I remember asking Mom again if I could be saved. Playing with my Lincoln Logs until Dad got home from work. Sitting on the couch with Mom and Dad, bowing my head in prayer; asking Jesus to forgive me for all of my dark sin and to come into my heart so I could live forever with him in heaven.
It’s hazy, but I remember bits and pieces. Mom wrote down the words I prayed that day in the front of my tiny blue New Testament. She and Dad have assured me many times that once I sincerely trusted Jesus as my personal Lord and savior, I was saved from hell for all eternity. Jesus said in the Gospel of John that He gives those who trust Him eternal life, and that “no man shall be able to pluck them out of my hand.” It’s a doctrine called “eternal security,” which means once you sincerely trust Christ as your savior, you’re always saved, no matter what. Still, every time I hear a sermon like this, I doubt my salvation.
When I was in fourth grade, Dad rented a TV for the holidays, and Channel 50, the Christian TV station in Kansas City, played a movie we watched as a family called A Thief in the Night. The movie was made in the sixties, about a group of friends who get left behind after the Rapture because they aren’t saved when Jesus comes back. The Antichrist comes to power, and one of the girls refuses to take the mark of the beast, so the Antichrist sends out his soldiers in big white vans that read UNITED on the side, to hunt her down.
I was so scared after that movie that I asked Jesus into my heart every night before bed for quite a while: This time I really mean it.
I feel the same gnawing doubts in my stomach right now as the evangelist pleads with us to come down the aisle, kneel at the front, and “get right with God.” He’s not quiet about it the way my grandpa used to be. This guy is all bombast. His altar call has the texture and subtlety of a commercial for the Labor Day blowout at a used-car lot.
Of course, it works. Even with my head bowed and my eyes closed, I can hear the rush of other students making their way down the aisle toward the front. It even works on me, but I don’t move. This sermon, these scare tactics aren’t about a relationship with God. This man is scaring us into re-upping a contract for services, pure and simple. This is fire insurance.
There are plenty of us still glued to our pews, shaking on the inside, perhaps, but not moving on the outside. Without leaving my place, I silently pray one more time:
Dear God: If I haven’t been sincere enough before, or if for some reason it didn’t work, please come into my heart. I’m sorry for all of the sin in my life–lying to Mom and Dad, going to movies, thinking about sex, jerking off, drinking. I believe that your Son, Jesus, paid the price for all of those sins when he died on the cross. Please forgive me and wash my sins away so that I can spend eternity in heaven with you. In Jesus’s name, amen.
Even before I’m done praying, I feel silly.
Do I need forgiveness for those things? Are they really wrong? Plenty of kids in this room have parents who let them go to movies, and do all sorts of things my mom and dad don’t allow. There are all sorts of Christians with all sorts of different rules, not to mention other people who believe in other religions. What about all of the people on the other side of the world who believe as strongly in their God as we believe in our God? Are they going to go to hell because they were unlucky enough to be born in the wrong place?
A crowd of students kneel on the stairs at the altar and drape themselves across the front pew. They’re praying for forgiveness, crying, talking with teachers and hugging each other as the rest of us file out of chapel. Bradley falls into step with me as we lead the ashen-faced unrepentant out the back doors of the auditorium and return to class.
“Jesus,” he says, under his breath. “What was that?”
“The Good News.” I sigh.
He shakes his head like he’s trying to clear his brain of the last hour. “What are you doing tomorrow night after graduation?”
“I have a date with Megan.”
“You’re still coming to my party afterward, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I smile. “After that sermon? I need a drink.”
My friend Eric and I are the junior marshals at the graduation ceremony. We line up with Bradley and the rest of the seniors in the choir room. I’m wearing a black gown and carrying the American flag down the aisle of the auditorium and up to the stage, stepping slowly and deliberately to the rhythm of “Pomp and Circumstance.”
Next year I’ll be wearing purple and getting my diploma.
After the ceremony, I join the pandemonium in the foyer of Tri-City Ministries, taking pictures with my friends in their purple caps and gowns. I confirm with Bradley I’ll be spending the night at his house, then Megan and I head to Fuddruckers for burgers.
“That’ll be us next year,” she says.
“Unless Jesus comes back first.”
She laughs. “Oh, c’mon. I’m guessing we get another year at least.”
“It’ll happen the very second Principal Freisen hands me my diploma,” I say. “A cosmic joke by Jesus, the moment I graduate.”
Megan dips a fry in some ketchup and chews thoughtfully. I love the way she cocks her chin and narrows her eyes when she’s considering a proposition.
“Do you really believe Jesus is coming back?” She squints at me through her long lashes.
I swallow a bite of my cheeseburger. “Do you?”
The question hangs in the air, unanswered. We both take a sip from our straws and change the subject.
I’m kissing Megan on the couch in her living room, which is bizarre because her mom and dad are on the other side of the wall in their bedroom. It’s only the two of us now, lit by the glow of the TV screen. This has happened before, but I’m still getting used to it. The idea of making out with a girl on the couch at my house is unthinkable. My parents would never go to bed and leave me alone with a girl on the couch. Megan’s mom hung out with us and talked for a long time after we got back from the movie. Megan curled up against me on the couch and held my hand while we chatted like there was nothing weird about the fact we were touching in front of her mother.
Maybe there is nothing weird about it.
After her mom went to bed, Megan and I chatted while the credits rolled on 90210. I was in midsentence when she pulled me down on top of her. “Shut up, and kiss me,” she whispered.
So I did.
We haven’t stopped kissing for a long time.
Her hoodie smells like fabric softener, and our bodies are pressed up against each other like we’re trying to meld our own unique individual bodies into one organism. Her breath is heavy, and when I slide my arm under her back to pull her closer into me, I feel strong and powerful.
Our legs are intertwined, and everything is positioned just so. Our mouths are locked together, and I feel her hands trace down my back, then slide under the waistband of my jeans. Her hands are cool on my butt as she pulls me into her even more closely.
This is that moment my dad talks about. I get it now. This is where we’re supposed to back the truck up and park a long way from the brink.
But we don’t.
She grabs me by the hand and leads me downstairs to her bedroom instead. She has an enormous room with the biggest king-size water bed I have ever seen, and as we climb into it, I ask, “Is your dad going to come down here with a shotgun?”
Her giggle is raspy and warm. “Of course not. They don’t care. I mean, they care, but they know I’m not going to have sex.”
She pulls my clothes off, first my sweater, then my shirt. She loosens my belt, and I stand there at the edge of the bed.
Frozen.
“Aaron. It’s fine. They trust me.”
Slowly, I crawl onto the bed, onto her. She pulls me close again, arching her back and breathing deeply as I unbutton her blouse. The more time I take, the more she seems to want me to hurry, and I smile as I look into her eyes.
Huh. So that’s how this works. I’m going to take my time.
The water beneath the sheets lifts
and falls in a lilting rhythm as we obey only the letter of the law. We slip off our underwear, and pull the truck right up to the edge of the cliff.
We don’t make love.
But we make waves.
As I step inside Bradley’s front door I can hear the party already in progress. There is music playing, and Mrs. Westman meets me at the top of the stairs with a smile, a hug, and a shoebox:
“Keys, please, handsome man.”
I drop my car keys into her shoebox, and she winks. “You can have these back tomorrow morning. Jacob and Bradley are in the kitchen with Drake.”
Jacob is adding an empty can to a stack that is already several feet high on the kitchen counter.
“Hartzler!” he yells, almost sending the cans flying all over the kitchen, and races over to give me a sideways hug. “How was the date?”
I smirk, and shoot an eyebrow up. Jacob lets out a hoot.
“That’s trouble if I’ve ever seen it.” Drake is leaning against the island in the kitchen, stubbing out a cigarette.
“Aaron, don’t let these boys corrupt you.” Mrs. Westman is pouring a glass of red at the island. “Bradley, who are all those girls in the hot tub?”
“They are young women of the public-school variety,” Bradley says. “Paula, Pamela, and Tamara.”
“Where are all their cars? I don’t want anybody driving home intoxicated.”
“Already taken care of, Mom. Tamara’s sister is home from college. She’ll be coming to get them in a couple of hours.”
“In that case, enjoy yourselves, gentlemen.” She raises her glass. “I’ll be curling up with a book. Drake, I trust I’ll see you shortly?”
“If I know what’s good for me,” he says drily, pinching her on the butt. She laughs and heads up the stairs toward her bedroom. He turns to me. “Wingman, I need to know two things before I follow her.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute.
“First: Where did you leave this Megan?”
“Tucked into her king-size water bed.”
There is a chorus of shouts and catcalls from Jacob and Bradley.
Drake nods his head. “Nice work. Second: What can I get you to drink? Bradley tells me you’ve recently expanded your beverage repertoire.”
“Check it out, buddy.” Jacob swings open the refrigerator door. It is packed with mixers and three cases of Budweiser. Someone has written a name on each with a black magic marker.
Bradley.
Jacob.
Aaron.
“Of course, there’s plenty of vodka if you’d rather.” Drake smiles. “Help yourself.”
I eye the tower of cans on the counter. “Looks like we’re drinking beer tonight.” I open the case with my name on it, pull out a can, and pop it open. There’s an excitement that courses through me as I raise my can to meet the other three that fly up in an impromptu “Cheers!”
We all take long drinks from our beers, and as the, tart, terrible taste runs over my tongue and down my throat, I feel something click in my head.
This is what it means to belong.
This is the closeness I know my dad must be trying for by sharing Bible verses, and singing in church, and talking about masturbation, and all of those other things he does with me. I know he means well, but it feels so embarrassing, so difficult.
There’s something effortless about talking with Bradley and Drake and Jacob. Our friendship isn’t based on sharing a faith or a big plan for eternity. It’s based on sharing a beer, and the big plan for tonight. With these guys, I’m good enough just as I am. I don’t feel self-conscious or strange. I don’t endure their presence, wishing like mad I could be somewhere else.
It feels good to be chosen.
Drake claps me on the back and heads to bed with a smile. “You boys don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
It’s an old line, but I hear it for the first time as the admonition of someone who wants me to make my own decisions and be responsible for my own life.
Jacob grabs a case of the beer as Bradley slides open the door to the deck, and the three of us head toward the public-school girls in the hot tub.
Paula is bright, but not sweet.
Pamela is pretty, but not bright.
Tamara is sweet, but not pretty.
By two AM the six of us have finished off the case of beer that Jacob hauled out to the hot tub. The beer and the warm water seem to have had an effect on my brain: namely, I don’t remember being this funny before. Everyone is laughing at everything I say. I don’t remember ever feeling quite this witty.
Naturally, a game of truth or dare breaks out in the hot tub, and soon Pamela has taken off her bikini top, marking the second pair of breasts I have seen on this particular evening. Bradley and Jacob are eager for dares, but even with three beers in my system, I can still feel how chapped my lips are from kissing Megan for hours.
I decide to stick with the truth.
Eventually, both Jacob and Bradley have kissed all three girls, Pamela has licked Jacob’s left nipple, and Bradley has made a lap around the backyard sans swim trunks. After this brazen show of masculinity, Bradley decides that if he has to be naked in the hot tub, all of the guys should be naked in the hot tub. Jacob protests loudly, and I shock him by sliding off the trunks Bradley loaned me and tossing them at his head.
“Holy shit!” Bradley dissolves into laughter, forgets that he’s naked, and stands up to give me a high five. The whole jacuzzi gets an eyeful.
“Aaaaaugh, jeez!” Jacob covers his eyes, laughing. “Put that thing away!”
At that moment, Tamara’s sister shows up to drive the girls home. She is sweet, bright, and pretty. She is also easily convinced by Jacob to let him ride along in her car while she drops the girls off.
“I’ll be back later,” he says to us in a voice that’s meant to be a whisper. Bradley and I snort with laughter as they all pile into Tamara’s car and pull out of the driveway.
Then it’s only Bradley and me. Naked. In the hot tub.
It’s quiet, and the outside air is cold. I slide down so the water comes to my chin, and as I lay my head back against the edge of the tub, a jet blasts me full-on in the crotch.
I sit up. Quickly.
“Whoa—What’s up, man? Something bite you?” Bradley cracks open another beer, and hands it to me.
“Um, well…” I smile. “I sort of… found a jet.”
Bradley laughs. It’s dark, but the light from the kitchen bounces off the water and I can see that his eyes are glassy and bright.
I wonder how many beers he had before I got here?
“Hot-tub jets are the best, man! Have you ever held your dick up to one?”
“I think I sorta just did.”
He laughs. “See? Did it make you hard? Sometimes when you’re drunk you can’t resist a hot-tub jet, you know? I’ve been sitting next to this one for the last ten minutes.”
A mischievous grin spreads across his face, and Bradley thrusts his hips up letting his legs float out in front of him. His erection breaks the surface of the water. “Woo-hoo! “Hot-tub boners!” Bradley laughs like it’s the most hilarious thing ever, and I join him.
Maybe it’s the beer, or the thrill of being part of, or simply a crazy night—I’ll never know why—but I follow suit. Bradley hoots again when I flash him my hard-on.
“Woo-hoo!” Bradley is a little loud for two AM, but we can’t stop laughing. He raises his beer to me. “Hartzler, you’re awesome. I don’t know how I would’ve survived this year without you.” Bradley’s words are starting to slide into each other. “So! Tell me what happened with Megan tonight. I want details.”
My face is flushed. My heart is pounding. My whole body is electric right now. What just happened feels somehow more intense than what happened with Megan earlier—and that was intense.
Maybe it’s the beer.
When Jacob finally comes back we all crash: Jacob on the couch in the family room, me on the bed next to Bradley. I wake up to a Spanis
h omelet and a steaming mug of coffee from a smiling Mrs. Westman. My car keys are next to my plate.
This is the way the rest of the summer goes: dates with Megan, late nights with Jacob and Bradley. I get a job at the mall selling suits and ties. At some point, we have one last party, and the next morning as I’m helping Bradley load up his car, I promise his parents I’ll still stop by to visit while he’s away. After everything is loaded up, Bradley pulls me in for a hug, kisses his mom good-bye, and gives his dad a high five. Then he drives away toward Iowa City.
As I watch his car disappear around the corner, I wonder how I’ll survive my senior year without him. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop replaying that scene from the hot tub in my head, or if the awful empty ache in my stomach will ever go away.
It hasn’t happened yet.
CHAPTER 22
Years ago, Mom stitched two small embroidered needlework samplers. Both are framed, and hang in the corner of our living room. One reads: THERE ARE TWO GIFTS WE GIVE OUR CHILDREN: ONE IS ROOTS, THE OTHER IS WINGS. The second reads: PLAN AHEAD. IT WASN’T RAINING WHEN NOAH BUILT THE ARK.
As the window of my brown Toyota Tercel breaks against the asphalt, the glass slices through the sleeve of my white shirt and cuts my elbow. The car tumbles end over end in slow motion, and the windshield crinkles like an accordion. Strangely, I’m not afraid. All I can think about are Mom’s needlework samplers.
Plan ahead. It wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark. But it was raining when Josh and I left the school after our final Saturday rehearsal, and I should have planned to take that curve more slowly.
There are two gifts we give our children: One is roots. Tthe other is wings. This car has wings right now. I hope we find our roots again, soon.
The car has made a complete revolution, and we land right-side-up, facing the opposite direction. For a moment, there is complete stillness. I feel dazed, but nothing seems to be broken.
“Aaron, I told you to slow down.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I ask. Josh isn’t bleeding anywhere I can see.
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