It was the worst seat in the church. The view was fine, and he was far back enough that he escaped any uncomfortable scrutiny by the pastor. But the summer sun bent through the stained glass window of the east wall, shining intensely on his family’s bench. Neil was in the center of the searing spotlight, and had to constantly look to the left or front to avoid being blinded.
“Let us rise.”
As the congregation rose in a wave, Neil took a deep breath. The lyrics always escaped him. Whenever he put in the effort to find a song in the hymnal, the chorus always switched to another before he found it in the labyrinthine index. So he’d taken to lip-syncing. He was starting to get good at it. Mimicking the exaggerated gestures of a Baptist was an entertaining challenge.
Once, his mother had caught his lips moving emptily in the air. She’d given him a piercing glance during last year’s Easter mass, and the air between them filled with ice. In that second, Neil knew that something about his teenage diversion revealed every thought he’d kept hidden to keep the peace. He couldn’t turn away. he expected yelling, or bawling, or a grounding that never ended. Instead, he got that lone, disappointed look.
This summer, they were in Jamaica. Not the walled-off, resort part of Jamaica. Nor the fast-paced culturally-surging urban part of Jamaica. The Grayson family was in a rural town with a name that Neil couldn’t even remember. And they were going to church every weekend.
In theory, Neil could refuse. His brother had freely skipped mass for “shopping trips” to Kingston at least twice, and his father overslept more often than not. But that would have broken his détente with his mother. That wasn’t a battle worth fighting.
At first, he’d kept himself from going back to lip-syncing. But he needed something to do. His mother was fully engaged in the proceedings, while his father counted sheep. His brother stole seductive glances at the missionaries’ daughters, which was annoying because he wanted to steal seductive glances at the missionaries’ daughters. So he’d defaulted back to his personal theater.
At the very least, Neil’s skill had improved over the vacation. His mother had shown no signs of noticing his return to the game, and his impersonations were better than ever. He might even have a future in pop music. Singing was the least important part of the industry, as far as he could tell.
“You may be seated,” the pastor said at the end of the performance. He was tall, lanky man with a booming voice that should have belonged to someone twice as thick. He never had to talk over the congregation; no other voice could compete for attention.
As the pastor launched into a sermon about the election, Neil closed his hymnal. It had been open to the same page of the index for the last ten minutes. A flaw in his routine. He made a note to turn the pages during next week’s show.
The sun was now slightly less oppressive, freeing Neil to look around the room. The many families of the King of Saints’ congregation fell into the same formation each week. In the far back row, a handful of men and women in their twenties whispered amongst themselves. It was their obligatory day of penance before their return to the dancehalls, where they would build up a fresh set of sins to repent for next week.
The young parents sat before them, holding their babies and staring forward with tired eyes. Neil noticed that a few had graduated from the first group since May.
Darrius stood by the door, apart from everyone. His gaze was always fixed on the pastor or the floor. As he prayed, his dreadlocks hid his tattooed hands and face as he bowed his head. Darrius never said a word, and always left after the congregation sang “This Little Light of Mine”. Neil watched Darrius open the door and shut it slowly and carefully behind him.
The standard families filled the middle of the church. They were dull units of about four that rose, fell, and silenced as requested. So, of course, his family was among them.
The front row was ground zero. Men and women of every age jumped and shouted with every beat of the pastor’s speech. A minute never went by without a cry of “Jay-sus!” filling the room. On a good day, someone fainted. Neil had seen tamer mosh pits.
However, it was the accessories that had surprised Neil. He’d seen all the glossia and faith healings before on the internet. But the sheer variety and blinding color of the women’s hats and handbags never failed to give him pause. It seemed to be an unofficial competition. This week, his mother was in the running. She wore a wide-rimmed black hat that doubled as shade. It’d taken all his restraint not to laugh on the walk here.
Across the aisle, the Coltons sat at rapt attention. From what Neil had gathered from his brother, they were a missionary family from Florida. If the families in the front were possessed, the elder Coltons were hypnotized. It would take the second coming to remove the graying couple’s silent focus on the pastor’s words.
The Coltons had one son around Neil’s age. More importantly, they had two daughters around his age. Their names were Maria and Prudence, and they had the impressive ability to look through him at Jordan.
Prudence was a lost cause. She was three years older than Neil, and had the same vacant expression as the kids back home. But Maria was like him. He saw her gaze move intelligently around the church, eyes darting from person to person. Earlier , she’d stopped to look at him. He was in the middle of a routine, and she’d seen right through it. Her knowing smile was a world away from his mother’s glare. Then he blinked, and the stare had moved on to his brother.
“Sorry bro. Looks like I’m picking up a white girl.” Jordan whispered. “Or two.”
“You’re a creeper.”
Jordan shrugged. “They seem to like it.”
“What about the girl you were dating back home?”
“She’s a prude.”
“You call all your girlfriends prudes. What makes you think this will be different?”
“They’re church girls.” Jordan said, convinced he was imparting great wisdom. “Why do you think they call it missionary?” he added. He held for laughter.
“Classy.”
Jordan was one year older and one foot shorter than Neil. Nature had decided to compensate him with the build of a miniature Charles Atlas. Neil might have been jealous, but Jordan freely acted as an effective bodyguard and ineffective mentor. Neil just wished he came with a mute button.
“I’m just fooling around. Sorta.”
“What’s up with Darrius?” Neil asked. It was easier to change the subject.
“He’s some pusher,” Jordan responded with a shrug.
The woman in front of them, who had been entirely obscured by a tilted pink hat, turned to face them. She put her pointer finger up to her lips. After she turned back towards the altar, Jordan mimicked the expression with a different finger. Neil stifled a laugh.
Jordan went back to paying cursory attention to the sermon, leaving Neil to his own devices. His gaze wandered to the stained glass windows. They were far and away the most impressive feature of the church. He was sure the scattered images of angels and martyrs had their own stories, but he liked to fill in his own. He was sure his version had better fight scenes.
His attention slowly sank back to earth as the sermon grew to a close. The pastor gave one final, passionate maxim to the crowd, but Neil couldn’t decipher it through his accent. His mother seemed to enjoy it, so he nodded out of habit.
“Thank you all. Now remember, our youth bible study group will be led by the Coltons,” the pastor added more understandably. “God bless you all.”
The pastor stepped down from the altar, and the room gradually filled with the sound of individual conversation. Most gravitated towards the exit. Neil watched the missionaries, alongside most of the teenagers in the room, drift down the hallway.
Neil felt the seed of an idea growing. Perhaps he could get ahead of Jordan after all.
“Hey, Mom?”
“What do you need?” she replied. She was good. He had to make this convincing.
“Can I stick around? The youth group actually sounds interesting.”
“What about your summer reading?”
“I’m on top of it.”
“You’re on top of Moby Dick? I was an English Teacher and it put me to sleep.”
“I’m a big fan of…whales.”
“I haven’t seen you with it.”
“What are you, my keeper?” Neil said with his best plastic grin.
“Yes. But you can go. You’ve spent a bit too much time cooped up in Aunt June’s house.”
Neil walked away before she could change her mind. To his dismay, Jordan followed closely behind.
“Hold on, smart guy. You forgot your wingman,” Jordan said amiably.
“Wingmen don’t steal their partner’s thunder,” said Neil, increasing his pace.
“Sorry. Just assert yourself. There are two of them, right?”
Neil let the argument end before it began, and the pair walked in silence. When they reached the door, Jordan gave him a pat on the back. The patronizing gesture was the closest thing Neil was getting to an apology, so he took it.
Bible study was held in a significantly more cramped room, most likely to prevent the kind of daydreaming Neil had just enjoyed. Most of the space was monopolized by a single wooden round table, surrounded by folding chairs. Bored teenage faces filled most of the seats, save two by the window.
As he took the first open seat, Neil was suddenly glad to have his brother around. It was a room full of unfamiliar faces, and he didn’t do particularly well in crowds. He was painfully aware of his tourist status.
Mr. Colton beamed at the new arrivals. He wore a thin black mustache under a pair of thick glasses. He rested his right hand on a bible that looked even older than him.
“We have some new guests this week. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
“Thanks.” Neil said meekly.
He zoned out through most of the meeting. In hindsight, it hadn’t been a great plan. The seats by the girls had filled quickly, and they seemed too engaged in the actual discussion to be distracted. Neil wasn’t exactly qualified to contribute to bible analysis, so he didn’t have a chance to call attention to himself. His brother read text messages under the table, leaving him alone.
The room didn’t even have decent fodder for people-watching. Mass provided a variety of subjects, but bible study only had two models of bored teenager: feigned interest and daydreaming. As empty words flew across the table, Neil drummed his fingers on the table and joined the second group.
His agitation slowly grew. It was his first summer outside of Boston, and he was stuck in a dimly lit room, listening to the literary subtext of a book he’d never been able to take seriously. Surprisingly, the subject matter wasn’t the worst part. It was the way Mr. Colton spoke. He spoke to a room full of teenagers in a tone reserved for elementary school. As the missionary droned on, Neil made a private oath to make all future decisions with his higher brain.
“Here, we find Satan in the form of a dragon,” Mr. Colton said energetically. “Who can tell me what a dragon is?”
Neil glanced at the clock. There were two minutes left, and he didn’t have much to lose.
“You usually find them at the end of a level. They tend to have a lot of hit points and an overpowered breath weapon.”
Half the room chuckled, while the other rolled their eyes. Neil noticed that his brother did both. Mr. Colton stared ahead with a confused expression.
“I suppose we’re done for the day,” Mr. Colton said tersely, attempting to save face.
The room emptied quickly. Neil tarried behind his brother for a few minutes. Jordan’s texting had evolved into a phone call, which in turn transformed into a shouting match. Evidently Jordan’s stateside date had her own ideas. As things grew more awkward, Neil left the building on his own.
As he stepped outside the church, he saw Maria leaning against a tree. He swiftly forgot his oath, and started planning his advance. Neil brushed the dust and lint off his Sunday shirt before walking across the grass.
“Hi,” Neil said in his best imitation of his brother. He briefly flashed a toothy grin.
“That was unacceptable,” Maria said sharply. Neil frowned. This wasn’t in the plan.
“What do you mean?”
“The way you answered my father. Why’d you even say that?”
“Dragon Warrior, I guess?” Neil replied, thinking of his early gaming days.
“How did you find that here?”
As he digested the question, Neil realized she believed he was a local. He then realized she legitimately believed that the locals didn’t have access to decade-old video games. The game was off.
“Foun’ a box of tem down at the shops.” Neil said in a cartoonishly exaggerated accent. He might as well see where this went.
“Well, you should get rid from them. They’re tools of the devil, more often than not.” Maria said authoritatively. She punctuated the point with a raised finger.
“Really?”
“Really. Trust me, I know about these things.”
“Thank de lord we have you Americans ta tell us wat is wat you pompous Valley asswipe.”
For a moment, Mary looked at him like a talking cat. Then the light of comprehension reached her eyes, and she crossed her arms in indignation.
“What the hell? Do you think that’s funny?!”
“Very.” Neil muttered as he left the yard. A wave of creative curses followed him as he walked onto the road.
The church was halfway up a long hill in the northern part of town. At the top of the hill, his Aunt June’s house waited. It was a half-hour walk along a sparsely traveled dirt road. The journey alone gave him time to cool off.
At the tail end of his journey, he saw Darrius leaning against a tree.. His pose mirrored Maria’s as he stared impassively at passerby. Neil walked past him on first instinct (and his mother’s instructions), but paused before Aunt June’s door. After a moment’s thought, he turned around. One more bad decision wouldn’t kill him.
“Can I ask you a question?”
Darrius looked at him quizzically. He clearly wasn’t used to being approached. A lit cigarette dangled loosely from his lips as he sized Neil up.
“What?”
“What does a guy like you look for in there? The church, I mean.”
The man raised a hand to his chin in thought. Neil stared at the web of clashing tattoos decorating his arm. Blue lines zigzagged, spiraled, and dove in a mock tribal pattern. He followed them down, and noticed the gun holster at his hip.
“I don’t have anywhere better to go,” Darrius said. “I just hope some of it will rub off on me.” He turned back towards the horizon.
Neil took the cue to leave. As he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder. A rusty white van had taken his place. A pale man in a wife beater sat in the driver’s seat, and shouted something unintelligible at Darrius. The two argued in pidgin until Darrius pulled the gun from its holster. That seemed to end the argument. The white man handed over an envelope and sped away.
Neil made his way back to the house. He opened the door, took one last look at the man under the palm tree, and then went inside. He found his mother watching television.
“How’d it go?” she asked. “It didn’t sound like something you’d enjoy.”
Neil considered a few answers, and decided to be honest. “I guess I was looking for something that wasn’t there.” He sat down beside his mother and counted the days until his vacation ended.