Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

I do as he asks, and realize that not only are we the only ones at this table, but we’re being watched with relative scrutiny by those nearby.

“Maybe they think we’re together,” Matt says.

I roll my eyes. “We better hurry up, then, before the chaperone police come after us.” It feels good to joke without fear of judgment. “Will you come with me on Saturday or not?”

“Why?” His voice is challenging, but his face seems humored.

I shrug. “Maybe you can learn something. Maybe you can keep yourself from getting kicked out of school. Maybe you can keep playing college football.”

“They won’t kick me out of here, Kennedy. They practically begged me to come.”

I stand, grabbing my tray. “And you don’t think there aren’t a thousand other Matt Wells’ out there who are missing out on their glory days and would give anything to play college ball?” I shrug and turn for the trashcan.

As the remainder of my salad hits the trashcan, I hear Matt’s fist pound the table we were sitting at.

Bingo.

If there’s one thing I know about “normal” guys, is that their ego precedes them and is as fragile as a newborn. Poke a hole in it and they’re all yours. They rest all their confidence in themselves and their abilities. Sure, it may have been cruel of me to play on his weakness, but it’s not my fault he’s not putting God first.

Would you listen to yourself?

I don’t turn around, because I can hear him walking up behind me.

“I’ll come,” he says, tossing his empty plate into the bin. “Just once.”

“Three times,” I counter. “You don’t know if you like something unless you do it more than twice.”

His eyebrow twitches and a dark grin forms on his mouth.

It takes me a minute, since sexual innuendo is largely absent here, but I catch on in time to smack him in the shoulder. “Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t be gross.”

“Fine. Three times. But only because I kind of want to watch the show.”

“What show?” I place my hands on my hips.

“You,” he nods toward me, “trying to be one of them.”

He turns on his heels and walks away. “I’d like to see that lip ring on you someday, Kennedy,” he calls over his shoulder.

Suddenly, in the middle of the dining hall, wearing more clothes than I’ve worn in my life, I feel stark naked. And I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake in inviting Matt. Where does he get off thinking I’m trying to be “one of them”? I wonder to myself as I navigate the path to the New Life campus with my head down. I want to talk this all over with Roland before my shift at Word.

Knocking on Roland’s door, I realize neither Matt nor I are right about me. I don’t know what it is I’m trying to be. All I’ve been doing so far this year is conducting a fact-finding mission about myself and my history. I need to spend a lot more time with Roland and with the kids around me. Rather than pure observation, I need to try on this evangelical skin to see how it feels. I can’t make a decision about next year or any year after if I don’t really try. I’ve been mulling over the idea of wanting to be flooded for quite some time, but it’s not really enough to simply sit back and want something.

“Hey, Kennedy,” Roland says when he opens the door. “This is a surprise.”

“I need to spend more time with you. I’m sorry for all the weird rules and stuff, and I still don’t want people to know I’m your daughter, but I need to spend more time in this life.”

“Well,” he looks startled but seems to be trying to hold it together, “I’m going out for a run. Want to come?”

I look down at my clothes and hold out my hands. “The dress code doesn’t really give me the option to just drop everything and run. Must be by design,” I joke.

Roland laughs. “I usually go on the trails downtown. I can swing you by your room so you can change your clothes.”

“Okay,” I agree, somewhat nervously.

A half-hour later, Roland and I are jogging through gorgeous trails at the base of some small mountain. The weather is cooling off slightly, but it’s still warmer than I suspect it is in Connecticut right now.

“Are your parents alive?” I start.

“Yes. They’re in their late sixties.”

“And they know about me?”

He nods and points left at a fork in the trail.

“Do they know I’m here this year?”

He nods again.

“And…”

“They’re dying to meet you.” He coughs and starts running a little faster.

I ignore the small lump in my throat. The desire for more family. “Are they Christians, too? Christian like you, I mean.”

Roland laughs. “That. That right there is why I’m up there on TV every Sunday. This Christian franchise nonsense has to end sometime. The Message is watered down in branding and rules…” He shakes his head and wipes sweat from his forehead. “But they’re kind of like me, yeah. Though they think I’m liberal.”

“Like half of CU,” I remark.

“Yeah?” He looks pleased with himself. “What are the kids saying these days?” he asks in a mock-elderly voice.