Church Story, Part 1

It was the summer of 1994. I was thirteen and the sun was bright on the farmland ahead of us. We were in the back of a pickup truck, roaming down the winding backstreets of Rogersville, TN.

There was a barn amongst the barren hills, and we were there to tear it down.

My buddy, Travis, was a Church Buddy. He didn't cuss and he didn't listen to 'bad music' (as I was obsessed with Smashing Pumpkins and the like). But he was loyal, and he was the one closest to my age.

"So," he said, "what do you think about her?"

"She's pretty, obviously," I said, referring to Jennifer, a girl in the church. She was cherub-like with dark hair. I was attracted instantly.

My current run-ins with romance had been laughable at best. In the sixth grade I had 'went out with' a girl named Michelle Gibson (helloooo Google juice), which went as far as me getting her typing folder out during typing class and a few phone calls where I would show off my best Popeye impression.

Yes, really. The laughs are just non-stop on this one.

We pull up to the barn and it leans to one side. The bright sun blinds those in it, and the rest began to work on the sides. We were there to demolish the barn so we could use pieces of it for a wood wall around the gymnasium at the church.

We were going to put on an Easter show, complete with a script, songs, the whole bit. My role was merely as a stage hand, free work from a kid who needed something to do.

Not that I wasn't withdrawing already from the church at that point (the cheesy songs featured in the show were bad enough), but again it was nice to be accepted somewhere, to find a place not filled with enemies, people not anxious to make you look foolish or mess with you.

The day went in a haze as the painful christian lyrics of a power ballad blew in the breeze.

With all the wood we could fit on the back of the truck, we headed back to the church. We got there around sunset and stacked the boards around the side of the building. Inside, the scaffolding necessary to put up the wall had been assembled.

I admired the blue metal as it reached higher and higher, up to the hole near the roof where an A/V room had been setup.

Then I turned, and saw her.

Again, with the shoulder-length dark hair. Again, with the round and beautiful face.

Again, with the boyfriend next to her. Some prick named Alex. Rumor was he mistreated her. Which, in thirteen-year-old terms, was calling her names and guilting her for this action or that action.

I wouldn't say I hated him, I was honestly more envious, but inside, I wanted to hit him.

Jennifer's mother was a large, jovial woman, and she saw me staring. I tried to look away, but she knew. I half-waved. She waved back.

In time, I would get to know both Jennifer and, unfortunately, her mother.

But that's for tomorrow. All things in time.

Read Part 2.

For once I want to be the car crash
Not always just the traffic jam