Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Not that I’m admiring him or anything.
He’s still a little shit.
And probably still drunk, too.
It’s not much longer before Cody, Pete, and myself are seated in the pews, Trey and Cody’s parents one row behind us. I’m at the end by the windows, second row, which I prefer. I hate aisles for a neurotic reason I can’t pinpoint, something to do with how open they are, feeling like my back and side are exposed. Front row is too close to the stage. Back row, I feel detached from everything. In the center, I’m too attached, stuck in a crowd, too many noises and distractions to make my ears prick up every few seconds.
After a lively song from the Spruce choir, which seems to be entirely composed of young handsome men with just two lonely women sprinkled in there as if by accident, Trey comes up to the pulpit and begins his sermon.
Despite our late night, Trey looks perfectly calm and alert. His zinging remarks and clever commentary warm up the whole congregation, all his jokes landing. I already had the impression that Trey was a kind, patient man, but I didn’t realize how charismatic he could be in front of a room full of his fellow residents of this town. He has everyone in the palm of his hand as he delivers inspiring words, wishes for a stronger community, a more aware and empathetic world, regards for others less fortunate than ourselves, a personal sense of duty to goodness, and a purposefulness in our day-to-day encounters.
A personal sense of duty to goodness. Purposefulness.
In our day-to-day encounters.
I wonder if it’s that exact sentiment that makes me look over my shoulder, glancing into the rest of the crowd behind me during this beautiful sermon, as if to find the only person I’ve had such unfortunate chances to encounter on more than one occasion.
And my eyes find him immediately. Near the back, Anthony is leaning forward, his chin practically on the shoulder of the man sitting in front of him. His eyes are open, but only barely. He is struggling to stay awake. He doesn’t appear bored exactly, but it’s clear he’s absorbing less than one percent of the wisdom Trey is imparting on us.
So much for any sense of duty to goodness or purposefulness in that loser’s encounters. I can’t begin to describe how annoyed that makes me, watching him falling asleep in slow motion, like a brat sitting in class daydreaming of the school bell, bare minimum everything, skirting by in life, no care for any duty to anything.
Why is he even here? Why did he bother getting dressed?
Also, maybe unrelated, where’s his girlfriend?
I keep my eyes trained ahead, determined to stay focused on Trey and the sermon. Pete next to me is glued to every word like they’re nectar from the gods pouring from the reverend’s mouth into his ears. Cody, arms crossed tightly over his chest, watches his hubby with a proud, lopsided smile spilling off his face.
And beyond both of them, my eyes yank me right back to the sight of Anthony—just as he yawns. A big, breathy, boastful yawn. This guy. In the middle of church, of Trey’s soul-igniting sermon, having the audacity to yawn. Sure, it isn’t really an audible yawn, but it sure as hell’s a visible one, even if maybe I’m the only one who saw it or cares. He didn’t even cover his mouth.
He quickly wipes his eyes, blinks fast, and resumes listening.
It’s probably kind of me, to assume he’s listening at all. Or has the brain capacity to understand the depth of any of the words Trey is gifting him on this generous Sunday morning.
Is it just me? Am I the only one in this room, in this town, who sees right through that guy?
Suddenly that becomes my only thought as I peel my eyes, yet again, from the sight of Anthony. I stare ahead at Trey, and now it’s me who isn’t listening, whose mind is far away—if across the aisle and several rows back can be considered far away.
And as Trey goes on about duty this and goodness that and about others in the world less fortunate than ourselves, I’m struck by an uncomfortable thought.
Do I have this all wrong about Anthony?
Did I, in fact, start this with how I acted at that gas station?
If I’d moved out of the way at the counter, encouraged him to make a shot into that mop bucket, cheered him on, lightened up, could he have become my first friend in this place?
Am I the problem?
I glance one last time over my shoulder.
Anthony’s face is smashed against the pew in front of him like he just face-planted, one eye half open, lips twisted, a second away from drooling.
No.
I’m not the problem.
“Ready to have your taste buds blown?” asks Cody when we gather outside the church afterwards. The sun is blazing hot, so like a herd of cattle, we’re under the shade of an enormous oak tree, its thick roots cutting up out of the earth a few times on its way toward the street. Despite the shade, we’re sweating through our shirts, ties, polos, plaid button-ups, and whatever else passes for Sunday church attire here. “As soon as Trey’s out, we’re gonna take you fellas to the tastiest small-town ma-and-pa burger joint you’ve ever been to in your lives.”