first night, he was quite certain he had what was called a crush on a tall, muscular guy with a buzz cut who was in the army over at Ft. Leonardwood and who, when the two hundred plus campers were divided up into teams, was Lonnie’s team’s captain. His name was Blayne Powers, and of course, Lonnie wasn’t the only one to have a crush on Blayne. Every girl around flirted with him. There was also Pete Heath, a blonde, stalky jock from Pacific, Missouri, who took Lonnie’s team to victory every game they played throughout the week with his muscles and agility. Despite their kindnesses, Lonnie stayed away from Blayne and Pete, watching them from a distance, scared they would see right into his lustful heart were they to look very deep into his shame-filled eyes.
Every morning at camp started early with the campers lining up for breakfast in front of the only air-conditioned building on the grounds—the cafeteria. Then there was a morning worship service, followed by a sermon from the guest speaker. After lunch were team sports, with the winners getting points that would add up at the end of the week so that a grand prize was given, consisting of Christian T-shirts and CDs for everyone on the winning team. During free time every afternoon, Lonnie either went swimming in the camp pool or played ping-pong in the snack shack. Finally, there was dinner, another church service, and lights out.
Among the boys from Lonnie’s church, there was one whom he suspected was like him, who looked at other guys around the dormitory with the same longing in his eyes that Lonnie did. His name was Michael Slape. At sixteen, he was three years older than Lonnie, and he was slender, soft-faced, and unassuming. He’d started Rock Harbor a year ago with his mother, Beatrice, when the church had moved into its new building. Michael found himself welcome among the other teenagers, many of whom otherwise would never have spoken to him around the halls of Licking High School. But it’s not as though people didn’t like Michael. It was more that he didn’t have a winning personality that attracted others to him, and he shared none of their typical, youthful commonalities. He found quiet enjoyment in solitary things like video games and comic books instead of Friday night football and high school dances.
“I got the last Snickers bar,” Michael said proudly, lowering himself onto the bunk bed next to Lonnie’s and stashing the Snickers away in his duffle bag.
“I thought they ran out last night.”
“I guess they got more. But I got the last one tonight.”
Lights out was in five minutes, and Lonnie had already taken a shower and put on his nightclothes, boxers and a T-shirt, preparing for bed long before the last-minute onslaught of guys would crowd the bathroom with their farts and inside jokes that made Lonnie nervous.
Michael peeled off his T-shirt and cutoff jean shorts and plopped back onto his sleeping bag in only his briefs. He wouldn’t take a shower tonight. He would instead wait until early morning, before anyone else was up to use the facilities. Lonnie watched him for a moment. There was a fine dusting of wiry golden hair on Michael’s undeveloped chest, but there was plenty of darker hair under his pits and leading from his navel down under his drawers and covering his legs.
“Did you see Kenny and Angie get in trouble for having sunflowers?” Michael asked, turning over to face Lonnie.
Lonnie was a bit scandalized. “Kenny and Angie? No.”
“Sunflowers” was the term used around camp for a guy and a girl who had a crush on one another. It always started out innocently enough. They’d sit next to one another during service, then begin eating every meal together in the cafeteria, then at the pool they’d be inseparable, and after service at night they would end up just out of earshot of everyone else, talking on a bench with the girl blushing and the guy making jokes. All this, until their romance became too apparent and counselors would step in to break it up. “Sunflowers” were not allowed because of the fear of what they would lead to in the shadows somewhere one night when no one was watching. In fact, “Sunflowers” could get your team docked 50 points if you weren’t careful.
“Yeah. It was that one guy with the white mustache from the church in Rogersville who got on to them.”
Lonnie looked around to make sure no one was listening. “He is so annoying.”
“Your mom took care of it though. I don’t think they’re gonna lose any points for their teams or anything,” Michael said.
“So they like each other?” Lonnie asked.
Of all the guys in the youth group, Kenny was one of the nicest. He was always quick with a joke when one was needed, and his jokes were never dirty. He was a good-looking guy for the most part and always sang songs with Lonnie when they were in group showers, which thankfully kept Lonnie from getting the boner he was always so terrified would appear amid so much exposed male flesh.
“I guess so,” Michael shrugged.
At just that moment, Kenny entered with a few other guys from Lonnie and Michael’s youth group, and they headed downstairs to the bathrooms. Then the guy with the white mustache, Dick from Rogersville, who liked to flaunt his authority anywhere and anyway he could, entered the dorm. “Lights out!” he yelled. And he flipped off the lights, to the audible complaints of the other campers and even some of the other counselors who weren’t yet ready for bed. Dick just laughed, though, and because it was late, no one was going to argue with him.
For a long time after lights out, boys fumbled and giggled their way into their beds. Occasional flashlights whipped around the room, and braver guys farted or said things out loud like “OH, JENNY!” which caused everyone else to laugh and counselors, who weren’t already soundly snoring, to reprimand them. Lonnie continued to talk to Michael ever so quietly throughout all this. They were discussing Jurassic Park, which Michael had read over the spring and had been turned into a movie that summer.
“I just can’t believe that the dinosaurs would look real,” Lonnie whispered.
“They do. I’m telling you. It’s awesome,” Michael tried to contain his excitement.
“But how?”
“They’re computer-generated.”
“What does that mean?”
Besides only being allowed to watch TV when the McAllisters visited Gwen and Willie in Oklahoma and never being allowed to go to the movie theater or read books unless they were Christian, Lonnie’s family also did not own a computer.
“It’s like… they animate them in a computer.”
Lonnie remained skeptical, but he still enjoyed hearing about dinosaurs and Jurassic Park and the idea that dinosaurs could come to life again.
“You gotta read the book. I’ll let you borrow it,” Michael said.
“My mom will never let me.”
“Then just don’t tell her.”
Lonnie thought about this, laid there in silence. Then he adjusted himself so there was more room on his bunk bed. “You should come get in my sleeping bag.”
&n
bsp; Michael only hesitated a second before crawling from his mattress onto Lonnie’s, as though this request was as normal as asking someone to pass you fried chicken at a dinner table. Lonnie unzipped his sleeping bag so Michael could cover himself with the top flap and their bodies could touch.
Lonnie had recently begun to masturbate. The first time had happened rather innocently one day while he was sitting at the desk in his room staring off into space thinking of nothing in particular. For days after he’d come that first time, he was terrified over what he had done to himself. But he hadn’t died from whatever had occurred, and it felt good—so good, in fact, that he began to do it again and again on a regular basis. As time went on, he found that he pictured guys doing the same thing that he was doing, tugging on their penises with him, and the thought made him come even faster. And that’s what Lonnie was thinking about that second night at camp when he invited Michael under the flap of his sleeping bag.
For a moment, Lonnie and Michael both laid on his thin mattress nervously. Then Michael said, “I should probably go back to my bed. We should probably go to sleep.”
Lonnie pretended to adjust his body, moving his arms, accidentally grazing Michael’s crotch with his hand as he did so. “Oh, sorry,” Lonnie said. Even from his slight graze, Lonnie could tell Michael was hard in his briefs.
“It’s okay.” Michael reached down to adjust himself, and as he did so “accidentally” touched Lonnie’s crotch with the back of his hand. But Michael’s hand didn’t move, and Lonnie pushed his crotch toward it. For a moment, they just laid like this. Then Michael swiveled his hand so he could grab Lonnie’s penis, and Lonnie let him. Lonnie grabbed Michael, too, pulling down his underwear so he could feel Michael’s flesh. This act felt so much better than Lonnie could have imagined, like it was quite possibly the only right thing he had ever done in his life. And in seconds, it was over. Both Michael and Lonnie shot their loads into one another’s palms. Then Michael slipped back into his bed and Lonnie went to the bathroom to quickly clean up.
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