Page 53 of My Cowboy Freedom
Chapter 14
Rock
Elena was oddly quiet as we drove to Bitterroot. I didn’t mind since it meant she was no longer lecturing me about how the hands have their own lives to live and I had my job and it’d be best if we all just focused on what was important,blah, blah, blah...
I didn’t know whether she was warning me off Skyler again, or whether she was telling herself to cool things off with Foz. The best part ofthatsituation was she didn’t want to talk about it.
Finally, we pulled up behind the church, where the youth pastor was greeting parents and ushering kids inside. Elena waved to Pastor Aiden before dropping me off. “I’ll be back around nine.”
Our group was made up of middle and high school kids. Because of my health, and because—for obvious reasons—I refused to participate in singles’ events, my folks seemed to think this is where I belonged.
I had this failure-to-launch theory that explained everything: Ever since the accident, my parents saw me as a rocket with bad navigation—I was a failure before I ever hit the launch pad, so they’re keeping me with all the other unlaunched rockets. They probably figure if I never “achieve liftoff,” I’ll be okay.
Bible study was mandatory, like court-ordered rehab for convicted drug addicts. My parents may have given in and sent me to live at the Rocking C with Elena, a woman who knew me, loved me, and had my best interests at heart. But it was conditional—among other things, I had to attend church and Bible study every single week without fail. And they had spies that would narc on me if I didn’t go.
It’s been way easier to go to Bible study than to tell my folks they’re wrong.
Plus I couldn’t afford medical insurance and Maisy’s expenses without my parents and they knew it. I did what they wanted me to do, just to keep my monthly allowance checks coming.
And they loved me; I knew they did. They didn’tlikeme. But that was okay. I didn’tlikethem very much either.
The pastor, Aiden Everett, met me and Maisy at the door. “Hey, Rocky. Good to see you, man. Maisy girl. Shake?”
Goddamnit. He knew better than that. Maisy knew better than to let herself get distracted when she was on duty, but with a look and a nod from me, she did as he asked. She couldn’t help herself around Pastor Everett, any more than any human could.
Aiden Everett was obscenely attractive.
In the way of charismatic pastors everywhere, all he had to do to open up a wallet, or win over a convert, or plant a flag in a dog’s heart was to show those big, capped teeth of his.
Aiden was so good-looking it was hard to even take him all in at once. Each week, I picked something specific to look at. That day, I noticed that he had three or four visible golden-brown hairs between the perfect arches of his brows. It was almost as if he left them there so you wouldn’t think he’d plucked, but he obviously did so maybe they were new.
Maybe his wife had gone AWOL from hair patrol.
Between them, the Everetts were the perfect youth ministers. The girls were all passionately in love with him, and the boys all wanted her pert pink ass. They were perfectly in love. Perfectly appropriate. They were what my dad, Pastor Elliot McLean of the Oklahoma Christian Pathways megachurch would have referred to asaspirationals.
Perfect role models for impressionable Christian kids.
I let Pastor exclaim over me, and then me and Maisy went inside to help set up chairs and refreshments.
Bible study at the Evangelical Free Church of Bitterroot lasted for two hours. In the first hour, we broke into groups and studied scripture. The second featured a brief sermon, song, and witness. For whatever reason, I’d gotten myself lumped in with Everett’s group. They were the oldest boys, and I guess everyone assumed I’d be more comfortable with them. I’d brought my scriptures and my pencils. I mechanically marked the passages we were discussing, this time, Acts 9, the part that tells the story of Paul’s epiphany on the road to Damascus.
And there... I had to be honest. Paul’s epiphany had come up so often in Bible study that I was starting to think it was a conspiracy—like maybe my dad was trying to send me subtle messages through Pastor Everett, using the Bible’s flip-flopping apostle as an example of how this struck-by-lightning kind of thing was done.
I was, in fact, exactly like Paul, but backwards. I was a believer when I got hit by my lightning strike. Paul is the dude my parents were hoping I would be when I woke up in the hospital afterward. Paul, who survived his bolt-from-the-blue experience to become the pillar of the Christian faith.
I didn’t give two shits about religion anymore. I didn’t know if it was because I was hit by lightning or not, but I woke up and I just couldn’t make myself believeany of itanymore.
If I could have believed, or if I could have lied about it, I’d probably be in Oklahoma right now, singing inspirational music onstage at Christian Pathways with the rest of my brothers.
If I could have lied, we’d all be on speaking terms. My nieces and nephews would still be climbing me like a big tree, calling me Uncle Doofus and loving me harder than I deserve.
My mother would call me for something other than to make sure I got my monthly check.
And in the quietest moments, I told myself I didn’t want all that back, but I did.
Christ, how I wanted it.
The belief. The spirit. The magic of home and family. The myth that is unconditional love.I want it all back, and I can’t have it because it never existed in the first place.
