Rustle, Oklahoma

I had just finished the sermon and was cleaning up. Dust swirled in the sunlight shining down past the beams. The light becoming different colors as it met the stained glass of the church. The members of my flock have left bibles and pamphlets behind, and kids left their toys on the benches. I’ll keep the toys just in case they return for them or if they come back next Saturday. The bibles I placed back into their cubbies on the back of each bench.

A few of today’s visitors had stayed beyond after the sermon, some stayed to pray and some to speak to me. Those that wanted a word waited patiently as I made my way to them while cleaning. They waited on the dark-brown, oak benches that had been here since I was a kid. My hands brushed the coarse wood as I lifted bibles off them. Their corners splintering, covered in scratches and chips. The coat of paint on them chipping off and gathering on the floor for me to sweep later.

Making my way along, I spot old Fred Morrison. Always claiming his time is nearly up. Fred comes often to tell me about the days of his youth, his deceased wife, his children that never visit, and to confess his sins. He was seated at the back of the row of benches on the right of the room.

He looked up at me as I made my way towards him. His white head is spotted with few strands of white hair combed back. He has a round head with a pinch face, and weak, sad eyes. Still, Fred gave me a weary smile as I sat beside him and said, “How you doing Fred?”

“Billy,” Fred licked his thin lips and smacked them, “you did a good job today. With the sermon, I mean.” Fred always tells me I’m doing a good job. Today he’s wearing his white button shirt with brown stripes, brown slacks with leather suspenders clasped to them, and shiny, black shoes.

“Thank you, Fred. As always, your words encourage me,” I smiled at the old man, and he nodded with a grin. “So,” I looked at him. Richard, staring off, turned to me to set his glazed, droopy eyes on me as I asked, “How’s your dog, Poppy, doing?”

“Oh, Poppy. She’s been sleeping more and more. She’s getting old,” Fred chuckled followed by a raspy cough. I pulled a white handkerchief from my pocket and Fred accepted it, coughing into the cloth. Fred handed it back, but I waved it off, he could keep it. “Thank you,” Fred put the handkerchief in his shirt pocket, “she’s getting old but Poppy’s still younger than me. I do miss when she would run around. Chasing after me all around the house.”

I smiled and gave a knowing nod. “Does she curl up next to you when you watch TV?”

“She does…she does,” Fred kept his smile, but his gaze was far off, not here. “Would you…” Fred shook his head. “When I go can you look after Poppy? She’ll love it here, lazing under the light. Poppy will keep you company.”

I didn’t want a dog. I also didn’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings. I spend my days leisurely doing my duties, taking care of an animal can help fill my downtime. “I’ll take her in, don’t worry. But you still got time so spend it with her. Today’s a fine day. Spend time with her on your porch. Give her a bone, turn on the radio, and enjoy it.”

“I will,” Fred faced me and shook my hand,” Thank you for your time, Billy.”

“Anytime Fred, I enjoy our talks.” I stood and held out my hand. Fred took hold of mine with his shaking one, I helped him rise then he left. I made my way onto the new row of benches on the left side.

The shoes I was wearing today, that I polished myself, clacked on the stone floor as I picked up trash and cleared books from the benches. It was all quiet, out where the little church is located. Occasionally, a car can barely be heard passing by. The warm, dimmed light from the glass, gave the room the mood for reflection. Setting it perfectly for those here to say their prayers peacefully with no noise to muss up their thoughts.

I place the bibles in their appropriate place and passed two more of my flock who stayed behind to finish their prayers. One was an older woman, named Martha, who wore all black with a black shawl. I knew she prayed for her son that had gotten into an automobile accident a couple of days ago. A son who was far from home, living in Colorado. The older woman had been unable to go and see him. I stopped to speak with her for a moment and add my prayer to hers.

I moved on after joining her and learnt that her daughter-in-law had called her that morning to inform the old woman about her son. He was in stable condition but has yet to wake up. The doctors have hope that he will wake in the coming days. I still added my voice to hers and asked our Lord to watch over him.

Making my way up the benches one member that had stayed behind finally rose from his seat and walked down the aisle. Short and stocky, a block head, wearing a black and white suit with fedora and all. He kept his head down, nodding to me, and I nodded back to him with a smile. His skin was as white as snow. He continued past me as I said, “Have a good day, sir.”

As I cleared the next bench, I spotted fresh markings engraved into the wood by some sharp object. They were words that read: Bored as HELL. Maybe I should have been disappointed, but they brought a smile to my lips. No doubt some kid wrote that. Forced to come to my sermon by a parent. It brought back memories from when I was younger. My mom and dad, then only my dad, would make me and my brother come every Sunday. One time, I had tried to fake an illness. My mom had played an act. She pretended to worry but told me that praying and being in the house of God would do me better than lying in bed. Pouting, I went to church in my pajamas looking like a fool. It was embarrassing then but funny now. The pastor then, Pastor Dairy, after his sermon had placed his palm on my head, prayed for the Lord to heal me, and then sent us on our way. I nearly broke out into a laugh as I remembered. I held it in and continued.

The next member of my flock that stayed behind was a young man. His name is Patrick, he had graduated from high school only last year. Patrick had talked to me about his anxiety. He was worried about the next step in his life. Patrick wants to go to university all the way in New York. His father is quite successful. Owning multiple farms and slaughterhouses. Patrick, being the youngest son, is free to choose his path unlike his older brothers who have been groomed to inherit the family business. Patrick never took an interest in what his father did, instead he burned for engineering.

He had recently applied for multiple universities to pursue a degree in engineering. The young man had previously expressed to me how he has lost sleep and appetite fretting over whether he would be accepted or not to his dream school, Stanford University.

Patrick sat on the bench not with his hands clasped in prayer. Instead, his hands were gripping his knees, his knuckles turning white. He was staring blankly at the only altarpiece in our town’s small church. The altarpiece depicts Jesus, with his body aglow, surrounded by followers who are praying vehemently to him. Jesus has a calm and reassuring look on his face. He is looking and smiling at those around him. His hands outstretched towards his followers. Perhaps Patrick wants Jesus to show some compassion towards him. I, being a mere devout follower of Christ, did my best to reassure and lighten his load.

“Patrick,” I said before sitting down beside him.

“Hello, Pastor Rile,” Patrick replied giving me a tired smile.

“What brings you here today?” I knew but still deigned to ask.

“I’m worried, pastor,” Patrick turned away from me, eyeing the altarpiece. He rubbed his hands together and had a pained expression. “Stanford is set to make their decision next month in the start of April. Gosh, I thought I got over all this fear and-and anxiety but…” the boy shuddered “it’s gotten worse. I haven’t slept. I’ve been awake since eight in the morning yesterday. The last time I ate was lunch, yesterday as well.”

I looked at the boy before me. Patrick’s face did seem shallower, his cheek bones poked out and the clothing he wore seemed a size too big. His skin is tanned which is becoming for a farmer’s son. His dad was known to be strict but fair. Patrick must have gained his tan from helping out at the farm. Mack Field, Patrick’s father, had raised his sons to appreciate the hard work done by the workers at the farms and slaughterhouses. One way of doing this is to get his boys to work on the same duties as the farmhands.

Patrick’s hair is a golden brown and his clothing is what one would wear to mass. He wore a light-blue buttoned shirt tucked into black slacks and black dress shoes. He was skinny and tall, with the top of his head reaching my nose, which many in town could barely do considering I’m six-foot-five. There were dark rings around his eyes from late night studying and no sleep, turned them into pits on an otherwise warm face.

I placed my hand on the boy’s shoulder, stiff and hard as a rock, and said, “You drove out here with no sleep? No food in ya either? You’re going to end up hurt. There’s no point in killing yourself over something out of your control.” The boy looked down. “Take another look at that painting,” I whispered to him.

Patrick and I both stared at the altarpiece as I spoke. “You see him, Jesus, I mean. You see how he looks at his followers. At all those men and women on their knees before him with their hands clasped in prayer. See his soft smile? See those eyes? Those are the eyes of a man who cares. Put your faith in that man there and he’ll show you the way. He’ll shine light on your path. Guide you to where you need to go.

“It’s scary, going through what you’re going through. But you need not face it alone as you have been. Jesus wants to help you. He cares about you. Tell him all your fears and worries. Put your trust in him.”

Patrick seemed ready to cry. Patrick’s voice was cracked and sorrowful as he said, “But what if my path doesn’t lead to Stanford? What if that is not the plan God has for me? You always say God has a plan for each of us. Well, I want to go to Stanford. No where else, so…what if he doesn’t want that for me? Do you know how much that would hurt me? I’m dying over here, Pastor Rile. I’m so anxious I become irritable and nasty. I don’t know what I’d do if I get rejected.”

“God has a plan for us, he does. It may not be what you want. It may not be all you desire for, but it will bring you peace and happiness. Look at what this worrying over a university is doing to you. If you do get rejected, it would be to teach you a lesson. It will be to strengthen you. But there’s no point in worrying over something out of your control. If you do not get in it is not your fault.

“The school you’re aiming for has a low acceptance rate as it is. You’re a bright kid and you’ve done everything that has been asked of you. You got your As and you put in your time. Let the lord share your load so that you can continue to live. Because this ain’t living, what you’re doing right now. He,” I pointed at the painting, “does not want to see you like this. I know you want affirmation and confirmation. I can’t give you that. I can give you my shoulder and God can give you strength. But only if you accept it. Can you do that, Patrick? Can you take my shoulder and lean on it? Can you accept our Lord’s love and strength?”

I wasn’t sure my words would reach him. I’m not always so sure I say the right things but this time, this time I might have. For the boy had a different look on his face. There was fire in his eyes and confidence in the way he sat up. “I can,” his eyes were glossy as he looked to me and spoke, “thank you Pastor Rile. Thank you.” The boy hugged me, and we both stood. He told me he’d be heading back home to sleep.

“Good and talk to your folks. Times like these you need your family to support you. Hang out with your friends as well. Be around people that love you and you’ll be fine. I promise you’ll be fine.”

After Patrick had left, I continued cleaning this side of the church until I came upon the last member. A woman in her sixties, Lisa Rush, wife of and an old friend of mine. I had met her back when I worked for Yorkel’s Lumber. She was the secretary, retired now, back then she took care of the boss and all of us that worked for him. Even those of us out in the woods chopping down trees. We had become good friends after I drove her two hours out of town to help her husband who used to drive big rigs. His car had broken down and he needed a lift back. Since then, Lisa, her husband, Richard, my ex-wife, and I had been friends.

A year ago, Richard had been out hunting past their home in the woods. He had suffered an accident, tumbled down a steep slope, and then went off a ridge, ten feet down, breaking his legs. It took two-days to find him. Ever since then, Richard’s health had been poor.

Six weeks ago, Richard had come down with some sort of cold. He’s been asleep more than awake. At times, his body will get incredibly hot then cool down again. Richard had been hospitalized. Only recently was he able to return home.

I walked up to Lisa who turned and said, “Billy, can we chat?”

“Of course, we can,” I said to her. I sat beside her. Lisa had always looked younger than her age. She was sixty but appeared forty though streaks of grey in her auburn hair showed her age. Her face is round, her nose small and pointy, her eyes a caramel-brown and her lips pursed, colored red with lipstick. Her skin is pale with lines from all her worrying over her husband. She wore a red blouse with a black, knitted vest, black slacks, and short black shoes with red socks. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

She placed a skinny, small, dotted hand on my lap and asked, “How have you been, dear?”

“Good,” I smiled at her, “yesterday I visited my brother. My nephew turned nine and today their throwing him a party. Want me to bring you and Richard some cake and food? Henry’s going to barbecue. Mary’s going to make potato salad and corn on the cob.”

“I’d love that. What kind of cake are they going to get?”

“Chocolate for sure, Henry and his boy like their chocolate.”

Lisa made a sound people often make when they find something adorable. “How’s little Lenny? Can’t believe he’s already nine. I remember when he was this little,” Lisa spread her hands, “I remember he looked even tinier in your big ol’ hands. And he looked huge in mine.”

We shared a laugh then I said, “The boy’s doing just fine. Like Henry, he’s a sweet kid but like Mary he’s more outgoing and talkative.”

“Oh, but Henry’s social just as well, right?”

“Well, before Mary, he was a bit of a recluse. He was nice and got along well with others but never put himself out there. Mary brought him out of his shell. By the time you met him, that shy kid I grew up with was gone. How’s Richard by the way? Who’s looking after him right now?”

Lisa turned away from me and looked down at her hands. She spoke with her head down, “He’s been a bit more active these past two weeks. I’m hoping that means he’s getting better. His old buddy, Carl, from the plant. Do you know him? Anyways, he came to check on Richard and helped him into the living room. The two are probably watching some game right about now. Carl’s probably having a drink but none for Richard.”

By the way she spoke, Lisa sounded tired. When only a moment ago she had some life in her. Richard hadn’t been the only one stuck at home. With him sick and his legs bad, Lisa has to watch over him all day. Leaving her with no free time to herself. “Listen, Lisa,” I leaned forward and down to get a look at her face. “If you ever need somebody to watch Richard, I’m more than happy to help. Now, don’t you make that face. We’re friends, I’d even say we’re family. I’ve known you and your husband for two decades now. I’m happy to spend time with Richard. And I’m happy to give you reprieve. You’ve more than earned it. If you want to go to Lenny’s party or do something else today, you are more than welcome to.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. You should spend time with your nephew—”

“It’s fine,” I gave her a hug, “I spent some time with the family yesterday.” We separated but I kept a hand on her shoulder, looking into her eyes, “I brought little Lenny a small cake after Henry came back from work. The four of us ate while watching some kid movie that Lenny likes. Plus, Henry knows how much you and your husband mean to me. He’ll understand and besides, I heard Gloria and Lily will be going too. Don’t you want to see them?”

I removed my hand from her shoulder, but Lisa grabbed my big hand with both of her small ones. “Thank you, Billy. You’re a good man. You sure it’ll be okay.”

I gave her a reassuring smile and said, “Of course. The party starts at three and the food should be ready by four.”

“What gift should I get for Junior?’

“Ah, Lenny, he’s gotten into baseball recently. Though, I’m sure he’ll be getting plenty of gloves and bats. I’d say get him a baseball tee; he really likes the Dodgers.”

Lisa smiled, “As he should, he’s an Oklahoma boy after all.”

We laughed. “That he is,” I said then we both stood. “By the way, has Carla talked to you recently.”

Lisa gave me a knowing look, “She did. She asked about you, wanted to know how you were doing. Give her a call Billy. She cares, you know, don’t you?”

I shouldn’t have asked. Carla was too good for me. I rubbed the back of my neck, “I know…I just-I know.”

Lisa gave my arm a squeeze. “You’re a good man, Billy.” She tapped the tip of my nose with her finger. “A good man.”