Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

The girls take my number and put it in their pockets. Slowly, they each turn away after giving Eden and Bridgette one last cautious eye.

Immediately exhausted, I release Matt’s hand and sling my backpack over my shoulders, lowering my head for a second to thank God for keeping all of us safe during what could have been a much nastier confrontation. When my eyes meet my roommates’, I see them looking just past me, a slight look of surprise on their faces. Turning, I find Jonah and Silas standing awkwardly on the sidewalk.

I want to ask them how long they’ve been standing there, why they didn’t say anything. Or maybe thank them for their silence, since it’s clear to me that what happened here was just as much for me as it was for everyone else. I love Jesus. And, I said it out loud. I love the God that drives my Carter friends to be kind to each other first. Slow to anger, quick to prayer. What I want more than anything, is to figure out where it breaks down; where it becomes okay to shove pictures of bloodied fetuses in someone’s face in the name of Jesus. And the paradox? I have to pray to the same God my protesting friends do in order to find the answer.

Open my ears, God. I offer one more silent prayer before letting my shoulders fall.

Looking at my friends, and having little strength left to say anything else, I sigh. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

“Kennedy…” Eden starts, making her way to Jonah and taking his hand.

I shake my head. “Not now, Eden. I just want to go, k? Besides,” I look to the sky, which is greying by the second, “it looks like it’s going to rain.”

Matt retains his position next to me, but doesn’t try to hold my hand. I kind of wish he would, but I’ve depleted all of my emotional energy for the day, so making the move myself isn’t currently an option.

Making our way to Word, Eden recounts the events of the sidewalk to Jonah and Silas who, apparently, were there to hear my plea to the nameless women that they call me or visit me at work.

“She told them where she works?” Silas whispers.

Then, I do reach for Matt’s hand. He’s ready, and takes it without making a scene about it, or even looking at me. He understands. I need to hold on to someone who understands me and where I come from. Even if I’m not sure where he comes from. Or where he wants to go.





“I didn’t realize your mom was that kind of policymaker.” Eden is the first to speak after several minutes of heated silence in Word. Thankfully, my latte has enough caffeine and sugar to buffer me against the sting of her emotions.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed. “That’s what you took from that whole thing? That my mom supports women’s rights?”

Eden looks wounded, and I immediately feel bad. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry.” I sit forward and put my hand on hers. “I’m just…that was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done, I think.”

“It’s okay,” she replies, and I believe her. “It just confused me more about you. Like, if you were raised in a home and church like yours, what really would make you come here?”

Matt’s eyes fix on me intensely as Eden speaks.

He knows.

He has to know about Roland being my dad, or he wouldn’t care so much about this topic. It makes sense, now, why he was so willing to go to Bible study with me without much of a fight. He really did want to see how I fit in. And to be close enough to Roland that Roland calls him Matty—of all things… And Matt called him Roland. Not Pastor Roland like the rest of us—including myself in mixed company. Crap. He definitely knows. I keep my eyes on him while I swallow, trying to communicate that I know he knows. Either he’s not receiving my signal or he has an excellent poker face, because nothing about his expression changes.

“I needed more Jesus,” I say, turning my attention back to the table. “I needed more than I was getting at home. And more than I’d get from any of the Ivy League schools that accepted me.” While this is true now, it only became true half an hour ago. They don’t need to know that, though.

“Which ones did you get accepted to?” Jonah asks.

While this is hardly the point, I’m relieved to answer an easy question. “The three I applied to. Dartmouth, Yale, and Cornell.”

Silas’s eyebrows lift almost to his hairline and he whistles. “Wow.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I watch the faces of everyone at the table except Matt, who is next to me. They’re all looking at me and then at each other, or just looking down. Eye contact seems incredibly difficult. It’s not like I stood there proclaiming the name of Satan, yet they can’t look at me? I did the right thing, didn’t I?

I don’t get it. Until I hear Chelsea’s voice behind me as she clears tables. “Holy shit, is that Kennedy looking punked out and sexy?” My cheeks burn and I whip around to face her. She gives me the thumbs up and moves on to another table.