There Goes Sunday School Read online

  A pair of doors at the end of the hallway lead outside. I push on the heavy metal, knowing Jackie will already be waiting for me, cigarette in hand.

  I’m hit with the smell of tobacco and sunshine.

  “Look who decided to show up,” a deep voice calls.

  “Shut up, Tanner,” I quip. “Not all of us have the luxury of driving a brand-new Mercedes, asswipe.”

  Tanner’s usual guffaw carries on a little too long. He wears his Sunday best—a torn pair of jeans and a polo shirt. His golden hair is cut short for the summer, and it makes his head look bigger than usual. He towers over me by at least six inches, and his glasses are a hipster’s dream.

  “I don’t drive a Mercedes,” he says, crossing his arms. “Anymore. I traded it in for a Honda. Better mileage.”

  “Can it, you privileged sasquatch.” Jackie exhales a stream of pungent smoke. “You’re going to get me busted.”

  Jackie is more paranoid about her mother finding out she smokes cigarettes than she is after we light a joint at Tanner’s house. It’s probably because her mom used to smoke. She always tries to keep her daughter from turning into her.

  “Those names you call me hurt my feelings,” Tanner chides.

  “You’re right.” Jackie stomps out the butt of her latest before lighting another one. “I should stop beating around the bush and call you faggot. It’s far more accurate.”

  “Wow.” I whistle, lowering into my usual spot on the cracked pavement. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” I lean my back against the wall, digging for my sketchpad and a pencil.

  “Yes.” Jackie inhales deeply. “But, trust me, it’s done a lot worse.”

  “How was camp?” Tanner asks, leaning his shoulder against the brick building.

  “The usual,” I offer, flipping through the smudged pages. I can’t work on the incomplete sketch in the back of the book I started last night. That one is of Blondie. More specifically, a sketch of Blondie featuring a certain appendage that isn’t exactly appropriate for this time or place. I leave that untouched, instead turning to the landscape piece on the sixth page—a river filled with smooth rocks.

  That’s safe. Jesus can look over my shoulder all he wants.

  “Uneventful,” Jackie chimes in. “Until the ride home, that is.”

  Tanner leans forward. “Do tell.”

  Despite his painfully straight sexual orientation, Tanner is the biggest gossip whore in the entire church. I’m convinced he’s actually just a petty, sixty-year-old woman trapped in an eighteen-year-old’s body. Secrets are like manna from Heaven to him. On second thought, maybe crack. Manna isn’t addictive.

  “Well,” Jackie starts, voice lowering to just above a whisper, “you know Brad from the praise band?”

  Tanner and I nod our heads in unison, but for completely different reasons. Brad is the lead guitar player in the student praise band. Tanner knows him because he’s in the same grade. And I know him because he’s a total wet dream wrapped in a pair of skin-tight jeans.

  God, that freaking beanie he always wears gets me hot and bothered.

  “We’ve been texting for a couple of weeks, but he sat next to me in the back row of the bus,” she continues, twirling a strand of dark hair with her free hand. “Well, you know how these things happen. One thing led to another, and long story short, I ended up jerking him off underneath his rain jacket.”

  “You’re kidding me,” I breathe, the story already making my heart race.

  Jesus, why am I so horny?

  I focus on my shading and cross my legs.

  Tanner booms laughter. “In the back of the church bus, Jackie? That’s a new low. Even for you.”

  “What?” She throws her hands in the air. “It’s not like I put it in my mouth or anything. I thought I kept it pretty classy. Plus, I have all these lotions from Bath and Body Works….”

  “What would your mother think of your actions?” Tanner questions.

  “She would commend me for performing a task that has zero chance of me getting knocked up.”

  We all laugh, but Jackie is dead serious. Her mom got pregnant when she was only seventeen. Her father, a complete and total jackass of a man, wanted nothing to do with either of them. I think he still lives somewhere around here, running a car dealership.

  Why are car salesmen always the worst people?

  “I think both my parents would die of a heart attack if they heard I was getting a handy in the backseat of the bus.” Tanner jerks his fist back and forth, making a face.

  I wonder what my parents would think of me and Blondie in the chapel bathroom. Who cares? No way in Hell will they ever find out.

  “Well, they’re both ancient.” Jackie laughs. “So, it wouldn’t surprise me that at least one of them dropped dead. Hey, if they both go, does that mean you get the house?”

  Tanner’s parents are both in their late sixties, having just retired from the missionary field when they adopted him fifteen years ago. They still travel a lot, but just for fun now. I think they’re somewhere in Asia at the moment.

  “I sure hope so. Then I can walk around as naked as I please,” Tanner muses.

  “You’re gross.” Jackie’s face scrunches.

  “All right, you guys are keeping the juicy details from me,” Tanner says. “I need to update my pregnancy pool. Any chance somebody got knocked up? I mean, you cram a bunch of hormonally stressed out teenagers in the sweltering heat, there’s bound to be some scrubbing and rubbing going on. And seeing as no one around here seems keen on the idea of teaching birth control methods, I’m assuming there was a lot of potential baby making happening. Spill it, people.”

  “For the record, Tan-tan, I found our abstinence class to be very educational.” Jackie laughs. “It taught me just how far I can go without being a complete whore in the eyes of the Lord.” She drags her hand across her chest, forming the sign of the cross—a habit she picked up from her grandfather. He was raised catholic, just like my dad’s folks.

  “The guys in my cabin wouldn’t shut up about their supposed sexual conquests,” I tell him, the scritching sound of my pencil against the page a steady tempo, “but I don’t think any of them were actually true. I mean, what girl in her right mind would want to bang in the middle of the woods? Too many nooks and crannies for bugs to crawl into.”

  “I saw Timothy Richards and Jenny O. getting it on behind the mess hall,” Jackie adds, stomping on a second butt. “But they’re always fucking like rabbits. Plus, she’s on the pill, so no babies.”

  “Well, that’s a disappointment.” Tanner pouts, stroking his non-existent beard. “How am I supposed to update the stats with weak information like this?” He pushes his glasses back into place. “Which class would you bet on having the first pregnancy this year? ‘Cause I got a lot of money riding on the freshmen.”

  “Gross!” Jackie complains.

  “What is wrong with you?” I slap the back of Tanner’s leg. “They’re kids!”

  “Horny little kids,” he rebuts, “who are too dumb to pull out. I’m telling you, there’s going to be at least one by Christmas. If not here, it’ll be at school.”

  “If you say so,” I mutter, checking my phone. It’s almost time for Sunday school to start. I smudge one more patch on the page with my thumb, blending the lines together.

  “You two still coming over after church?” Tanner asks, entranced by his own phone.

  “I think that’s the plan,” I say, flipping the cover of my sketchpad closed. “Jackie?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jackie douses herself with a bottle of Deep Amber from Bath and Body Works. She should probably own stock there. It’s almost enough to cover the stale smell of tobacco.

  We wait until Jackie is aired out a little more before we head back inside. The “Well”—Arnold’s most recent renaming of the glorified hovel that is the church basement—is starting to fill up with the usual suspects. I snicker when I see Timothy and Jenny holding hands as they walk in. The t
hree of us discreetly search for signs of a baby bump, but there’s nothing to be found.

  Tanner heads for the sound booth at the back of the room, where he spends his Sunday mornings watching YouTube whilst flipping a few switches on the soundboard. Jackie and I take our seats on the back row of rickety fold out chairs. I toggle my Bible app on my phone, so I can keep up the appearance I actually care about what’s going on.

  “All right, everyone. Let’s settle in!” Arnold’s bald head shines from the front of the elevated floor serving as our makeshift stage. The television screens above him flicker to life with the painfully bad stock image of the lesson series title. I’ve often fantasized one of the televisions coming loose from the ceiling and crushing him, but sadly, those rusty bolts are surprisingly sturdy.

  It’s not that I don’t like Arnold. I mean the guy tries harder than anyone I’ve ever seen to reach kids. The only problem is he is so disconnected from everything people my age actually care about, he’s never successful. Nothing is more painful than watching him butcher a reference in an attempt to be relevant. Don’t even get me started on that time he danced to “Gangnam Style” while dressed as the Apostle Paul. It still haunts my dreams.

  This morning, he drones on about something to do with the book of John, but I’m not listening. Jackie has her notebook out, and she doodles along with her pen. She writes a question and then passes the page over to me.

  Do you think Brad likes me?

  I respond in my chicken scratch. How the hell should I know?

  She snatches it back, scribbling with fury. Because you’re a guy! What do you do when you like a girl?

  I’d call the pope. It’s a freaking miracle!

  I let her jerk me off in the backseat of a bus.

  Arnold talks about living water, and one of the students shoots him in the face with a Super Soaker. He is really trying today, bless his heart.

  You’re not helpful.

  I snicker as I write. I do what I can.

  “All right, everyone,” says a dripping Arnold. “We’re going to break up into our Life Groups and really start to unpack these ideas. Let’s get to work!”

  The youth group begins to divide, gravitating towards our respective areas of the room. My group always takes the back-left corner where a circle of bean bags lurk, ready to devour unsuspecting students.

  Our leader—a silver-haired man with a bushy moustache that looks a little like Tom Selleck if he gained fifty pounds—gathers us around to start the discussion. It’s a lesson I’ve heard at least eighty times before, so I immediately tune out.

  As you can imagine, growing up in church has always been a struggle for me. And that doesn’t include the multitudes of times homosexuality has been brought up. Whenever that topic surfaces, I keep my mouth shut and let everyone else debate the damnation reserved for people with my...affliction.

  I can’t help feeling my silence is betraying my own kind, but the alternative is far too gruesome to compare. I’ll march twice as hard in a future Pride Parade to make up for it.

  Or just take my secret to the grave. That’s a totally viable option.

  I pray, one day, this won’t be an issue, I’ll be able to love who I love, and no old church lady will look at me funny. But let’s face it, this is Georgia, and that’s not happening any time soon.

  Plus, I’m not totally convinced being gay isn’t a sin like everyone says it is. So, throw that complexity in there, and you’re looking at a fucked-up layer cake of guilt and self-loathing.

  It’s not just the gay thing either. I’m finding it hard to believe in anything these days. Apathy is so much easier.

  “Mike, what do you think Jesus was talking about when he told the woman that he offers a water that will quench her thirst forever?”

  My name snaps me back from my stupor, and I scramble to make it look like I was listening.

  “He’s talking about everlasting life,” I say without much hesitation. Cycling back to the last time we had this discussion, I repeat an answer. “He’s referring to the rebirth through baptism and salvation you find believing in Him.”

  “That’s right,” Fat Tom Selleck replies, giving me a smile that makes his bushy moustache twitch. “Jesus was offering this woman…”

  And I tune out again. I’ve heard every Sunday school lesson there is, and I can recite all the popular verses backwards and forwards. It’s not like I’ve spent seventeen years getting the same thing hammered into me time and time again. How can I not zone out?

  Man, Trevor looks really cute in his plaid today….

  Shit. Stop staring, Mike.

  “You coming to Big Church?” Jackie asks Tanner once we’re free of the monotonous clutches of Fat Tom Selleck.

  “Yeah,” he replies, climbing down from his techy perch. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I should be able to sit with you guys as long as someone watches Jerry in the sound booth. Whomever convinced him his talents are in soundboard operation need to be shot. The poor guy keeps switching Myers’s mic on at the wrong time. The other week, I kid you not, we heard him taking a piss for a solid minute during the eight o’clock service. It was super awkward.”

  “Rosy’s got her big solo during communion.” I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder. “So, if I’m asleep at that point, can you give me nudge?”

  “I’ll just pour the blood of Christ up your nose,” Jackie offers, her heels clicking against the tile floor as we move down the hallway.

  “I knew I could count on you.” Without thinking, I wrap an arm through hers.

  She stiffens, and I pull away, silently chastising myself.

  Straight boys don’t do that, Mike.

  But Jackie doesn’t linger on the awkwardness as we make our way up to the Sanctuary, which is just a massive gymnasium they’ve converted with decades-old technology. A weird arrangement of decorations covers the majority of the stage, and I can never tell what exactly they were going for, but it looks like a really cheap wedding. Or my cousin Tina’s quinceanera. Christmas lights and paper lanterns woven together in a hodgepodge of tacky proportions. All that’s missing is a Jesus piñata.

  Tanner, Jackie, and I take our seats in the same row we use every week—fourth from the front on the left—and I feel the ever-present stare of my mother like heat from the sun coming from a few rows behind. I will never understand how she manages to watch me like a hawk and take flawlessly detailed notes on the sermon. I mean, they’re even color coordinated. She’s a fantastic multi-tasker.

  Our worship minister takes his place as the music softly drifts in. Dad waves at me from the stage as the choir files in, and I sink a little lower in my chair, trapped between my parents.

  The service begins, and I switch to autopilot. My favorite thing about religion is it’s so easy to lose myself in the steps. I don’t have to be myself when I’m here. I can just give up all the confusion and guilt for a few precious moments of numbing bliss.

  To be honest, I like the feeling a little too much.

  Then the pastor reaches his pulpit, and my joy is stripped away.

  Pastor Myers is about as traditional as people come. He has been with the church for God only knows how long. His sermons are usually straight from the old testament because he finds the new testament to be a bit too liberal.

  In short, the man makes Mike Pence look like RuPaul.

  “Good morning congregation,” he starts in his deep southern drawl.

  The crowd responds in kind, in a creepy cultish kind of way. He has us all well-trained.

  “I gotta tell you, congregation, my heart is heavy as I come to bring the gospel this morning.” Myers continues, “If you would please turn to Genesis chapter eighteen, we will be diving right on in.”

  That passage sounds vaguely familiar. Though, I don’t know why.

  “Brothers and sisters—” he straightens the lapels of his crisp suit— “my heart weeps for our country this morning. The morals of our great nation are being tested this
very day. I speak the truth when I say we are under attack, brothers and sisters. Satan is indeed at work in our lives.

  “My beautiful wife, Vanessa and I were walking in the city yesterday, and we bore witness to something that still has me quaking with a righteous fury.”

  Wow, whatever he saw must have been a doozy. I haven’t heard him use the term “righteous fury” since he found out one of the deacons was a closeted democrat.

  “Five bucks says it was a drag queen,” Tanner whispers in my ear.

  I have to cough to cover the laughter. The elderly woman in front of me cuts her eyes back, and I give her a weak smile.

  “Sorry,” I whisper, elbowing Tanner in the side.

  “When Vanessa and I were making our way down Peachtree after dinner, enjoying the beauty of our fine city,” Myers says as he steps around his pulpit, wiping his already sweaty brow with a handkerchief from his pocket, “we passed by a church. And I use that term very loosely. It was at this supposed place of worship we observed two men exiting the house of God, having just been bound by what our corrupted government has declared legal marriage.”

  The murmuring of the congregation is mixed, but all varying shades of discontent. I simply wait for the shocking part. Were the guys dressed in assless leather chaps? Did they have swastikas tattooed on their foreheads? Did they immediately start fornicating on the steps of the church? I think I’ve seen that porno…. I recall it being kind of hot.

  From his reaction, I half expect there to be an instance of child sacrifice.

  I bring up child sacrifice a lot. There’s something wrong with me.

  “Now, you know our Lord calls us to have mercy on those that would turn their backs on the sacred vows of marriage but, church, I must be transparent. I’m having a hard time.” He props his arm on the pulpit. “For two individuals so twisted in the ways of paganism to display this vulgarity on our very streets and in our places of sanctuary, it was too much for me to handle.”

  Ah, yes, two people who love each other enough to want to spend the rest of their lives together. How awful. Humanity is doomed. Hide the children.