It wasn’t Sunday school. It was more like day care. Sundays were the only day he could spend with his mother, and now they had been taken away. Bert drove Jake and the baby to New Life Evangelical before nine o’clock in the morning, and the baby was immediately shuttled off by a group of women wearing long jean skirts and homemade blouses. The blouses were all sewn from the same pattern, high-necked and long-sleeved, only varying in the shade, all faded pastels. They frightened him. If Jake had been religious, he would have offered up an honest prayer for his sister’s safety.
Reverend Foote waited for him in the kitchen. Jake poured himself a cup of coffee, and stood there, bleary-eyed, as the reverend went on about the need for Brother Bert and Sister Krystal to be alone together. They were trying to save the family. Jake knew they were just having sex. His mother was not religious, but Jake feared that Bert would try to convince her of the existence of God, in addition to the existence of his penis.
Reverend Foote took Jake’s coffee away and escorted him to a little room. He was horrified by the other children, blank-faced, sitting on their knees in cheap suits and dresses. The reverend sat in a chair, and instead of graham crackers, saltines were passed around on a paper plate. These just made Jake thirsty. The reverend held up Bible verses scrawled on butcher paper, but Jake refused to memorize them, just moved his mouth silently when they were asked to repeat them on command. He excused himself and sought refuge in the kitchen, and poured himself another cup of coffee.
He sat in the corner, trying to hide, and began to read. Reverend Foote found him an hour later, clearly in no hurry. Reverend Foote did not try to hide his distaste. Bert and Krystal were not around to impress, and Jake was clearly a lost member of the flock, a pink sheep. Reverend Foote tried to talk to him anyway, but Jake could tell his heart was not in it.
“There is always time to repent,” he said. “There is always time to cast away the things that make you different.”
“No, thanks,” said Jake. “I’ve read the Bible, you know. I even liked some parts. Violent and pulpy.” He did not like Reverend Foote’s polyester slacks, and his attempts to bring Jake to Jesus seemed just as fake. He wanted to be left alone to read.
“Jesus was different than the other boys,” continued Reverend Foote as Jake hid the copy of Shirley Conran’s Savages behind his back, and leaned up against the dishwasher. “He had long hair like a woman and it is said that his eyes were lashed heavily, and that he was a pretty, pretty man.”
“He also wore a dress,” said Jake. “A dirty one.”
“That’s blasphemous,” said Reverend Foote. “Jesus had a dirty robe because he worked hard. Our Lord and Savior was different from the others, but not because of his clothing.”
Jake’s own outfit that day included black-and-scarlet plaid pants, a black polo shirt that was a vintage Penguin, and a black fedora with a scarlet band.
“Maybe this isn’t the right place for you,” said Reverend Foote.
“I kept telling you that,” said Jake. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let Bert drop me off here every Sunday, and leave them alone all day. I’ll go to the library, and be back in time for him to pick me up.”
“That would be a falsehood,” said Reverend Foote.
“It’s beneficial to everyone,” said Jake. “He’s spreading the good word to my mother.”
“I can’t argue with that,” said the reverend. “I wonder how she’s taking it.”
“On her back,” muttered Jake, and grabbed his paperback. He pushed past the reverend and hurried to find his coat.
The Lineup
Laverna arrived at the Dirty Shame early. As coach, she always tried to set a good example. She also wanted to catch Tish slacking on her weekend shift. But with her arms in these torture devices, she could not be sneaky. She could not even open the door. She kicked at it until Tish appeared, opening the door for Laverna with a flourish and a small bow. Tish and Tabby were sisters, and Tish got the looks, and Tabby the tits. Tish could never play for the Flood Girls. After surviving Bert’s flying boat as a child, Tish developed a nervous condition and would not ride in a car, ruling out any away games. And somebody had to cover the bar when the Flood Girls played.