The church was more an auditorium than a classic sanctuary, and there were no pews. Just rows and rows of cushioned chairs. No hymnals. No cross up front. No pulpit. None of the traditional “churchy” things. We rarely took communion. And many people dressed inappropriately, at least according to my mom. She went livid the first time she saw a teenage girl walk in wearing sweatpants with the word “Juicy” plastered on her butt.
After the offering was collected, Pastor Tom took the stage and began his lesson. Mr. Connelly didn’t have a Bible, and while the verses were displayed on the screen up front, I shared with him. Another clichéd habit: when you see someone without a Bible, you share yours. I shouldn’t have, though, because when he leaned into me to get a better look at the page, I smelled his cologne. And it made me feel something I wasn’t supposed to feel inside a sanctuary. Or auditorium. Holy auditorium. Whatever.
“So it’s really about weighing options: what I can do versus what I should do,” Pastor Tom continued. “We have the will to choose. That’s how God designed us. Free will. Everything’s permissible. Go on and do it. But understand the consequences first.”
I inhaled deeply, almost tasting the cologne on my tongue, and wanted to rest my head on Mr. Connelly’s shoulder.
“Let’s read this verse again,” Pastor Tom said. “Paul says, ‘Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. Everything is permissible, but not everything is constructive’. So yeah, you can do whatever you want, right? Sure. But why would you do something that would ultimately harm you? What you really need to ask yourself before you engage in anything is, ‘Does this glorify God or me?’”
Mr. Connelly has nice lips.
“And why don’t we take it completely out of the “Christian” context for a minute,” the pastor went on.
I wonder what it would be like to kiss them.
“Whether you believe in God or not, whether you’re a Christ-follower or not, Paul’s words resonate with all of us. Ask yourself this: I’m permitted to do whatever I want, but how will it affect my life, my health, my relationships, my friendships, my community? Because whether you’re a Christian or not, those things matter. And unless you’re completely self-destructive, you want to live a healthy life. You want to have healthy relationships. You want what’s best for your community.”
What am I thinking? I can’t kiss my math teacher!
“So, in essence, that’s living ‘beneficial’,” Pastor Tom explained.
But maybe I could kiss him. Just a little.
You think that’s a good idea, Cadence? I heard my conscience ask. I mean, have you not been paying attention to the lesson for the last thirty minutes?
What lesson?
The lesson about not doing things you shouldn’t be doing. Like your math teacher, for one. Pay attention! my conscience cried.
I shook my head and huffed.
I was only fantasizing, I argued.
And that’s where the trouble begins.
Whatever, I replied.
At the end of the lesson, we sang one more song. I didn’t sing any of the songs in the beginning of the service because I was too nervous being so close to Mr. Connelly. But I couldn’t resist the closing song, and sang along with the crowd, forgetting for a moment that Mr. Connelly was standing beside me until he mentioned my singing after church.
“You have a really pretty voice, Cadence,” he said.
“Thank you,” I replied, eyes glued to the floor.
“If there was a choir, you ought to be in it,” he went on.
“No choir here. This is a contemporary church,” I said, grinning.
“I gathered as much. And I suppose ‘contemporary’ defines a place of worship that, in no way, resembles a traditional church?” he asked.
“You got it,” I replied.
“It’s very sneaky,” he said.
I laughed. “Sneaky?”
“Oh yes. You make it look this attractive, and who can resist?” he asked.
I instinctively smoothed my hair. I knew he was referring to our church service, but the way he looked at me suggested he was really talking about me. It was that same look. The one from Highway 28.
“Mr. Connelly?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry for being rude to you in the office when I was cleaning out my shoes,” I said.
“It’s all right, Cadence. You were having a bad day,” he replied.
I shrugged. “I washed your handkerchief. Again. This time on the delicate cycle.”
Mr. Connelly smiled. “Cadence, you don’t—”
“Please take it,” I whispered, digging around my purse. I handed him the handkerchief, and he took it reluctantly. “If I keep it, it’ll only encourage more crying,” I said lightly. “I’m trying to stop crying so much.”
Mr. Connelly nodded. “I don’t mind that you cry into my handkerchief, Cadence.”
I wanted him to stop saying my name so much. I wanted him to stop being so kind. It bordered inappropriate, and I realized I liked it too much. I didn’t want to get used to kindness from a man who was supposed to be marginal in my life.
“Cadence? You ready?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Um, Dad?”
“Yes?”
I thought about introducing Mr. Connelly to my father, but quickly changed my mind. They already shook hands and spoke. Maybe Dad knew he was my math teacher.
“Uh, can we go get Mexican food?” I asked instead.
“No.”
Of course, I already knew Dad would say no. I loved Mexican food, and he hated it, so we never ate it. Ever.
I turned around to say goodbye to Mr. Connelly. I’m sure I had disappointment written all over my face. I was tired of hearing the word “no.” I heard it every day, over the most inconsequential things.
“May I watch The Vampire Diaries?”
“No.”
“May I be excused from dinner early?”
“No.”
“May I take a walk around the neighborhood?”
“No.”
I couldn’t breathe for the “no’s” piling on top of me, pressing on my heart, smothering my brain, making it impossible to think positive thoughts.
I looked back at Mr. Connelly, giving him a “Well, there you have it” expression. He shook his head slightly and shrugged, silently saying, “Hey, what are you gonna do, right?”
“Bye, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said.
I waved and followed behind my parents and brother out of the sanctuary.
***