The wooden floor creaks underneath me, and a long glass counter runs along the wall to my right. A plethora of rings are on display, everything from gauges to tiny eyebrow loops in gold, silver, and black materials. Chris leans over the display cabinet, pointing something out to the terrifyingly large man with a long, red beard.
“That one right there,” he says. “That’s the one I want.”
“What are you doing?” I move beside him.
“I’m getting my ear pierced,” he replies, tucking his hair away to tap his left lobe. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do it, so I figured why not today?”
“Don’t you think your parents might have something to say about that?”
“Who cares?” He smiles at me. “I’m already going to Hell, so what’s a few piercings gonna hurt?”
I don’t like the way he says that with such certainty.
“All right, man,” Big Red says, retrieving the small, black spike from the glass cabinet. “You can follow me back to the piercing room.”
“I’ll be right back,” Chris says. “Unless, of course, you want to join me?”
“I’d rather not.” I shake my head vigorously. “I don’t do well with pain.”
“There won’t be a lot,” Big Red assures us.
I let out a nervous laugh. “That’s what they all say.”
“All right then.” Chris grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Wish me luck.”
My pulse quickens, like his touch jolts my heart.
“Hope you don’t die.”
Chris laughs again, releasing me and turning the corner with his new ginger-bearded friend.
A tightness winds around my stomach like a snake. Any tighter, and I’ll shit out an organ.
This is not good at all. Pastor Myers is going to hit the ceiling when he sees Chris’s ear. What is he thinking? I spend most days trying to blend in, so I honestly can’t see the appeal of sticking out like a sore thumb.
A giggle comes from behind me, and I turn to see two women standing by the entrance. One of them is focused on a terrifying septum rod, but the other is smiling at me. She looks older than I am. A ring dangles from her nose, and a row of studs run up both earlobes. Her hair is short, bangs spiked out in front of her forehead.
“You two are adorable,” she says.
It takes me a second to realize what she means.
“Oh!” My cheeks fill with heat. “T-thanks.”
“Don’t you want to be back there with him?” the woman asks. “You know, hold his hand?”
“I don’t do well with blood,” I lie.
“Be glad you’re dating a boy then, sweetheart.” She laughs.
I cringe. Gross.
A yelp comes from the back of the store, and we both jump.
“Well, shit.” The second woman steps over. She’s shorter than the first, with a similar haircut and tattoo sleeves covering both arms. “Is he getting a Prince Albert in there?”
“Excuse me?” I have no idea what that is.
“Shut the fuck up, Cindy.” Nose-ring lady slaps the shorter woman’s shoulder. “You’re going to scare him off.”
“Look it up, kid,” Cindy whispers, smiling.
Why do I get the feeling I’m going to need to delete my browser history after doing so?
The ladies move to the display case, discussing spacers. Whatever the hell those are.
I drift away from them and lower myself onto the leather seat in the corner by the window. As I do in all uncomfortable situations, I pull out my phone. A missed call icon flashes. I’ve missed a call from my dad. I’ll get back with him later. I just hope he doesn’t pull up his phone tracking app and see me in some sketchy neighborhood. He’ll think I’ve been murdered and thrown in a ditch.
Chris comes back in with Big Red before long, face paler than before but a smile tugging at his lips. The large man hands him a tube of something from behind the register.
“Be sure to clean it three times a day for the next two weeks.” He punches a few keys. “And that stud needs to stay in constantly for six to eight weeks.”
“You got it, boss.” Chris hands him a debit card and turns to me, giving a thumbs-up.
“There you are.” Big Red passes him a receipt. “Take care, guys.”
I rise from my chair, giving a small wave to Cindy and the taller lady I don’t know the name of. Chris is beside me, his left hand raised to his ear as he fiddles with the new piercing.
We exit the parlor, the sweltering heat still holding on by a death grip. As we start back toward the car, the promise of air conditioning calls to me like a siren song.
“Hey, Chris,” I ask as we round the corner of McLendon and Moreland, “do you know what a Prince Albert is?”
“Huh?” He lowers his phone, pausing a selfie-taking montage featuring his new piercing. “What are you talking about?”
“Those two women asked me if you were getting a Prince Albert,” I explain, “but I have no clue what that is.”
“Well,” Chris says as he raises his phone once more, “we have the magic of Google at our fingertips.”
We’re both silent as he types his question in.
That strange tightness in my gut from when he touched me has faded, but I don’t like that I’m clueless as to what caused it.
“Holy fuck!” Chris exclaims, shoving the phone away from him. “Holy fucking fuck!”
“What?” I grab the phone from him. My face burns with a new heat as I realize what I’m looking at. Google Images shows picture after picture of dicks, each of them pierced through the head with various metal rings and rods. My stomach sinks to the ground, a strange aching radiating from between my legs. I hand the phone back, feeling queasy.
“Why would you ever do that?”
“No idea.” Chris stows the phone back in his pocket. “But no way that would ever happen. Like ever.”
“I have so many questions.” I laugh. “What happens if it gets caught on something?”
“How do you pee?” Chris poses his own question.
“Can you pass through a metal detector?”
“Do people think it’s attractive?”
“Are there clip-on versions?”
I’m almost in tears from laughing when we reach Chris’s car. The interior is a sauna as we climb in. But, soon, the air is blasting, and the windows are down. The last rays of sunlight sink below the horizon as we merge onto the interstate, headed north.
Today definitely did not go as planned. But I can’t stop smiling as we drive. It’s nice to have someone in on my secret. Someone who’s just as vested as I am in keeping it that way. I haven’t felt this relaxed in…forever.
“Hey, Chris?”
“What’s up?” He turns down the music.
“I’m glad we did this,” I say, rolling up my window so he can hear me.
He glances over, a smile playing across his lips. “Yeah, me too.”
He cranks the music back up, and I turn to stare out the window. The lights of the city glow bright against a dark sky.
We pull into my driveway a little past nine.
“Thanks for the tea party,” I tell Chris. “I had a lot of fun. Despite the more traumatic discovery of our dear Prince Albert. You should be expecting a bill from my therapist.”
Chris snorts, his eyes black in the darkness. “It was a blast.” He angles himself toward me. “I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow?”
“Definitely.” I open my door. “Jackie and I usually hang out by the dumpster before first period if you want to join us.”
“Sounds disgusting.” He grins. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay.” Silence blooms between us. My head tips forward, ever so slightly, but I catch myself.
What are you doing, Mike?
“Goodnight, Mike.”
“Goodnight,” I repeat, grabbing my bag from the floorboard as I climb out of the car. He backs out slowly this time, still coming dangerously close to our mailbox. The
headlights blind me momentarily before he disappears down the road.
With the turn of a key, I open the door and step into the foyer. It’s quiet, and I wonder if everyone has already turned in for the night. Dad is bound to still be answering emails.
“Mike?”
I jump as my mother’s voice calls from the dining room. I follow it, finding her and Dad sitting at the table, both looking very stern.
Uh oh.
“Hey.” I greet them with a smile. “Sorry I missed your call, Dad. I totally spaced and forgot to call you back.”
“Where’ve you been, Michael? I tried to call you.”
Shit. I’d forgotten all about it. “Y-yeah,” I stammer. “I’m sorry. I missed it. Didn’t Rosy tell you I was helping a friend with their project for English?”
“Who?” Mom interjects.
My eyes drift to her. “What?”
“Who were you helping?” she inquires.
I’m fucking toast. They’ll figure everything out. I might as well tell them part of the truth.
“Chris Myers.” I release his name with a sigh, still staring down at my shoes.
“Oh.” Relief fills my mother’s expression. “Pastor Myers’s son?”
I nod in response.
“Thought you two finished that project a couple days ago?” Dad scratches his goatee. “Why didn’t you just say so? See, Nancy.” His gaze turns to Mom. “I told you there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Next time, answer your phone when we call you.” Mom’s voice still has an edge, but I can tell the situation has already been diffused. “And try to be home by nine, sweetheart. It’s a school night.”
“Got it,” I say, fighting the grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Sorry to worry you guys.”
“We’re used to it.” Dad smiles. “One day, you’ll have to adult and worry about everything too. Now, head up to bed.”
Are they for real? All I have to do was mention Chris’s name and they believe whatever I tell them?
“S-sure.” I move to the table, hugging Mom over her shoulder. “Night.”
“Sleep tight.” Mom wraps her arm around my waist.
“Dulces sueños.” Dad gives me a lame fist bump across the table.
Counting my blessings, I detangle myself from my mother and head up the stairs. Once I’m safe inside the four walls of my bedroom, I start to decompress. This week has been a rollercoaster of emotional exhaustion.
I retrace the day’s events as I get ready to sleep.
Driving the freeway with the windows down...
I hang up my uniform jacket.
Walking through Little Fives…
I fold tomorrow clothes and set them on top of my dresser.
The tightness in my stomach when Chris grabbed my hand…
I’m too wound up to even think of sleep, so I fish through my bag, retrieving my sketchpad and a pencil.
I scroll through a playlist on my phone, selecting one before I stick it on the sound dock sitting on the bedside table. The soft and sweet tones begin to play as I drag my hand against the page to create the first outlines.
I’ve never been able to adequately describe the feeling I get when draw. I suppose the closest thing I can equate it to is the love a parent has for their child. At least, that’s how I imagine it. No matter how they end up, my creations are my children. I love them all equally, no matter what. They make me feel like I’m doing what I was put in this world to do.
And, sometimes, they frustrate the hell out of me. But I always come back, picking them up and cradling them once more as I help them become the best they can be.
I don’t feel the passage of time while I work.
The woman on the page looks back at me. She holds a tray in her hand, filled with a tea pot and a three-tiered arrangement of pastries. Paper cranes hang around her in a swarm.
I let out a yawn, grabbing my phone off the dock. Oh God, it’s three in the morning. I flip my book closed, inserting the pencil into the spiral binding as I shove it back into my bag. I set my alarm app then notice the icon above my text messages.
How did I miss that? I check the time stamp. It came in an hour ago. Who is texting me at two AM?
Sometimes I just want everything to stop. 2:03am
I read Chris’s text a second time before typing back a response.
Are you okay? 3:05am
I press send, my eyes heavy.
Staring at my phone, I wait for his reply.
I don’t know when I fell asleep, but my dreams are filled with paper cranes and scones smeared with orange jelly.
“Jesus.” Smoke trails from Jackie lips. “You look like shit.”
“Thank you.” I yawn loudly, rubbing my eyes. “That’s what I was going for.”
The air is thick this morning, humidity making my hair stick to my forehead. It will probably rain at some point, but that’s not my concern at the moment. Chris never responded to my text, and I’m starting to get worried. I keep looking over my shoulder, thinking he’ll show up with that stupid grin on his face.
“Who are you waiting for?” Jackie asks, snuffing her cigarette on the brick wall beside the dumpster. “Tanner is tied up with his stupid coding project.”
“No one,” I say quickly. “Just stretching my neck.”
“Uh huh.” Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t press the subject.
I check my phone for the ten thousandth time this morning. Nothing.
“I told Mom about the party next Saturday.” Jackie tosses her lighter, which looks like a tube of lipstick to the unsuspecting eye, into the outside pocket of her backpack and slings the strap over her shoulder.
Where could Chris be? He said he was going to be here.
“Mike!”
Jackie snaps her fingers in front of my face, making me jump.
“Seriously, what is going on with you today?”
“S-sorry.” I shake my head. “I’m still half-asleep.” I let out another yawn to emphasize the point.
“Well, come on, Sleeping Beauty.” She punches me on the shoulder. “We’re going to be late to class.”
Rain starts to fall as we duck under the awning, a rumble of thunder sounding in the distance.
The weather matches my mood today.
“You better hurry if you don’t want to be locked out,” Jackie tells me before sprinting in the opposite direction.
I move as quickly as my sleep-deprived body will allow me, making it to Dr. Redford’s room with just a few minutes to spare. The chair beside mine is empty. Still no Chris. I sink into my seat, burying my face in the fold my arms. I have to focus on not falling asleep right here and now.
“At least you are consistent, Mr. Myers.” Dr. Redford’s voice rumbles.
My head shoots up so fast I’m sure I’ve given myself whiplash. Chris shuffles to his seat beside me, and I wince. He has a long cut across his lower lip, a swollen cheek, and a blue and black patch just below his left eye.
“What happened to you?” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond, only looks straight ahead.
“Chris?”
“Mr. Hernandez,” Dr. Redford says as he looks right at me, “Jesus said he who has ears, let him hear. Not he who has a mouth, let him speak.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Good. Now then, let’s discuss the sociological factors that played a role in Jesus’s parables during the Gospel of Luke.”
I hear a sniffle beside me and turn to see Chris wipe his face.
Chris abruptly stands as Dr. Redford dismisses the class, bolting for the door before I can even stow my textbook. I rush after him, but he’s already gone when I hit the hallway.
What’s his deal?
I can’t focus in the next two periods. My brain is completely fixated on solving the mystery surrounding Chris’s busted face. By the time lunch rolls around, my head is throbbing.
A quick scan of the cafeteria shows he’s nowhere to be found.
Jackie waves me over to a table. Tanner sits beside her, typing away on his laptop.
“Hey, Mike.” Tanner doesn’t look up. He shovels a handful of tater tots into his mouth and continues working, greasy fingers smearing a layer of shine across the keyboard.
“You look a little better,” Jackie tells me, picking at her own plate. She hasn’t been eating much since her grandmother told her she was starting to look chunky. “Did you get a nap in during English class?”
“Of course not.” I scoff. “Your mom would have crucified me.”
“Nah.” Jackie laughs. “She just would have drawn on your face with a Sharpie. That’s what she did to Jamie Tutts last year. Almost got fired for that one.”
“I love your mom.” I smile before biting into my apple. Worry has my stomach tied in knots, so I chew slowly.
“Oh, hey.” Tanner looks up from his screen. “Did you guys hear about Jenny O. yet?”
“The singer?” asks Jackie. “I didn’t think you listened to anything but dubstep trash.”
“Hardy-ha-ha.” He wipes the side of his ketchupy chin. “Jenny O’Conner from church.”
I look at Jackie, and we both shake our heads.
“Totally preggers.” He grins, popping another tot into his mouth.
“No way!” Jackie leans closer, keeping her voice low. “I thought she was on the pill?”
“She was,” Tanner continues, “and he used a condom. They’re calling it the immaculate contraceptive-conception.”
“Jesus Christ.” Jackie leans back in her chair. “That makes me never want to have sex. Well, maybe just anal. Right, Mike?”
I suck in a piece of apple peel, coughing until my eyes water.
“How do you know about her?” Jackie ignores my convulsions. “She doesn’t even go to school here.”
“I have my sources.” He grins again. “I see all. I know all. There’s no secret that I won’t find out!”
Except one. Right, Big Guy? I mean, obviously nobody knows, or else I would have been run out of town on a rail. That one’s just between You and me. And Chris.
“Have you heard anything about Chris Myers?”
Jackie’s head turns to me.
I quickly add, “I saw him this morning in New Testament, and it looks like he got in some kind of fight.”
There Goes Sunday School Page 12