Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  “I can’t hear you!” The Bishop was loud enough unamplified.

  “Yes.” So many eyes, all trained on him.

  “God might’ve heard that, but we sure didn’t!”

  “Yes!”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I believe in God!”

  “Are you ready to denounce your sinful ways before an all-knowing God in His holy house? To reform yourself, cleanse your worldly body of impurity, and seek forgiveness for your transgressions?”

  “Yes!” he said, on autopilot.

  “Good. Then we’re ready to begin. Repeat after me: I acknowledge in my godly sorrow that I am a sinner in need of forgiveness.”

  “I acknowledge in my godly sorrow I’m a sinner in need of forgiveness.”

  “I believe that Jesus died for the forgiveness of my sins on the cross.”

  “I believe Jesus died for the forgiveness of my sins on the cross.”

  “I confess Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior.”

  “I confess Jesus as my personal Lord and Savior.”

  “Not too bad, huh? Marcus Jackson, you are now converted.”

  Cheers from the congregation filled the air. The faces that had so recently been hostile were now warm, welcoming, even comforting. As the pressure wore off, a smile came to Leroy’s face.

  “Now comes the hard part. Confession. On your knees.”

  His smile faded as the Bishop grasped his shoulders and shoved, buckling his knees and dropping him to the floor, sending jolts of pain up each leg.

  Stammering, Leroy squeaked “Right here? I thought that was private.”

  “Why, of course! How are we to know if you’re truly afflicted by godly sorrow if the congregation—your spiritual family—can’t bear witness to it for themselves? And please, speak into the microphone.”

  This was too much. He was overloaded, overwhelmed, overexposed. If this was the way God, or SpiritWood, operated, he wanted out.

  “I find it’s easiest to start small—nabbed a candy bar, stole a twenty from mom, made fun of the cripple at school—and move up from there.”

  So it was really happening. His brain felt like honeycomb crawling with bees. He tried to pick one of the many memories stuffed away in the hexagonal cells of his thoughts, but there were so many faces staring at him, eagerly awaiting a juicy anecdote. He sought out Jemisha’s face again, but when he found her, all she had for him was a regretful shrug.

  “I… I cut the lunch line a few times.” It was all he could think of on the spot, but judging by the congregation’s scoffs and groans, it wasn’t enough. “Also, I stole some bags of gummies. And a cookie, once. Always felt bad ‘cause they made them fresh and sold them for charity.”

  “Come on, now,” a man shouted. “That ain’t no confession!”

  “Wendell. If it troubles the boy, he is right to confess it,” the Bishop said. “Stealing is a sin, whether it’s a cookie or a car. Continue, Marcus.”

  He felt himself blush at his next thought, but he had to say something. “Sometimes at night, I used to watch channel ninety-eight.”

  “And what was on that channel?”

  Leroy filled his lungs and steeled himself. “Sex. It was all scrambled, like I wasn’t supposed to get the channel, but sometimes I could make out body parts. And there was sound, too.”

  “The temptations of Satan and his henchmen are great and many. Lust is one of his most powerful tools, but you must not let it pervert your innocence. Sex is not recreation; sex is procreation,” he admonished. “Go on.”

  As embarrassing as it was to confess these ‘transgressions,’ as the Bishop had called them, it did sort of seem to lighten his load. He recalled how he’d felt after airing his thoughts to Ant — that was it! Leroy had just the lurid story the congregation was looking for. He felt bad exploiting what’d happened to Ant—what he’d done to Ant—but the situation required it.

  “I might’ve got my only friend killed.”

  Gasps and whispers cut the silence. Even the Bishop was at a loss.

  “Yeah. We were traveling. He wanted to drive. I refused, so we caught a train to Topeka.” Leroy swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if his voice was shaking because he was nervous or because he was guilty, but he definitely felt both. “There was a bull—a railroad cop—who didn’t like that. My friend distracted him so I could get away. I had to watch the cop beat my friend’s face in.” It took him a moment to continue. “The sound it made, that wet crunch… I can’t get it out of my head.” He shuddered, staring hard at nothing. “I just wish I could go back and do it again. I’ll never forget the way that cop laughed as they took my friend away on a stretcher. I tried to find him at the hospital, but I couldn’t. I never saw him again. That’s when I met Pastor Mercer and came here.”

  “That’s as gut-wrenching a tale as I’ve ever heard, Marcus.”

  As he reeled himself in, returning to reality, he felt a lump in his throat. Ant really was the only true friend he’d ever had, strange though it may be. And it was his fault that Ant was gone. He gritted his teeth.

  “Your spiritual family has heard your confessions.” Bishop Wood turned to the congregation. “What of Marcus Jackson? Is he indeed sorrowful?”

  The church-goers clapped and cheered their approval, if mildly.

  “And is that sorrow of a godly nature?”

  Again, the congregation cheered.

  “And do you feel your sorrow is of a godly nature?”

  “Yes. God, yes.” Leroy noticed Pastor Mercer leaning against the back wall, giving a thumbs-up. A moment later, the Pastor dropped his hand.

  A faint smirk found the Bishop’s lips. “I believe we have come to a consensus. Well done, Marcus. You may return to your seat.”

  He stood and hurried down the steps and the aisle, still shaking.

  “Now, the rest of you dry bones line up at the foot of the stage.”

  * * *

  About a dozen others confessed their sins that morning, but nobody held the room spellbound like Leroy had. He took a strange pleasure in that. On the other hand, he was just glad it was over. Public speaking always freaked him out, and regarding such intensely personal matters, it was all the more difficult. He wanted badly to know God, but was glad that was over.

  He sat at the cafeteria table with his new friends eating eggs and toast.

  Darius stuffed his face. “Eat as much as you can now. This’s it till dinner.”

  “No lunch?”

  Chewing aloud, Darius said “Just brunch on Sundays.”

  “Cheap asses,” Rashaun said.

  “Man why you always gotta be so negative?” Jemisha asked. “That’s all we got here, and you just wanna keep turnin’ up the volume.”

  Rashaun was taken aback. “I just— Sorry, Misha. I’ma work on it.”

  Clayvon gave Leroy a knowing look.

  “Yeah you will,” she agreed.

  “But they is cheap asses.”

  “I know.”

  “Yo, so was that all true, Marcus?” Clayvon said.

  Leroy bit into his toast before speaking. “Wish it wasn’t.”

  “Damn. Those pigs really messed your boy up like that?” Rashaun asked.

  Jemisha shot him a hard glance.

  “I mean… sorry to hear that. Hope he okay.”

  Leroy exhaled. “I really tried to find him. I called every hospital in the area. If you’re not family, they won’t even talk to you. It’s crazy.”

  “Sometimes you can’t see them even if you are,” Whatson noted with an uncharacteristic woefulness, departing from his usual stoicism.

  After a silent minute, Leroy said “So I guess I’m back in the fields today.”

  Clayvon shook his head, smiling. “No work today. Sunday’s for rest.”

  “Which means you can do bible study, watch any of the five approved television channels, or read a non-fiction book,” Whatson said.

  “Or, you could take a walk with me,” Jemisha said.


  Rashaun leaned back in his chair, lifting the two front legs, and crossed his arms. “You don’t never ask me to go on a walk with you.”

  “I know.”

  “How far can we go?” Leroy asked.

  “Long as we’re back by dinner, they don’t care. It’s somethin’ about Sunday makes people ‘round here much more relaxed than regular.”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A girl wanted to spend time with him. That was definitely a first, at least as far as he knew. He held back his excitement. “I dunno, I really like TV…”

  He thought he’d been lighthearted, but the look on Jemisha’s face convinced him otherwise. So stupid, he thought. Should’ve just said yes.

  “‘Sup, Marcus?” said a girl’s shrill voice.

  Leroy turned to see two girls standing behind him. “Uh, ‘sup?”

  “We just wanted to tell you how moved we were by your story,” said the shrill-voiced girl, round-faced with braids and braces. “You’re really brave.”

  “Really brave,” said the other girl, bony but pretty.

  Unsure how to react, he surveyed his friends’ faces: Whatson, Rashaun, and Sherman were blank, Clayvon and Darius were nearly drooling, and Jemisha looked more dismissive than ever, which said a lot.

  “Thanks,” Leroy said, then added “I actually didn’t do anything.”

  “Anythin’ else, Jill?” Jemisha demanded.

  “Well, Jemisha, I was going to tell Marcus that we have a seat open at our table if he’d like to spend some time with normal people. Is that okay with you? Oh wait, I don’t care.” Jill winked at Leroy, smiling through her braces. “See ya.”

  He watched the two girls walk away, until Jemisha smacked his arm.

  “So about that walk…” he said.

  * * *

  Leroy and Jemisha trod through the waist-high grass a few feet apart. He could see the compound fences in the distance, but in the golden glow of noon, with a pond on one side and a girl on the other, he felt more free than ever.

  “This my tree,” she said as they walked.

  He turned away from the pond to face forward and saw an elephantine Jacaranda tree, its light purple bell-shaped flowers ringing their own special note in the summer breeze. From a distance, the tree looked like one big pastel bouquet, ruffling as waves of wind blew across it.

  “Damn,” Leroy muttered. He’d seen trees that were red, yellow, white, blue even, but never purple. The dusky bark of the thick, sprawling limbs spilled upward through the lavender haze, giving the tree an Asian aesthetic.

  The two of them climbed onto separate branches and laid out, taking in the sun. The breeze was cool, a departure from the past few days.

  “Gonna rain soon,” Jemisha said, her eyes closed.

  Leroy looked around at the sky. There was hardly a cloud in sight. “What makes you say that? Sure doesn’t look like it’s gonna rain.”

  She smiled. “I just know.” She rolled over on the limb and laid on her stomach, letting her arms and legs dangle. “Just like I know you into me.”

  The words set off an earthquake of anxiety in him. He hadn’t fully come to terms with it yet himself, but he supposed he was into her. Even so, how could she just say it like that, so casually? He blushed.

  She laughed. “It’s cool. Boys and girls’s supposed to like each other.”

  “So you’re saying you like me?”

  “Now you puttin’ words in my mouth.”

  “Why me? Why go on a walk with me?”

  She shrugged. “Dunno. You ain’t all cocky like the others, I guess. Kinda nice bein’ around somebody who ain’t yappin’ all the time.”

  “Don’t say ain’t. Makes you sound uneducated.”

  “I am.”

  Leroy thought about that as the wind raked his face.

  “You real quiet, huh?”

  After a moment of hesitation, he said “I like to listen. And watch.”

  Jemisha sat up. “You some kinda weirdo?”

  “No! I like to remember things. Just the way they were. So I can draw them.” He spoke the last sentence much quieter than the previous few.

  “You draw?”

  “I try.”

  “Better draw me somethin’, Picasso,” she said, tapping him with her foot.

  “Wasn’t he a painter?”

  “Shit, I dunno.”

  * * *

  They lazed around the enclosure until dinner, then Leroy went to bed a happy man. He’d had a crush on a classmate once, but it was no more than a proximity infatuation. This was different. This was real. He laid in his assigned bed, feeling like his heart was too big for his chest in the best way.

  The next morning he was awakened, as well as most of the boys in the dorm, by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to shake the ground. There was a slight sense of unease in the pitch black dorm as rain pounded the roof, until Atasha entered a minute later with a flashlight.

  “Sorry, boys. Power’s out. The generator should turn on in a minute. If your job takes you outside, find somewhere else to help out today.”

  Jemisha wasn’t at breakfast, so afterward, Leroy headed right to the kitchen and posted at her station before she arrived. After a few minutes of her absence, he slipped on gloves and started to wash the dirty dishes piled on the counter.

  By the time she arrived, two and a half piles of clean plates and bowls glistened as they awaited drying. Her eyes were puffy and reddened, and she avoided looking at him as she approached. “Hey,” she said just above a whisper, before putting on a hairnet and gloves and starting to wash.

  Leroy watched her from the corner of his eye as they worked.

  “You okay?”

  “Bad morning. You know.”

  She handed him a clean plate and he set it in the bin.

  “So,” her voice cracked, “gonna make me that drawing soon?”

  He stopped washing. “Soon as I can. You got a deadline?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood, but she faced down as she scrubbed.

  “No idea.”

  * * *

  For the next few days, Leroy only saw Jemisha at meals, and even then she didn’t seem herself. Her feistiness had faded. Any time she was asked about it, she’d brush it off, saying she just wasn’t feeling well.

  Leroy worked the fields by day, and was happy for various reasons to find himself less sore each morning. By the end of the week, he dared to look at himself shirtless in the mirror, and while there wasn’t noticeable growth, he was toned where he hadn’t been before. That alone was motivation to continue.

  Spiritually, too, he was progressing, or so he thought. He didn’t think he’d ‘felt’ God yet, but he understood the gist of things: Jesus died to absolve him of any sins he could ever commit, as long as he confessed in sorrow, genuinely believed in Jesus as Lord, and was baptized both in water and in the Holy Ghost. One down, three to go. He was believing as hard as he could, but had no idea how to gauge if it worked or not.

  On Saturday, Jemisha seemed better; she smiled occasionally, but only for brief moments. Leroy supposed her sickness story checked out, although he didn’t think a cold would make her distant toward him. But, for all he knew about girls, that could be normal. He couldn’t wait until Sunday, when he’d have the free time to start her drawing. He already had it planned out in full.

  As his relationship with Jemisha cooled, he felt himself growing closer to his new group of friends. He wasn’t afraid anymore to crack a joke, or pop into a conversation. And he’d realized that other people could be just as nervous or clueless or speechless as he sometimes was. Social situations weren’t as stressful when he could blend in.

  Leroy couldn’t blend in, however, when people came up to ask him about his confession. He told them all the same things: yes, it really happened; no, he didn’t know if Ant was dead or alive; thanks, he hoped God did bless Ant, wherever he was. It was tiresome, but it introduced him to dozens of people he’d probably never have talked to otherwise, which
set him at ease. Then it hit him: he was popular. No wonder the popular kids seemed so graceful and composed—it was easy to be cool when everyone already liked you.

  At dinner that evening, Jemisha sat next to Leroy, which brought a smile to his face despite the two-foot gap she enforced to either side of her. She was still distant throughout the meal, but eventually Clayvon made a joke that got her laughing. Noticing that, he riffed on it for about a minute, and by the end of it, Jemisha was breathless from laughter. Her laughter put the whole group at ease. Leroy looked from face to face, smiling at his good fortune.

  * * *

  Leroy awoke with excitement in his heart on Sunday morning when Carl came through. It was the big day; he could feel the drawing pent up inside him, ready take shape one line at a time. It was the first time he’d felt inspired in specific; he’d forced himself to sketch people from TV or his room in an effort to get better, but this time there was an image in his head that needed to get out. Just thinking about creating something made his spine tingle.

  As they lined up to leave, Carl held him back. “Say, Marcus… you know Jemisha, right? You two seem like you’re getting pretty close.”

  Leroy shrugged. “I guess so. Not as close as her brother.”

  “Clayvon. Right. They talk a lot? Tell each other things?”

  “I don’t really know. Probably. But maybe not.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s been weird lately. Quiet.”

  Carl’s head slowly tilted back. “I see. Thanks, Marcus. Oh, and you’ll need this.” He handed Leroy a white gown, frilly and laced around the edges. “Put that on before you head to church, please.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s a requirement. Put it on, please.”

  As Carl walked into the hall and picked up a telephone on the wall, Leroy stared at the gown in his hands. Why should he have to wear a dress if no one else had to? Someone had to be playing a joke on him. But Carl and the adults wouldn’t let that happen, would they?

  He decided it was best to follow directions and slipped into it.

  Thankful that Carl had held him back a minute, Leroy hurried through the empty atrium and into the cathedral. He found his friends toward the back of the room and was glad he didn’t have to go very far. He felt like Cinderella.