Bryant laughed. “I’ve got stamina, part-timer. How many hours do you work?”
Robert chuckled. “Why don’t we just whip our dicks out and see whose is bigger?”
“You started it.” Bryant responded with good humor.
Cara sized Robert up as she spoke. “You seem very colorful.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, unsure of whether or not it was really a compliment.
“What are you doing here?” Bryant innocently asked.
“I was playing a friendly game of football with Rick and some other guys from the team.”
“You practice all week, play Friday nights, and still want to play for fun?”
“Yeah.” Robert responded as if such a question were ludicrous.
Wanting to keep the conversation flowing, Bryant continued. “Do you work tonight?”
He nodded. “I’m going in at three. How about you?”
“No, I’m planning to ask Cara to go with me to a distinctly Southern youth revival tonight.” He gave her a pleading look that begged her to not refuse him.
Cara felt left out of the conversation, not really knowing Robert. She glanced at the stranger and saw him looking back at her expectantly. “Oh my God, this is peer pressure!” Her eyes widened. She had never understood adolescents being pushed into drug use or sex or even smoking, but suddenly she felt the strain that wanting to please someone could put on a person. Thank goodness it was just a trip to a church.
Recovering, she swung her eyes back to Bryant. “I’ll think about it.”
Robert stepped away a few feet. “Well, I need to head out. You kids have fun.” He walked away swinging his arms and humming something indecipherable.
As Cara watched him go, she asked, “Is he your friend?”
Bryant shrugged. “I’ve never hung out with him outside of school or work, but he’s probably the closest thing I’ve got to a friend.”
Cara playfully slapped his arm. “What about me?” She delivered the line jokingly but hid a serious inquiry within. Her pride would be wounded if he did not even consider her a friend yet.
“I thought you were my girlfriend. That’s, like, a completely separate tier. Calling you just a friend would downgrade you.” His eyes did not contain any humor. To him, she had made a serious allegation. When he watched her face for a moment, he broke out into the low-pitched giggles of a guy. “You know you’re special.” He watched her eyes light up. “Come on, let’s see the rest of this place.”
***
David Creed arrived home from work with his lightly colored blazer slung over his shoulder and his briefcase swinging in one hand. As he neared the entrance to his home, his wife swung the door open. His stride slowed, surprised by her. She had been lying in wait like a predator. That only meant one of two things: either she was horny (he doubted that, she hadn’t initiated sex with him in at least a year) or she was pissed at him.
Her face lacked her typical flush of anger but she did not look like she wanted him stripped and horizontal either. Her mouth and eyes coupled to display worry. Dave did not know how to proceed. If she had wanted a fight, he could have geared up for that. If she had wanted to make love, he could have worked up enough passion, but now he had to fly blind.
Jean blocked the door and kept eye contact. She asked him a question that he felt could have been rhetorical. “How much do you know about our daughter?”
So, it was about her. “Like what? What am I supposed to know?” His voice held mild irritation. If it had to do with Cara, it would probably put him in a bad mood. “And today had been going so well” he thought.
“The first weekend in town, she went to a stranger’s house after church.” She watched her husband closely.
“I don’t know if that’s cause for alarm.” He did not like what she hinted at. Was he a bad father? She only noticed Cara’s behavior because she had quit banging her head against the glass ceiling in that wreck of a corporation back home.
“She had me drop her off alone at the park today.”
“Christ, Jean, this isn’t New York. The park isn’t full of junkies and muggers. This is a nice quiet southern town.” He felt anger then. He had finally found some degree of happiness and she had to project her stupid fears all over it.
“What about rape?” She crossed her arms.
“This isn’t a scene out of Deliverance.” He motioned her aside. “Let’s continue this indoors before the neighbors start gathering around.”
Jean backed up, allowing him to enter. He pulled the door shut behind him. Before he could set down his briefcase, she jumped him again.
“Fine, forget rape. What if it is consensual?”
“She’s too smart for that.” He really felt uncomfortable with where the conversation headed. Like most fathers, he could not bear the idea of his daughter having sexual desires.
“In the heat of the moment, people don’t think.” His wife continued.
“All she does is think!” He snapped back.
“You don’t know anything about women.” She shook her head. “Yes, she has book smarts, but no social skills.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” He whined.
“Ask her what’s been going on?”
“She’ll close up and tell me to mind my business.” He predicted.
“At least try.”
He took a long look in her eyes to gauge the situation. He felt a flicker of something. He almost laughed aloud when the thought hit him. “Damn, motherly concern makes her a little sexy.” He felt his mouth turn up at the corners as an uncontrollable smile broke out.
“Why are you so happy?” Her suspicious eyes seemed to ask.
He nodded, feeling his grin widen. “Okay, I’ll talk to her in the next day or two.” Then he shrugged. “It’s probably nothing except her trying to explore. You know how she gets into everything, that intellectual curiosity of hers.” Then he stepped around his wife, briefly letting his hand slide against her hip. He paused and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Did we just have a fight? Because I might be persuaded to make up.”
Jean peered into his eyes. “Are you serious?” She saw that he was. Looking at the clock hanging in the hall, she said “Cara will be home any time now.”
David’s smile lessened. “Come on. Doors have locks on them. Besides, what are the odds of her coming into our room when she gets home?” He turned and walked into the kitchen.
Jean leaned against the wall. It had been so long since they had been together like that, she felt baffled by his approach. She considered going in there and pinning him against the refrigerator, instigating something with a little bit of foreplay. She pushed herself away from the wall thinking that the mood had probably passed anyway. She glanced at him sipping bottled water in the doorway and walked into the living room. Jean resolved to watch for the next opportunity. She wanted him inside her, not because he was an outstanding lover (she had experienced much better), but because she still loved him. “Despite mostly being an asshole” she muttered.
***
Cara walked up to the church holding Bryant’s hand. Both of them were invited to a youth rally at a small country church. It was located on a dirt road between Fayette and Berry. The church looked as if it could comfortably hold fifteen people but the parking lot (an unpaved open spot made of hard, packed Alabama clay) was filled with that many vehicles, mostly trucks. Additional guests found parking underneath trees that did not grow too closely together.
Cara hesitated outside. “What should I expect in there?”
Bryant laughed. “It’s not really dangerous. I don’t believe that they handle snakes or anything. They’ll sing. Somebody will preach. They’ll ask for people who want to get saved. They might even have a ten minute play put on by middle school kids.”
Cara looked at him quizzically. “Why are we here again?”
“You have to put in an appearance just to prove that you’re not a Satanist.” He squeezed her with one arm and whispered i
n her ear. “You’re in good hands. I know these people. They may be religious nuts, but they mean well.”
Cara looked worried. “Does it matter if they think I’m a Satanist?”
“Not to me.” He reached up and slide his fingers in-between hers.
Inside the doorway, a chubby preacher shook hands and muttered asinine pleasantries. “Glad you could make it. Come inside. It’s been a while.”
Bryant shook his hand and pulled Cara through before Brother Mark Willis could stop and interrogate her on her denomination. Together, they sat in the back row and pressed close as more people filled the pews.
After ten minutes of small talk and idle chat, the preacher stood at the front of the church. “Greetings y’all. I am Brother Mark Willis and this is a youth rally for children who need to hear the message. Now, y’all know what I say every Sunday.” He pronounced the last word Sundy. “So I thought I’d bring in a special guest who can give a slightly different sermon. Traveling all the way from Nashville, Tennessee, without further ado, Wayland Fischer.”
Fervent claps from the crowd filled the crowded hall as a man stepped up and spread his arms out in a Jesus Christ pose, which happened to show off his white suit. “Good day, my brothers and sisters.” His voice already had an impassioned warble as he shouted every sentence. “How we doin’ out thar?” The crowd cheered him and he seemed to revel in it. “Would you all join me in a praise song?” Another explosive outburst rocked the tiny structure. “Turn in your hymn books to number 258, Jesus Is The Way.”
Everyone stood and began singing. Cara did not mind the change from a Catholic service, with the exception of the television evangelist persona up front. Then things turned for the worse.
“Tonight, we have a good crowd and I feel God commanding me to talk about something that I didn’t prepare for.” He held up a sheet of paper and waved it for all to see. “This was my sermon. Now, I feel led by God to discuss a growing threat, one that will lead many of our brethren astray if I (acting as God’s instrument) do not publicly condemn it. So this sermon . . .” He theatrically ripped down the center. “ . . .Will go unspoken for now.” He made eye contact with people in the crowd and, after a moment’s pause, shouted out. “Catholicism, a disturbed cult, is attacking our way of life. Now, I know that we have had a Catholic church in our town . . .” (in truth, he was originally from Georgia) “for nearly twenty years but that just shows how far we have fallen in our vigilance. We have allowed these misled fiends to get a foothold in our community. By not converting them or driving them out, we have placed a seal of approval on their deviant beliefs and practices!” He pounded his fist on the arm of a pew in the front row. “It is our duty as soldiers of Christ to root out such blasphemies! What is so wrong with them? Some of you are asking out of ignorance. It is nothing to be ashamed of. No one really wants to delve into such obviously ludicrous beliefs, but I will enlighten you. First, Catholics pray to the Virgin Mary! They do so because they erroneously believe that the mother of Jesus is more powerful than Jesus himself. If that is so, then why didn’t Mary die on the cross for us?”
Cara stood, shoving her way between seated parishioners and spectators. Bryant followed quickly behind her. She knocked the door open with a powerful, rage-inspired thrust of her arm. In the parking lot, she cursed and kicked at the trees winding her way back to Bryant’s truck. A voice called behind her “Wait. Slow down.” Her boyfriend bounded up beside her. “Stop and talk to me.”
She fixed her hateful gaze on him. “Do you know what he said about my church?”
Bryant’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that you were Catholic.”
“I didn’t think it would be an issue. I came from a place where most people are Catholic. It is the largest Christian denomination. Only in some ass-backward, incestuous stink hole would the majority be a cult.” Her eyes narrowed on him like a hawk focusing on a target. “What do you think about Catholicism?”
Sensing that he was treading on thin ice, he shrugged. “I don’t know anything about it, but if you explain, I’ll keep an open mind.”
“First off, we do not worship Mary. That bastard in there is manipulating people with stupid stories and lies!” She stalked off full of energy only granted with impotent rage. “Mother fucking idiot!” She shouted at the doors directing her hate back at the figurehead. “What a shepherd, leading his flock through trickery and. . .” She paused and let out an inarticulate howl of pure anger. “Take me home.”
Bryant obeyed, leading her back to his vehicle. He opened her door, let her slip into the seat, and closed it behind her. He trotted around to his door and sat down. For the first mile they drove in complete silence. The boy did not even bother to turn on the radio. Even though the quiet only lasted slightly over a minute, time stretched off into infinity. Several times Bryant thought of speaking but always decided against it. He thought to himself that Cara was just going to have to learn not to take her anger out on him. After all, he had offered to hear about her denomination and stave off his own ignorance, and she had flatly refused to continue the conversation.
Cara spoke in a resigned, apologetic voice. “I’m sorry. The real villain is that asshole who calls himself a man of God. I was just angry with you for bringing me. You couldn’t have known what he was going to talk about, could you?” Bryant’s only response was to keep his eyes on her face between glances to make sure he was still in his lane. “So, am I forgiven?”
Bryant’s joke seemed ill timed but he performed the sign of the cross on her and said, “You’re forgiven. Go in peace.”
Cara started giggling and feeling better. “Where did you hear that?”
“TV” he quickly replied.
She slid across the upholstery until her body was pressing against his. He placed his right arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze. Her hand crossed her body and played with the buttons on the front of his shirt. He, of course, did not discourage her. In that mood of playfulness, he continued driving her home. Bryant thought, “Apologized. She apologized to me. Maybe I was a little too hard on her, playing that freeze out game earlier. I won’t talk until you talk. How mature!” He turned toward her and delivered a kiss on the forehead.
***
Brother Mark Willis left that night cursing his “special guest”. Wayland Fischer was a hate monger who took seventy-five percent of the offering as his fee. Not only that, he instigated fighting between Christian groups, playing one off of the other. Before the show, he had used the word “nigger” in front of Mark and showed off a Rolex watch. This man possessed such charisma that other churches had begged him to stay in town and preach at their youth rallies. The slippery little snake agreed and Mark felt that the serious efforts to promote the words of Jesus were being set back in the dying town.
Wayland Fischer invited Mark back to his hotel room to discuss a possible regular stop on his annual tour. Mark watched him flash a pearly white smile and suggest every April. Mark felt nauseated just being in the man’s presence. Unfortunately, some bigots in the town would embrace his dogma of white, Anglo-Saxon superiority. If Mark did not agree to it, someone else would bring him back to this town. Wayland finally asked point blank “Am I invited back?”
Mark felt peer pressure from an earlier time in his life, an urge to accommodate the man with the nice car and a several hundred-dollar watch. Despite his urge to appease Wayland, he also knew that supporting this man would mean not respecting himself when he stared at his ceiling at 3 A.M. His mouth moved slowly, dragging his response out. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
The reaction was immediate. “You have got to be kiddin’ me. I make your church money. I raise the spirits of the congregation. I am a valuable commodity for your crap-town operation!”
“I know my church is small, but I would rather keep it that way than sacrifice the message of Christianity.” Mark calmly stated.
“So you’re one of those preachers.” He pointed toward the door. �
��I think we’re done talking.” Mark obediently rose and walked out. A blast of sweltering heat hit him as he stepped into the asphalt parking lot. Even though it was night, the humidity and heat stayed strong. He began perspiring as he embarked on his several mile walk home. He felt a slight hurt, but also a slight relief that only comes from making the right decision.
***
Bryant was pretty sure that he was asleep. The world he suddenly found himself in was not exactly a dream, more like a memory. The place was real enough. He found himself standing on the beach with murky brown water lapping at his ankles. Behind him, he heard a familiar voice laughing and calling out. “Bryant’s afraid of the water!” He turned and saw a skinny boy of eleven wearing only a pair of swimming trunks. His stick-like arms pointed as he teased. His pale bird-like chest heaved with each peal of laughter.
The sense of déjà vu held tight. Bryant found that he knew what he was supposed to say next. “If I’m so afraid, how come I’m a lot closer than you are?”
Bryant’s father appeared behind Ralph. “Stop taunting each other or I’ll throw you both in.” It was a good natured threat that neither boy really feared. Nonetheless, they both quit.
Bryant looked down at his feet, discolored through the shallow silt-filled water. “My feet look yellow.” Then he saw a small frog swim by. With the excitement that only a small boy can muster, he shouted to everyone “Come quick! A frog just swam by me!” His shining face definitely brought the family over. Well, technically Ralph was not family but he was pretty darn close if Dad allowed him to come to the “Family Camp-out” at Lake Lurleen.
He could feel them peering over his shoulders down at the now empty patch of water that had so recently captured so much attention. “It swam away” was his lame explanation for why Mom, Dad, and his best friend were looking at nothing except the ugly feet of a little boy.
A strong hand patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Champ. The lake is full of cool stuff. We’ll have plenty of chances.” Then his father turned away and said “Let’s finish up those hamburgers. They smell like they want to be eaten.”
Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale Page 7