B003UYURTC EBOK (5 page)

“Could be worse,” I said. “I could have slept with her and then died.”

“True. Very true, my friend.”

“Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a poorly acted James Bond.”

“Bastard,” he muttered in a perfect Scottish accent.

After school, Lucas, Gabriel, and I went to Mena Prescott’s house long enough to walk inside, each get thrown a Coke by her overly enthusiastic father, get briefly interviewed by her nosy mother, and finally get Mena out of there and into the car. We went to this place on the river where Lucas first told me about his brother and where I had, some time after that, experienced an R-rated moment with Laura Fish.

“Where’s Libby?” Mena asked, as she realized one member of the group was missing.

“Family vacation,” Gabriel answered, a sad look in his eyes.

Lucas and Mena were soon playing around in the water as Gabriel and I were lying on the bank, using our shirts bundled up under our heads for pillows.

“Do you think we’d be famous if we saw one?” Gabriel asked.

“Saw what?” Lucas shouted from the water while being splashed in the face.

“If we were lying out here like this and saw one of those woodpeckers.”

“Oh. I dunno if we’d be famous, but I bet we’d at least make the
Lily Press
!” I joked.

“That almost seems pointless,” Gabriel added.

“Yep,” I agreed.

“I don’t see what the big deal is with the bird anyway,” Mena shouted while trying to avoid being dunked underwater by Lucas.

“Gabe, you want to take this one?” I said to my brother, having already heard his theory about the woodpecker situation just one night before.

“We need it,” he began. “I mean …
they
need it,” he nodded his head toward town.

“What do you mean?” Lucas asked, he and Mena now listening intently, as we all did when Gabriel decided to share one of his theories.

“Look at our town,” Gabriel said, “look at the people. How many happy people do you see in a day? How many people do you see who seem fulfilled?”

“I’m fulfilled,” Mena butted in.

“You’re young enough to think you can get out of here,” Gabriel said without hesitation.

“With me,” Lucas added, wrapping one arm around Mena’s shoulders.

“Go on, Gabriel,” I said, rolling my eyes at the happy couple.

“That’s the thing—this is a town full of people who used to be like us. You think anyone in Lily grew up dreaming about raising their families here? You think if they all had a choice, they wouldn’t leave tomorrow?”

We got quiet for a few minutes after that. It was one of those moments when you’re waiting on someone to say something important or funny or just do
anything
to break you away from the sad thoughts that overwhelm your mind. Thoughts like never having enough money to move away or not getting into college. Thoughts like having to come back to take care of a sick parent and getting stuck here all over again. That’s what happened in Lily. People dreamed. People left. And they all came back. It was like Arkansas’s version of a black hole; nothing could escape it. I lay there silent beside my brother, my best friend and his girlfriend wading in the water before me, and I knew that we were all just in the prelude to disappointment after disappointment. We joked about Lily all the time but knew full well that we were part of it all. There wasn’t anything that set us apart from the manager at the Lily Grocery Store, who just
knew
he’d make it out but never did. We were no different from my parents, both of whom had moved away and moved back to Lily within five years of graduating high school.

So, the fact that Gabriel believed our town needed that bird to exist made absolute sense to me, whether I liked it or not. They needed something to be hopeful about. Nothing in my seventeen-year-old mind was going to change if that damn bird really did show up, because I still had a slight chance of a future. I still had hope in the possibility of starting a life
somewhere else. It was easier for me to hate everyone in town than hate myself for being afraid I’d be just like them.

“They need it,” Gabriel said, breaking our silence. “They need a reason to believe they’re all still here for something.”

“So, do you think they’ll find it?” Mena asked Gabriel as if he were Yoda or something.

“I think they’ll all be disappointed even if they do find it. Nothing’s gonna change this place,” he said, his tone changing from serious and reflective to that of a seasoned actor’s.

“Thanks for the uplifting chat, Gabe,” Lucas said, splashing my brother.

“You’re welcome!” Gabriel yelled, jumping into the water to attack my friend.

Lucas quickly got him into an immovable headlock and looked my direction.

“So, no more Quit Man then, huh?” Lucas shouted from the water.

“Hell no!” Gabriel shouted back. We all laughed.

“Well,” I said, “that’s only until he flunks out of community college and comes right back!”

Book Title #75:
The Black Holes of Arkansas.

           After about two weeks of traveling, Benton Sage was starting to get used to the routine of passing out food, water, and Christ as quickly and efficiently as possible. He had talked to his family only once since his departure from Atlanta and just long enough to tell them that he believed he was doing God’s work. In doing so, Benton had told his first real lie. He lay awake at night, reading scriptures over and over, racking his brain for some meaning to words he’d been fed and had preached time and time again. Rameel, sitting up in his bed one night, looked over at Benton and said, with sleep in his voice, “You are always with God, Been-tone.”

“I’m trying to understand something,” Benton said back to him.

“What is it?”

“It’s in Hebrews. It says, ‘Are they not all ministering spirits sent out to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?’”

“And?” Rameel sat up farther in his bed.

“I always thought that this was God telling us to go out and save people.”

“And you doubt that now?” Rameel asked.

“No. I doubt that I am helping God in any way other than providing food and water. I feel as if we are doing nothing more than reading a few scriptures and then moving on.”

“We are, Been-tone. We are giving these people food. And we are giving them water. And, yes, we are trying to
sell
God to them. But, you see, it is not so much in the things we say to them about Christ, but more in the things we do for them that mirror the ways of Christ.”

“But how will they know to worship him? How will they know where to look for salvation?” Benton’s tone was frustrated.

“They will know that someone is looking after them. And the rest is up to God.”

The next day Benton Sage thought constantly about what Rameel had said to him. He watched a small child drink from a jug of water and wet his sun-crusted lips. He heard a mother begin to hum and sing a song and watched as her entire family joined in. He saw children playing with a soccer ball near a field of grain, a field that Rameel had helped to get planted for them. He heard Rameel laughing with a small family inside their hut
as he showed them pictures of his church and of his family, telling them stories and singing them songs. Benton Sage sat alone outside a family’s hut and wrote a letter home. It read:

Dear Reverend Hughes,

I am not quite sure that this is the place for me. I feel

as if my talents could be of better use somewhere else,

somewhere I can speak the language and preach, instead

of just stand around and run errands. I understand

that God has called me to this place for some reason

or another, but either I am not ready to receive that

message yet or we have made a mistake. You say, always,

to trust in the Lord and he will provide an answer, so I

will wait on your response and I will continue to do what

is asked of me here, for the Lord, and surely he will

hear my cries.

Sincerely,

Benton Ezekiel Sage

Benton was able to mail his letter in Addis Ababa, the capital, and listed Rameel’s church as the return address. He was told that a letter to the United States would take somewhere between three and five weeks to reach its destination. He waited patiently and continued his work with Rameel, with whom he became closer as the weeks moved on. He learned that Rameel was married to a British woman named Isadora, and that they had
two children together, Ezra, a daughter, and Micah, a son. He learned that Rameel had studied in London, where he learned English, and had met Isadora in a literature class during his last semester.

“It was like looking at the sun and not going blind,” Rameel said of his first sight of Isadora.

“That beautiful, huh?” Benton asked.

“Been-tone, my family’s faces shine like the light of God.”

One morning nearly two months later Rameel walked into the small room where Benton stayed while they were in between travels across the country. The room overlooked a prayer garden that Rameel had designed and built for the church. Benton looked up at Rameel, who seemed worried and was holding an envelope addressed to him. Benton grabbed it from his friend, who slowly walked out of the room, and ripped it open with little hesitation. Inside there was no letter from home. No late card for his birthday the week before. No response from Reverend Hughes. The envelope contained only a single plane ticket.

That night, after Benton had explained that he would be leaving in one week, Rameel looked down at his hands and back up at Benton. He shook his head and began to whisper, though they were the only ones in the dining room.

“Been-tone Sog. You will be missed. I thank the Lord for your time here with me. May he shine his light upon you for all of your days.”

It was decided the next day that before Benton left, he would
be introduced to Rameel’s family, who had been staying in London but would be returning to Addis Ababa for the summer months. Rameel beamed with excitement as they drove up to a white, two-story home with a well-manicured lawn so green that the sun reflecting off it made Benton squint his eyes.

“Isadora’s family is very wealthy,” Rameel said with humility.

“This is not your home?” Benton asked.

“This home belongs to my wife. I stay here from time to time.” Rameel laughed loudly as he parked the car and got out.

Inside, the two children ran and jumped into their father’s arms. He picked them both up, held them up over his head, and swooped them back down. They laughed and giggled and their faces lit up. Isadora, a tall, slim, and tan Caucasian woman, approached Benton with one hand extended.

“You must be Benton Sage,” she said gracefully.

“Yes. And you must be Isadora?” Benton asked.

“Nice to meet you, Benton. Have you enjoyed your time here?”

“Very much so,” Benton said, telling his second real lie.

After Isadora showed Benton the house and introduced him to the children, who thought it funny to keep repeating “BEEN-TONE SOG!” at the top of their lungs, they all sat down for dinner in the formal dining room. Benton tried his best to stomach the food, which had been prepared by a chef, but was put off by the rareness of his steak and the cold soup that was served as an appetizer. During dessert, a chocolate mousse that Benton did enjoy, Isadora began asking him questions about himself, his family, and his life as a missionary.

“Well, this has been my first mission, really. I did do some
teaching of the scriptures in New Orleans one summer. Do you know New Orleans?” Benton asked.

“Yes,” Isadora replied. “My father calls it the Big Easy. Is this unusual?”

“No. That’s what most people call it. I have no idea what it means, though,” Benton said, thinking about the nickname.

“And do you have any other hobbies besides helping people, Benton?” Isadora asked.

“You mean like sports, or what?” Benton laughed.

“Like singing or writing. Do you paint or anything like that? My Micah is a beautiful painter and Ezra is learning piano.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve always sort of thought that if the Lord didn’t make it, then it doesn’t need to be made. So I kind of just stick to the scriptures. Never really considered being an artist or anything. I think it would just distract me,” Benton said.

“Well, then, perhaps we should call you Gabriel. Huh, Rameel?” Isadora laughed.

“Yes. Gabriel, the Left Hand of God himself,” Rameel joined in, raising his glass of water toward Benton and then taking a sip.

“I don’t get it,” Benton said, feeling confused and out of place.

“Gabriel, the angel. You know him?” Rameel asked.

“Of course,” Benton answered.

“He sent the Grigori to hell,” Isadora said.

“The Grigori … the fallen angels?” Benton asked, sitting up in his seat.

“Right. But it is said, if you read the Book of Enoch, that he did this because the Grigori were teaching the humans too many things like astrology and the arts,” Isadora explained.