If you haven’t experienced the other episodes in the That Other Flock series, you can find them in the Index. Thank’s for reading!
“She told us who you are,” Jelly said to me. He tried for a casual whisper but that made it sound like a threat. He pivoted like a chunky NBA power forward to block my escape. They were between me and the door out of the church kitchen.
“Easy, stop that.” My Name Is Tommy said to Jelly. Then, turning to me, with hands up, palms out, he said to me, “You got nothing to worry about from us.”
“Hey man, it’s cool,” Brian/Ice said. “Everybody got shit in the rearview.”
I took a breath. It’s not like I’m a criminal, but this was exactly what I didn’t want.
Betty was trying to get me to focus on the donut table. She was in hostess mode and said, “This is for you.” With a little flair, she opened one of the donut boxes on the table. Inside was my usual buttermilk glazed donut on a smiley face napkin with a little bottle of Captain Morgan beside it. On the inside of the top of the box someone had written, “We missed you.”
“Dibs, if you don’t want it. I’ve gotten your donut on the Sundays you didn’t show up.” Jelly said.
It took three weeks for me to decide to come back. I spent that first Sunday as drunk as I’ve ever been, which is saying something. The next Sunday I was more miserable than drunk. Finally, I tried again. There were lots of voices in my head telling me all the reasons it was a stupid idea. I couldn’t disagree. But one voice, and I guess I should state clearly, I wasn’t actually hearing voices; it was all fairly normal internal monologue…no actual voices…because, you know, I say that because of Tommy. Anyway, one voice, or rather, one part of me, kept insisting that I should be there for donuts and those 6 people.
“Thank you, this is very nice.” I managed to say as I uncapped the rum. I took a pull, savoring the spicy burn. I already had 4 swigs going this morning. It hadn’t been easy to get up the church steps.
“Hey, he can talk,” Jelly said to the others with a big smile. He hit a more positive tone with this. “Every week, Betty had your rum and donut ready because she was sure you’d come back.”
The Professor, it took a moment for his name to appear in my foggy brain. It was Leon. He said with some kindness, “Are you OK? We’re glad you came back.”
Before I could answer, Red/Eve was tapping on my arm for me to pass the bottle to her.
I passed her what was left in the little bottle, glad I still had my half-full pocket bottle. “Who told you?” I asked Jelly.
“Me.” This was Red/Eve as she drained the bottle.
“Told what?” I asked Red/Eve with as much stink-eye as I could manage.
With a shrug, a lifted eyebrow, and a tight smile, she looked apologetic and defiant at the same time. “You know, her cancer, the botched funeral, fall from grace, alcohol, bankruptcy, disappearing. Just the highlights.”
Well, shit. How’d she know?
Jelly interrupted my doom swirl with, “Gonna eat that donut?”
Brian/Ice punched his arm and said, “Don’t be like that.”
I nodded to Jelly for him to eat it.
“I googled you,” Betty said this with visible embarrassment. “Even with the beard, hair, and…” She gestured at my dirty coat, “Your new look, I could see she was right. I am so sorry. You’ve been through a lot.”
“And screwed up a lot,” Jelly said around the last of my buttermilk.
“Dude,” Ice/Brian said. “Just once. Will you think before you talk?”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Betty asked.
“He definitely does NOT want to talk about it,” Brian/Ice answered correctly for me.
“Why not? We’re friends. It helps to talk about it.” Betty continued the conversation without me.
“Man, you launched that wreath.” Jelly had finished my donut and mimed throwing a frisbee.
“Hey. Stop it.” Tommy grabbed Jelly’s arm mid swing.
“The man’s entitled to his struggle. He was burying his wife. That’ll do it.” Leon, the Professor, sounded like someone who knew first-hand about the downs of life.
“But drunk? Oh man, that video is crazy to watch.” Jelly went too far with that. “You used to be somebody.”
I made for the kitchen door, again.
Tommy stepped in front of me. “Bad theology at funerals is triggering. I get it. I’d have felt the same way, perfectly reasonable response, maybe a little extreme. Probably a little drunk at the funeral?”
“Looked a lot drunk,” Red/Eve said as she put the rum bottle in my empty welcome donut box.
“How’d you know?” I said, turning to Red/Eve. “My carefully curated disguise didn’t fool you?” I asked, taking in my dirty coat, scruffy beard, and long hair with one gesture.
“Theology?” Jelly asked Tommy. They were having a separate conversation about me.
“I didn’t know they were going to say those things or read those verses.” I said, deciding to explain myself. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. Wasn’t ready.”
“What verses?” Jelly asked again.
“God won’t give you more than you can handle.” My flat voice carried none of the rage and despair that still roiled in me. “Which is not a Bible verse. Nor does the Bible say that cancer is God’s will.” Then the rage escaped, which was the problem at her funeral. My voice rose. “Plus, the insanity of imagining a loving God welcoming a beautiful, talented, kind, loving 30-year-old woman into heaven while leaving human trash alive to prosper. And then, them speaking at her funeral. So, yeah, threw a wreath at that fucker and cursed God while I was at it. And everyone else there.” I reached for my pocket bottle. Explaining what happened was another idiotic mistake in a string of idiotic mistakes, but I kept going. “And let’s not forget to make a big deal about the fact that then I collapsed.”
“That’s in the Bible. Right? God doesn’t give us anything we can’t handle.” Jelly continued his conversation with Tommy.
“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to,” Leon, the Professor, said to me. “Just stay, be here.”
“Tell us. Which was worse? The funeral or your last Sunday preaching?” Eve/Red said. “That was nearly as click worthy as the wreath launch.”
I pulled my pocket bottle out and held it to my chest. Frustration running neck and neck with shame.
“My last Sunday is still on YouTube?” I pulled the stopper on the Captain Morgan and asked, “Did you get to see the drunken panic attack and them escorting me off stage? That’s the good part.”
No one said anything, but Tommy, Betty, Brian/Ice, and Red/Eve were all nodding in morbid confirmation.
“What do you mean, your last Sunday?” Jelly asked the group.
“Big time Preacher!” Red/Eve answered Jelly with a nod toward me. “Mega preacher at a mega church. Mega Christian. How many people were there? Looked like a couple of thousand.”
“The auditorium holds fifteen hundred people,” I answered with a hand over my eyes, trying to block out the memory. “Plus, whoever watches on YouTube.”
“What?” Jelly said. “You’re a preacher, a pastor?”
Red/Eve crossed her arms, cocked her head and said, “You should tell them.” She didn’t say what was clear: either I could tell it or she would. What did she know? And how?
“Not a pastor anymore.” I answered. And then, even knowing I shouldn’t, I said. “41 days. From diagnosis to funeral. Pancreatic cancer. Just over a month to lose the love of my life. Only 7 years together. She was ready for babies. And then…” I stopped myself with a sip of rum.
“Oh, that’s so hard. I’m so sorry.” Leon, the Professor, said. He sounded sincere.
I’m not sure why. Maybe it was the rum, or maybe it was this weird little group. Whatever. I told them. “When she died, well, really, before she died, I started drinking, drinking a lot. I couldn’t cope. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t deal with the reality I was facing. Prayer didn’t help, God’s silence only hurt more. Talking with people just made me madder. I couldn’t figure it out. Where was God? What about my prayers? All those other people’s prayers? That wasn’t enough? I had all the theological answers. I thought I knew God and then it all fell apart.”
“So at her funeral, yes, I was drunk. Her eulogy was my part. I did it right, even drunk. I’m good, used to be good in public. I wanted to honor her. To tell everyone…and every seat taken, plus people standing around her graveside. I wanted them all to know how wonderful and special she was. I can’t…” I had to clear my throat, but I put the rum back in my pocket. “After I’d said my peace and after they’d read her obituary, one of the church’s leaders was giving the closing prayer but decided to preach a little. Idiot. He talked about how thankful we all were God never gives us more than we can handle. And that God had welcomed her into heaven with a party. He said that the party was going on right now. And he looked right at me and said, ‘God needed her in heaven.’”
“That’s when you threw the wreath?” Tommy asked.
“And nailed him with it,” Red/Eve confirmed. “Many fucks were given, flowers everywhere.”
“Yep. That felt good...” I said.
“That’s at the end of the video,” Tommy whispered. “That’s when they had to hold you back from attacking him. Yelling at God. Brother, it’s hard to watch, knowing you. Seems like more than you could handle, for sure.”
“That wasn’t my best moment. I’d like to think I might have reacted better if I’d know it was coming or that they were taping. Or maybe I could have stopped him from saying what he said. But it didn’t work out that way.”
“Oh…how horrible for you. I know that was embarrassing.” Betty said.
“Not embarrassed. I didn’t care anymore. I don’t care. But that’s why my last Sunday is such great video. I thought I could explain and make it right. I thought it would help people. But I lost it, again.”
“You were drunk again,” Red/Eve added…maybe with a smirk? I couldn’t tell for sure.
“Yes. I was drunk again…or still drunk. Don’t know. Didn’t go the way I’d planned.”
“Did you throw anything that time?” Jelly asked.
He sounded genuinely curious, so I said, “No. I just cried. And cried. And then panicked. And then went froze. Pretty much catatonic. They were so glad to get rid of me. Can’t blame them.”
Then Betty stepped up to hug me. I fought it. I’m bigger than her, but she held on.
All I could say was, “No.” Over and over. No.
The sobs returned, but this time it was Betty, not me.
She whispered into my chest through her tears. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. You’re not alone. We don’t care what you’ve done or how drunk you are or…or those videos…” Even softer, she said, “We’re here.”
I finally pried loose from her grip. Jelly moved into hug me but I managed to divert him to Betty. He swarmed her.
I stepped away.
Around Jelly’s big bicep, I could see Betty nodding and smiling through her tears. And behind them I saw Red/Eve going out the kitchen door.
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Yes, this was a big time plot twist!