Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  He expected his friends to laugh when they saw him, but as Clayvon tapped the others to turn their attention toward Leroy, they seemed mostly indifferent. Darius winced. Rashaun snickered. The rest looked as if they understood, which confused Leroy.

  His gown flapped as he stepped past seated churchgoers and dropped into his seat between Sherman and Clayvon. “Hey.”

  Darius spoke first. “Sucks for you.”

  “I know, this dress is ridiculous.”

  “No, I mean—”

  The Bishop took the stage to applause, and the band quieted.

  “Thank you. Thank you all for being here this morning.”

  “You’re going to be water baptized,” Whatson whispered.

  “Like… today?”

  Whatson nodded once. “It’s a simple process. Nothing to worry about.”

  As the Bishop spoke of Jesus dying on the cross, and his resurrection three days later, Leroy sat in a daze.

  * * *

  The rest of the sermon had washed over him like the water in the pond by the Jacaranda tree was about to when the Bishop confirmed that Leroy was to be baptized. He knew it was nothing to worry about, as Whatson had assured him, but he still felt unsettled, his palms clammy, as he stood knee-deep a dozen feet out in the lake.

  Bishop Wood paced the shore, preaching, as the majority of the congregation sat on the bank, watching, waiting. “And after Jesus rose from the dead, he met his disciples on a mountain in Galilee where he said ‘All authority in heaven and on Earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you!’ Can somebody say amen?”

  A chorus of amens was the response.

  Leroy found his friends in the crowd, and realized Jemisha wasn’t there; she hadn’t been at church that morning, either, now that he thought about it. At least he wouldn’t have to live with her seeing this.

  A bible clutched in his right hand, the Bishop continued. “It is not until we are baptized in Jesus’s name that we are truly adopted into the family of Christ. ‘He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned!’ It’s as simple as that!” he said, emphasizing his words with his empty hand.

  The Bishop and Carl stepped into the water, stopping next to Leroy on either side. “Are you ready, Marcus, to let Jesus’s blood wash over you, stripping away your sins and disintegrating your old life?”

  For the first time, the significance of the situation hit Leroy: he was about to be purified in the eyes of God. That was why he’d come here at all, wasn’t it? To better himself, to grow up, to discover a normal life. Maybe baptism would bring him what he sought.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Today is a funeral for the person you once were.”

  The two men each placed a hand on Leroy’s back, and Carl put one on his chest, too, as the Bishop spoke. “Do you hereby renounce every fleshly lust and worldly desire and the devil himself?”

  He did.

  “Do you believe that our Lord Jesus Christ paid full penalty for your sins on the cross at Calvary, and further, do you hereby confess Him before this congregation as your personal savior?”

  Again, he did.

  “Do you agree before God and the congregation to henceforth walk in His Grace, worthy of the Name in which you shall be baptized?”

  “I do,” he said in a full, confident voice.

  “In obedience to the word of God, and the commandment of our Lord and Savior, I baptize you, Marcus Jackson, in the name of Jesus Christ.”

  The scenery and the congregation whooshed away. Leroy opened his eyes. He was underwater. Like a shaken soda bottle, a cloud of bubbles fizzed to the surface of the water, nudging aside a dead leaf. It all moved unnaturally slowly. Leroy looked side to side, and saw nothing but water and sand in all directions. The Bishop and Carl were gone. As a peaceful sense of belonging flooded through him, and he no longer felt the need to breathe.

  In a flash, he was on the shore, spitting up putrid, sandy water, gasping for breath. The Bishop and Carl and others huddled around him.

  “It’s alright, he’s alright. The power of God will do that, sometimes,” Bishop Wood chuckled, patting Leroy on the chest. “He’s alright.”

  Leroy took big, heaving breaths as he came to his senses. He felt a lot of things—wet, confused, hungry, a headache—but not saved.

  “You did just fine, Marcus. How does it feel to be part of the Holy family?”

  “Feels good,” he lied through a cough.

  A palpable sense of relief arose as the congregation cheered.

  Leroy got to his feet.

  “Show’s over, folks,” Pastor Mercer said amongst the crowd. “Give the boy some time to collect himself. In the meantime, let’s eat.” With that, the congregation broke off into smaller groups, each heading back to SpiritWood.

  Carl gave Leroy a pained smile and a pat on the back. “I really am sorry. But sacrifice is at the heart of religion. Everything will be fine, now.” His gaze trailed off, then he walked off. “Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

  Leroy pulled the cold, soaked gown over his head and wrung it out as he followed the herd, wondering what he’d sacrificed, besides comfort. He felt no different, spiritually. Maybe that was normal. It was a relief to be absolved, though, and a bigger relief that it was over. He had one day a week for free time, and God was the last thing on his mind. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to draw that picture for Jemisha.

  * * *

  His baptism had done nothing to quell his popularity; on the way inside, numerous adults congratulated him, gave him their blessing, or their best, or gifted him a firm handshake. He was grateful, but had other things to do.

  After putting on some normal clothes, he joined the rest of SpiritWood in the cafeteria to a brief round of applause. Blushing, he breezed through the lunch line then sat down amongst his friends and immediately noticed Jemisha was still absent.

  “You seen Misha?” Clayvon asked.

  “I was about to ask you that,” Leroy responded.

  “Must got the flu or somethin’.”

  “How you like that bath?” Rashaun teased.

  Leroy considered telling them about his experience, how it felt like he’d been underwater for at least a minute, how the two men baptizing him had seemed to disappear, but decided not to. “Tasted bad. I don’t feel different.”

  “Really?” Sherman said, in disbelief. “When I was baptized, I had a spiritual awakening. The light of the Holy Ghost shined on me, inside and out.”

  “Yo, that was the sun,” Rashaun laughed.

  Leroy chuckled as he nibbled a strip of bacon. It was slightly disappointing that the baptism seemed to have no effect on him, but he could deal with that later. There were more pressing issues.

  “I didn’t feel nothin’ neither,” Clayvon said. “No biggie.”

  “Everybody experiences everything differently,” Whatson shrugged. “That said, I’m starting to believe that the religious life is not for everybody. It seems to advocate a rather narrow world-view.”

  “Don’t tell that to Bishop,” Darius said with his mouth full.

  Leroy scarfed down his food, then left the group to look for Jemisha. He checked the library, the cathedral, and the study rooms, but she wasn’t there. He crossed the yard to the girls’ dorm. Through the front door, he ran into Atasha.

  “Marcus! I’m so proud of you,” she said, squeezing him in a hug.

  “Thanks,” he said, his face mushed against her chest. When she let him go, he said “Do you know where Jemisha is? We can’t find her.”

  Her eyes widened before she looked away. “You know, I’m not sure. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. Must have some business with the Bishop. Or she could be on a walk. You of all people should know how she enjoys those.”

  He wondered how she knew about that. “Can
I check the dorm?”

  “I’m not sure that would be appropriate…”

  “Please? I really need to talk to her.”

  Atasha gave him a look that was halfway combative, but considered a moment longer before relenting. “Go ahead. I’ll come with you, actually.”

  At the end of the hall they entered the dorm and found it empty.

  Leroy turned to Atasha. “What about the lounge?”

  “I suppose we could take a look.”

  It was empty.

  “Bathroom?”

  “You certainly may not—”

  “I mean can you check.”

  Atasha sighed. “Fine. But after that, we’re done.”

  Leroy leaned against the wall outside the bathroom until Atasha came out, hands clasped behind her back, and shook her head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

  “You can’t call the Bishop?”

  “Oh, no. He’s much too busy to take calls. I were you, I’d check outside.”

  “But she wasn’t at church or brunch!”

  “Marcus, please, calm down. I’ve done all I can. I’m sorry.”

  Leroy turned to leave, then slammed his fist on the wall.

  “Watch it, young man!”

  He’d never acted out like that before, and it scared him a little. But he’d never liked a girl before, either. His emotions were running wild. Rubbing his aching hand, he threw the door open before storming out.

  * * *

  “Can I have some paper and a pen?”

  The librarian was an elderly white man, skin the yellowed color of an old book’s pages. His name-tag read Brooks. “Sure, sure,” he said, and hobbled off to a back room. His bowlegged stature was worse than any Leroy’d ever seen. He wondered how the man could even walk. It looked painful.

  Brooks wobbled back to the counter. “Pencil okay?”

  “If you don’t have a pen.”

  “Sure, hold on.” Brooks headed off again.

  “Wait. The pencil’s fine. Thanks.”

  “You got it,” Brooks said with a wink, and returned to his stool.

  Leroy took the materials and sat at a table in the back corner. He was still upset, and he hated pencils, but he couldn’t take it out on that poor man, and didn’t want him to have to walk any more than necessary.

  He couldn’t figure out why Jemisha had been acting funny, and why everyone else had been acting funny regarding her. Why her? Why the one girl he’d ever had feelings for? Why now?

  “‘Sup?” said a shrill voice Leroy recognized.

  He’d been concentrating so hard he hadn’t heard Jill come over. Nor had he realized he’d started a rough sketch of a tree on the paper. “Hey.”

  “Can I sit? Cool, thanks.” She giggled as she scooted a chair next to him.

  “I’m actually trying to work on something.”

  “Oh, really? What are you doing?”

  “I’m, uh, drawing a picture.”

  “Well duh. What’s it a picture of?”

  “The purple tree by the pond I got baptized in.”

  “That’s boring. Why?”

  “Told someone I’d draw it for them.”

  “I can guess who. I dunno why, though. She doesn’t even like you.”

  The thought pierced his heart, an arrow from Cupid’s evil twin.

  “I’ve seen how she is around you. She won’t even sit by you most of the time, and when she does she leaves a gap. You don’t get the gap if a girl likes you. Trust me,” she said, and picked up her chair to move closer to him.

  “Even if that’s true, I still wanna draw.”

  “I won’t take too much of your time. Come on! Let’s have fun!”

  “Hey, do you know where Jemisha is? Carl was asking about her earlier, and me and Atasha looked around but we couldn’t find her.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” Jill said, uninterested. “And Carl is a creep,” she snapped. “He looks at me like a dog drooling over a bone. But I’m not taking no for an answer! I’m telling you, Jemisha doesn’t like you, and she’s apparently missing anyway. So let’s hang.”

  Leroy stayed silent. He cared about Jemisha, but what if Jill was right? She definitely had acted strangely toward him since the day they took a walk. Maybe she just decided she wasn’t feeling it. Now that he thought about it, she did sort of deny that she liked him when she said not to put words in her mouth.

  “Oh my gosh, Marcus!” She slapped him on the arm playfully. “What kind of boy turns down a pretty girl who wants to hang out?”

  Leroy told himself he wasn’t interested, but he knew it was a lie. Even so, he was prepared to tell her no, until he really looked at her, and realized how pretty she was. Her brown eyes were gentle, her lips were full, and the braids hanging from her head perfectly framed her face.

  “Okay. Just for a while,” he relented.

  “Yay!” She jumped out of her seat.

  Leroy handed Brooks the paper and pencil. “I’ll be back later.”

  Brooks smiled as they walked away.

  * * *

  “Blue,” Leroy said.

  “That’s cool. Mine’s pink. What’s your favorite food?”

  Leroy and Jill walked up the hill to get the Jacaranda tree.

  “McDonald’s. You?”

  Jill fell behind as she answered. “Probably green beans. I love ice cream, too, but I can’t have too much of it,” she breathed. “Gotta watch my figure.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Rude!”

  “What?”

  “You just said I need to watch my figure!”

  “I was just agreeing with you,” Leroy said, baffled.

  “Exactly!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Anyways…”

  Leroy scrambled for something to say, but found nothing. Around Jill he clammed up; not because he was scared, but because, he realized, the only attraction between them, at least to him, was physical. With Jemisha the words flowed right out of him, as if somebody else was speaking them.

  He kept his mouth shut until they reached the top of the hill. The view was perfect—a lone purple tree next to a shimmering, placid lake, surrounded by the summer flora of Missouri. Behind them, at the bottom of the hill, SpiritWood’s palatial structure stabbed toward the sky. It brought to mind the European castles he’d seen on travel shows. Leroy absorbed it all with wonder.

  “What was that, like ten miles?” Jill panted. “What now?”

  “Now we climb the tree and listen to the wind.”

  “Ew. I am so not getting into that tree. There are bugs and ants and birds, and I’ve got a skirt on. What are you, some kinda weirdo?”

  * * *

  “This is so much better,” Jill said, settling into the couch in front of the TV in the entertainment room. Beside her, Leroy forced a smile and nodded.

  The VCR clicked, and the tape began to play. On the screen, the DuckTales credits and theme played, a familiar tune to Leroy, who’d grown up loving the show. If he couldn’t have fun with Jill, he could at least enjoy Scrooge McDuck.

  “OH my gosh, I have to tell you this story. So Ebony—that’s my friend, the one I was with when we met—she liked Germain for like, a day or two. I have no idea what she saw in him, but she saw it. So like, they hung out, and turns out he totally sucks and smells bad, so she bailed and didn’t talk to him anymore. Then, like, a day later, Germain slipped her a note saying, like, can we hang out again? You’re really nice. Can you believe that??”

  “Wow,” he said, despite being unable to discern the offense.

  “I know! Like, she wasn’t even nice to him in the first place, and then he has the nerve to write her a note! Like, where does he get off, y’know?”

  “Uh-huh.” He kept his eyes glued to the screen. He remembered this episode—the nephews tricked Scrooge into thinking it was the weekend when it wasn’t, so he would give them their allowance early to buy a scooter, causing worldwide confusion. It was one of his favorites.

  “So now
— you know your friend Rashaun?”

  “What about him?”

  “Ebony kinda likes him.”

  “Have they even met?”

  “No, but that’s what I wanna talk to you about. Do you think you could set up a meeting between them, maybe? She really likes him.”

  “Why doesn’t she just talk to him?”

  “That’s his job! Duh!”

  “But how’s he supposed to know she likes him?”

  “That’s why I’m asking you! You really are clueless, huh?”

  Leroy turned back to the TV. He didn’t care if Jemisha didn’t like him, he’d still rather hang out with her than with Jill. This was not fun. She even managed to make DuckTales unenjoyable.

  Jill scooted closer and casually leaned on Leroy. “So, talk to him?”

  Her skin was so warm and soft it gave him goosebumps. He repressed a shudder of delight and in an instant, his mood shifted.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Cool.” She snuggled into him more, and he turned his body the slightest bit to let her get closer, but it still surprised him when she did. No reason not to take advantage of the situation, he figured.

  “So,” he said, inching his arm over hers, “you like this show?”

  “Oh, I just put in the top video. Nothing good to watch here.”

  He was just getting comfortable when she abruptly pulled away and sat up straight. He looked at her, wondering what he’d done.

  “Oh my gosh, in laundry, where I work, you won’t believe what happened.” Jill covered her mouth. “Ew, it’s so gross I can barely talk about it.”

  She was always talking about gross stuff, Leroy noticed.

  “Somebody pooped in the sheets!”

  Leroy winced. “Well, people have accidents sometimes, I guess…”

  “No, this was no accident. Like, somebody spread a clean sheet, and pooped into it. Ew! Just stop talking about it, please. I can’t take it.”

  Before he could reply, she leaned back into him, and it ceased to matter.

  “You never talk,” she frowned. “I’m the only one who talks.”

  “What do you wanna talk about?”

  “I dunno. You pick.”

  “Well,” he took a breath, “I came here from California.”