Jesus Boy

by Preston L. Allen

  Elwyn sat down beside her. “Maybe you should get some sleep. You’re kind of drunk.” He smoothed the hair off her forehead and tried to get her to lie down. He was careful where he placed his hands. He was a gentleman about it.

  Tears were rolling from her eyes. He handed her tissue from her nightstand. She blew her nose and then dabbed at her eyes. “He never showed up.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe he’s not worth it.”

  “Maybe not. They never are,” she slurred. She looked at her closed door. She looked at him. She looked at him with eyes that were drunk but inquiring. “What are you doing in my room, Preacher?”

  He stammered embarrassedly, “You kind of fell asleep out there. You were kind of exposed. I brought you in so you could go to sleep.”

  “That was nice of you. How respectful you are.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Jim.”

  “No, I’m Elwyn.”

  “I know who you are, Preacher,” she giggled. “I’m not that drunk. I know the difference between black and white. You’re not the first black guy who’s made a pass at me.”

  Elwyn raised his hands in alarm. “I would never do that. I swear.”

  “I’m just kidding. Can’t you take a joke?” she laughed.

  “It’s not a very good joke.”

  “I think it is.”

  “I think you should go to sleep now. Goodnight.” He got up to leave.

  She waved her fingers. “Night night.”

  “Night night.”

  The drunk girl said, “But I can’t sleep in these clothes.”

  Before he could stop her, she had flung off her blouse, kicked off her shoes, and unzipped her skirt.

  He had seen enough.

  He dashed to the door, but when she called to him, he turned.

  His ears burned as she made another one of her not-so-funny jokes. It was kind of a request, or an invitation.

  Elwyn answered, “No.”

  She said, “Why not? Because you’re a preacher or because you’re scared?”

  But the glass was half-empty and half-full and the word of God is the word of God and her exposed bosom, though not as full as Sister Morrisohn’s, was attractive in its own way, and God is a good God, God is a forgiving God, God knows that we are only human and he had never kissed any woman but Sister Morrisohn, and his breathing was shallow, every nerve in his body on fire for this Jezebel.

  But he said, “You need to sleep. You’re drunk.”

  “Que será, será,” K-Sarah said, which was all she had learned, she claimed, in four years of high school Spanish.

  He stood by the door, shamefaced.

  She flashed her startling green eyes. “I’m drunk. But tomorrow night I’ll be sober, Preacher.”

  She lay on the bed, her pert breasts pointing straight up to the starspangled ceiling. He watched by the door until she was snoring. Then he drew a sheet over her body and left her room.

  He prayed for forgiveness.

  He did not pray for strength to resist temptation.

  “Did you touch her?”

  “No.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “You know me.”

  “Do you like this girl?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you put yourself in that situation?”

  “She was being taken advantage of by the worst kind of perverts. It was the Christian thing to do.”

  “And you didn’t touch her.”

  “I told her to go to sleep … She’s in there sleeping now, safe from those two fools.”

  “They know a harlot when they see one. Beware the daughters of Babylon.”

  “You are a daughter of Babylon.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm.”

  “You’re being silly.”

  “Don’t try to play me for a fool. I’m not stupid. One day somebody’s going to scoop you up. Somebody’s going to marry you.”

  “Marriage isn’t so bad. My mother and father are married.” He laughed at his joke alone.

  “Someday, I would like to marry again.”

  “Maybe someday you will.”

  “In the last year alone, I have turned down four proposals of marriage: Brother Whylie, Brother Meechum, Brother Gordon, and Brother Suggs.”

  “They’re all anxious to get their hands on the Morrisohn treasure, no doubt.”

  “Brother Suggs has tried to place his hands on more than the treasure.”

  “Brother Suggs is toothless and can barely walk.”

  “But he knows what he wants. So do I. I want very much to marry you. There. I’ve said it.”

  Let her yap on. No way was he going to marry some old woman, no matter how much he loved her. But he knew that she knew he wouldn’t say anything to hurt her either, which meant he wouldn’t say anything at all.

  “Am I so terribly old? Is being married to me such a horrible idea that you’d give up your religion to avoid it? Fornication is a sin. Marriage, even to an old thing like me, is not.”

  The trick was to let her say what she had to say. Let her get it out of her system.

  “I was a good wife. Buford was older, but I never strayed. You don’t know how much I loved him.”

  “He was a great man. I loved him too.”

  “But I know—and this is no trick to win points with you, Elwyn—but I know that if he were alive again and I was yet his wife, I would deceive even him to be with you. My love for you is that strong.”

  Offer no response. Let her get it out of her system. Let her talk it out.

  “I am on my way to hell because I can’t give you up, and you won’t even consider the remotest possibility of marrying an old thing like me. You are the one for me. I want no other. I love you. God bless the day I f—-ed you. I’m such an old thing.”

  “I don’t see you as an old thing. But maybe I’m a young thing.”

  “Maybe you are. You’re certainly ungrateful.”

  Like a lamp, she switched on, she switched off. He muttered to himself, “See? I should have just kept my big mouth shut.”

  “But you started this whole affair. It was you who wanted me. I was hot stuff. I remember the look on your face when you saw my p—-y for the first time. When you first saw my breasts … when I pulled off my panties—all of it.”

  “Stop with that.”

  “The look on your face. You went crazy. You were like some kind of animal in a feeding frenzy. And my a**. You just loved my a**.”

  “Come on, now. Stop with that.”

  “Miss Star Trek is hot stuff now. Why don’t you just go have your way with her? Go eat her p—-y like I taught you.”

  “You are out of control.”

  “You used to hate eating p—-y but I broke you in. It was me who did it. Now you love it.”

  “Elaine.”

  “Eat her! Go eat her! I give you permission!”

  “I don’t want that girl. I’m crazy to have even told you. I’ll never tell you anything ever again.”

  “Aha! Now you’re going to keep things from me. I’m down here, and you’re up there. You think I’m stupid.”

  “What is wrong with you? I told you I’m not interested in her.”

  “You’ve done nothing but talk about her all night.”

  “It’s you talking about her, not me.”

  Then she wept for two minutes. He held the phone listening. When she stopped, he said, “Are you okay, my love?”

  “You better pray I don’t run off with Brother Suggs, honey. A man with big feet like that has to have a huge d—-k, right?”

  “Wake up, Elaine. Earth to Elaine. Over.”

  “Honey. I like calling you honey. Honey, honey, milk and honey,” she sang.

  They hung up.

  Elwyn went to bed thinking, So that explains it—she’s drinking again.

  That night, he was awakened by someone pounding on his door.

  It was Gilly Gorilla.


  “Preacher, get up! Something’s happened to Quiet Fat Girl.”

  The most peculiar nickname in all of Rawlings Hall was Quiet Fat Girl.

  The girl was, indeed, quiet and fat, but she probably had no idea that almost everyone in Rawlings referred to her as Quiet Fat Girl because, as far as they knew, no one in the dorm had ever actually spoken to her. No one even knew her real name, except perhaps for the women’s resident assistant.

  Her parents, they all assumed, were wealthy, because like Squeak on the men’s side, Quiet Fat Girl lived without a roommate in one of the luxury suites. They only saw her for the few seconds it took her to get from her private suite to the main door, and from the main door back to her suite. If someone nodded to her, she nodded back. She never spoke a hello. And she was out of that door in a flash.

  Elwyn opened his door.

  Gilly Gorilla was gesturing wildly. Her housecoat hung unbuttoned, revealing the unnecessary brassiere over her mannish chest and the baggy white boxers. “Quiet Fat Girl’s bleeding up my room. She might be dying.”

  “What happened?” asked his roommate Gypsy, appearing behind him.

  “She knocked on my door bleeding and I took her inside.” Gilly Gorilla pulled Elwyn by the arm. “Come on, Preacher. Hurry.”

  “Who? What?” said Gypsy, following them.

  They raced down the hall to Gilly Gorilla’s room, which was next door to Quiet Fat Girl’s suite. A noisy crowd had gathered outside Gilly’s door. A-T-O Joe’s and Squeak’s cameras clicked and flashed as they recorded the moment.

  “Move out of the way!” Gilly Gorilla pushed through the crowd. “And give me that thing.” She snatched A-T-O Joe’s camera and hurled it like a discus. It hit the wall and exploded into parts, the film uncoiling like a serpent. Then she grabbed Squeak’s, threw it to the ground, and stomped it to shards under her feet. “Take a picture of that!” she snarled.

  Quiet Fat Girl, in her blood-soaked nightgown, lay on her side on Gilly Gorilla’s Oriental throw rug, her arms hugging her waist.

  Brain Dead said, “We should like maybe call an ambulance.”

  Brain Dead had the right idea, but Gilly Gorilla grabbed one side of Quiet Fat Girl and Elwyn grabbed the other and a few minutes later she was lying on the backseat of his old Mazda.

  Gilly Gorilla sat in the back with her. Gypsy sat up front with him.

  “It hurts,” the girl said.

  “We’re almost there,” soothed Gilly Gorilla. “Can’t you go any faster, Preacher?”

  “I’m going as fast as I can.” They were on Archer Road. Shands Memorial Hospital was just over the next hill.

  There came a sound from the back.

  “Oh crap, she puked. It’s a mess back here, Preacher.”

  “F—-ing gross,” gasped Gypsy. He pinched his nose and stuck his head out the window.

  “I’m sorry,” Quiet Fat Girl said. “I can’t hold it back. Gaggh.”

  “It’s a mess back here.”

  “Look what I did to your car. Gaggh.”

  Elwyn said, “Don’t worry about the car. As long as you’re all right.”

  “Gaggh. I did it again. Your poor car.”

  Elwyn glanced up in his rearview mirror. Quiet Fat Girl’s head was on Gilly Gorilla’s shoulder. They were both covered in vomit. “Stop worrying about the car. It’s a car. What is your name?”

  “Nicole … Watson.”

  “I’m going to say a prayer for you, Nicole.” They roared over the top of the hill. The hospital was two blocks away. “No matter what happens, God still cares about you.”

  “Pray for me, Preacher. Pray.”

  Elwyn prayed for Nicole Watson, the quiet fat girl, who, doctors would later tell them, had actually been the quiet pregnant girl before she had thrown the infant down the garbage chute in the women’s bathroom of Rawlings Hall. A vagrant would find the fetal corpse in a garbage dumpster two days later.

  In a week, Nicole’s belongings would vanish from her suite, and all that they would ever know about her they’d get from the local newspapers, which made Nicole’s case front-page news for nearly a month. She was never charged with murder, for the baby had been stillborn.

  Her father, however, was arrested for the part he played in originating the drama.

  “Her own father!” said Gypsy, flinging down the newspaper. “And wouldn’t you know he was one of my people. Greater f—-ing Church of God.”

  Elwyn picked up the newspaper and put it in the wastepaper basket. “Don’t make a hasty generalization. Not all preachers are like that.”

  “Find me a good one. They’re all lechers.”

  “Not where I come from.”

  He was suddenly proud of his background. No one at the Church of Our Blessed Redeemer Who Walked Upon the Waters had ever molested a child. The Faithful protected their children.

  “To the Faithful, children are sacred, for they are the future of our church. They are the hope of the world.”

  “You are amazing. How can you live with yourself?”

  Gypsy went to his cello, which was leaned up against his desk, picked up the bow, and began to play “Amazing Grace.”

  Elwyn didn’t suspect that Gypsy was being ironic. He found the music to be beautiful.

  It occurred to him quite unexpectedly that he had been only sixteen when Sister Morrisohn and he first made love.

  One could argue that she had molested him.

  But no. That was different. What they had was different.

  A single scented candle was burning, and the stars on the ceiling were treated to glow.

  She was naked on the bed, one leg dangling over the edge, the other one doubled under her. He went to her and she pulled him down by the shoulders, her breath tingling warm against his neck.

  “I’m not drunk tonight, see?”

  “It’s this kind of thing that sends a soul straight to hell.”

  “Preach it, brother. Preach it.”

  As they kissed, he felt his clothes becoming loosened on his body. Her hands knew their business. He was captivated by her agile, darting tongue.

  They broke the kiss and she lay back on the bed. He climbed over her and felt the tug as she yanked down his pants. His shirt was already gone.

  She said, “You’re way cool, you know that? All you need is a sense of humor.”

  “What are you looking for, K-Sarah?”

  “Whatever you happen to be right now.”

  She passed her hands over his chest. His hands gripped her slender bottom.

  “Ooh,” she said.

  “Ooh,” he said.

  She was the right age. She was pretty. Her eyes glowed green as her glow in the dark stars.

  Maybe he was scared. Maybe he was afraid of where this was going. It was going pretty fast, and he said, “What about the Alpha Pi guy?”

  “Forget him. He’s a loser. What about you, Preacher? What about you?”

  K-Sarah grabbed him. As skinny as she was, she was strong enough to roll him over and climb on top. His erection was rock hard, but he was nervous. He was, frankly, scared. He had never been with anyone else. He looked down at his erection and saw it buck against her flat little stomach. She grabbed it with both hands and massaged it against the damp blond coil of her pubic hair.

  He said to her, “If we get into something, you must promise not to see him anymore.”

  She rubbed his erection against her pubic hair. He took a deep breath. She rubbed the head of his erection against the moist lips of her sex. Ohmygod, he thought, I’m doing it. I’m really doing it.

  She looked at him suspiciously. “Get into something?”

  “A relationship,” he explained. “We have to have rules. It kills me to see you dress so immodestly. And you must not drink or smoke anymore. Your body is the Temple of the living God. You’ve got to have standards.”

  “Are you like some kind of weirdo serial killer, Preacher?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a jok
e. An example, at last, of your sense of humor.”

  “I want you to be my woman. You’ve got to have standards.”

  She released his erection and climbed off. When he came to her, she pointed to his clothes.

  “Que será, será, Preacher.”

  “I don’t think you understand—”

  “I understand that you’re very weird.”

  His mouth fell open. He just wanted to explain.

  She saw the look and said, “It’s all right. I still think you’re cool, just a little bit weird.”

  She pecked him a sweet one on the cheek. “When I need prayer, I’ll call you, okay? Prayer is important too.”

  Thus, she kicked him out of her room and out of her life.

  And then the word, as it always does, spread quickly.

  In the days that followed, everyone began to change toward him. They avoided him, or treated him with exaggerated deference when they couldn’t avoid, crossing themselves and bowing. Stuff like that.

  He was accused of Christianity, and there was no greater threat to the college student’s hedonistic lifestyle than the love of God.

  Even Gypsy thought him saved, his laughter winging up from the bottom bunk.

  “You didn’t boink K-Sarah? Everyone boinks K-Sarah. Even I boinked K-Sarah.”

  “I used to be a Christian,” Elwyn confessed, “but I’m a backslider now.”

  “I hate preachers.”

  “But preachers preach the word of God—”

  “My father thinks he is God!” Elwyn could hear the angry thunk, thunk from below, Gypsy punching his mattress. “He used to beat my thighs with a broom handle because I fell asleep in church. I was just a kid, but I was supposed to go to church seven, eight, nine times a week without falling asleep? Each time the church doors opened, there I was getting out of that f—-ing Buick. How do you fight against God?”

  Thunk, thunk, thunk.

  “Gypsy?”

  “My mother knew about his women. I’m sure everyone in the church knew about his f—-ing women. But when I found someone, what happened? More broom handle. Whack, whack, whack.”