Sunsets (15 page)

T
he “bongo boys” sat cross-legged on the patio behind their side of the duplex. Each wore a black beret, and with open palms, pounded his bongos. It wasn’t as funny a sight as Alissa thought it would be. They looked kind of cute. If they each grew a thin black mustache, they could probably play at some Parisian, smoke-filled café and be a hit.

Here in their Pasadena backyard, Jake and Brad played to an audience of two: Fina, Genevieve’s fourteen-year-old daughter, who was all eyes for the dynamic duo; and Steven, Genevieve’s husband. He wasn’t at all what Alissa had expected him to be like. She had pictured Genevieve married to a tall, muscular type of guy with a winning smile. Steven was medium height, medium build, nearly bald, with fair skin and a long nose positioned over his small round mouth like the top of an exclamation point.

He was reclining on the chaise lounge, eyes closed, absorbing the sound rather than participating in the music.

“Where, oh, where,” Brad began in rhythm with the drum when he saw Alissa sit down in a patio chair next to Fina, “is your world-famous, ever-so-precious, not-to-be-slighted Chloe the cat?” It came out sounding like a poem, not like the subtle teasing Alissa supposed it was.

She had forgotten about her ultimatum that Chloe would have to be invited as well. She answered with the first thing that came to mind. “Hiding under the bed, most likely.”

“The cat is smarter than any of us thought,” Jake said in time to the beating of his bongo.

“So when does the concert begin?” Alissa asked.

“This is it!” Fina said, looking at Alissa with slight disdain. “This is what they do. They talk and play bongos at the same time. It’s cool.”

“Oh,” Alissa said. The joke about walking and chewing gum at the same time came to mind, and she wondered if that was harder than talking and playing bongos. But she decided she should keep her lips sealed.

Jake gave a loud beat on his bongo and then broke into a fast roll with both hands flying first on the twin drums in his lap then over to the larger set in front of him. “Taco shell!” he announced loudly. Then softly he added, “Farmer in the dell.”

Brad picked up the crazy beat and added to the poem, “Cat fell in the well.”

Jake jumped in to finish the poetic masterpiece with “Eggplant pudding!”

A long roll followed on the largest set of bongos, and Alissa couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing. Fina looked at her as if she had defiled something sacred. Steven, eyes still closed, grinned from his reclining position on the lounge, and Genevieve stepped out of the shadows of the garden path to join them.

“Did I miss much?” she asked, sitting in the lounge next to Steven.

“It’s sheer brilliance,” Steven said, keeping his eyes closed.

Alissa was still laughing. “It’s supposed to be funny, right?”

“Art,” Jake said, straight-faced and in beat with the drums which Brad had taken down to a slower pace, “is in the mind of the beholder.”

Brad took the lead and pounded faster, quoting a verse Alissa knew was at the end of the book of Psalms. “Let everything …” He thumped the smallest bongo. “That has breath …” Faster on the small bongo, faster still on the medium-sized one. Then, with a rolling beat on the largest, he finished with a loud voice, “Praise the Lord!”

Genevieve immediately burst into applause. Steven opened one eye and glanced over at his smiling wife. Alissa couldn’t tell if he disapproved or was simply surprised at her response.

What surprised Alissa was that she had a response within herself as well. But she didn’t let it out. She wanted to shout “Amen!” The impulse amazed her. It had been months, no, years since she had wanted to align herself with anything that came under the category of praising the Lord. That phrase had become sour to her.

For some reason she thought of Jake’s comments about the way pickles ruin potato salad for him and how he thought there should be a law against them. Well, Alissa could relate. After the Phoenix disaster, the phrase, “praise the Lord,” had become distasteful to her. She felt it was overused in a way that ruined Christianity. There ought to be a law against people flippantly tossing it out as a catchy slogan for believers.

But tonight something was happening inside Alissa. First Genevieve had reached out to her as a sister in Christ, and
Alissa had felt a connection with her. Now she was experiencing this reawakening of a feeling inside that said, “I agree. I think God should be praised.” How could these two kooks with their berets and bongos—of all things, bongos—change something so deep inside her?

As the beat continued, Alissa looked up at the midnight sky. The moon hung overhead, shedding its soft radiance on the garden like a blessing. It was only a half-moon, a perfect, sliced-right-down-the-middle half-moon. But it was alive with light.

For the first time in a long time, Alissa felt as if God was near. And she wanted him to come closer.

The guys kept playing, the moon kept shining, and Alissa kept watching the sky. She thought of her parents and grandmother. They were all dead. Could they see her? Would she ever see any of them again?

The hardest truth Alissa had gleaned when she had read through the whole Bible years ago was the clear statement that anyone who had not called on the Lord for salvation was sentenced to eternal separation from God. She couldn’t refute it. That’s what the Bible said. And she believed every word.

Yet it broke her heart. Since that was true, it meant that every one in her family was now in hell. Even Shawn, the father of her baby. None of them had ever given any indication that they had surrendered their lives to God.

How could Alissa allow herself to fall into the arms of a God who was in so many ways a kind and loving Father yet who, at the same time, could condemn people like her mother and father to hell? She hadn’t found a suitable answer. Perhaps that was why her zeal for Christ and the message of Christianity had waned. How could she promote the very same message of “good news” that had cursed her loved ones?

The bongos continued into the night. Alissa listened, not laughing, not commenting, only absorbing. Genevieve, Steven,
and Fina headed back home after the first hour. Alissa didn’t want to leave. She sat and listened, watching the sky.

“Coffee,” Brad finally said after the moon had moved directly overhead. He padded softly on his drum. “The time has come for coffee.”

“So be it,” Jake said, thumping out a final roll. “I am a happy man. I have played the bongos and now.” His roll built to a crescendo. “Stick a fork in this turkey because, baby, he’s done.”

With a final “boom” Jake ended his portion of the bongo-fest. Brad followed behind with a slow tom-tom beat that ended in a strong “thwap.” They performed some silly sort of handshake with their first two fingers and then tossed their berets into the air.

Alissa rose to go inside and said, “Thanks, guys. I have to admit, I really enjoyed it. Of course, if you try to get me to agree to that statement outside this little circle of friends, I might possibly deny it.”

“She liked it,” Brad said, giving Jake a half grin.

“Of course she liked it,” Jake said, his dark hair still slicked back and in place even after the beret.

Brad, on the other hand, looked like a member of an alternative band. His long brown hair had lost its part long ago. The cocoa stubble across his chin shed a dark shadow in the weak glow of the patio light. But, as he hopped up and stretched his cramped legs, he looked at Alissa, and something in his summer green eyes caught her attention.

“Go to coffee with me?” He ended the statement so it at least sounded like an invitation.

“Is that a request or a command?” Alissa asked.

“Which do you respond best to?”

“Neither,” she said. With a flip of her shoulder, she turned to walk away.

Jake scooped up his beret and bongos and was headed inside. In his Shakespearean voice, he called out, “Good night, fair Alissa. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Good night, Jake.” Then, for good measure, she added, “Good night, Brad.”

“No.” Brad said. Another one of his statements.

Alissa turned and gave him a glance. Brad was standing his ground, face turned toward the heavens. She waited for him to speak. He didn’t. He kept looking at the sky. Of course that made her want to look up, but she fought the urge and bored a hole into Brad with her stare.

“Can you tell me,” Brad said slowly, tilting his head down and taking small steps toward Alissa, “why you pull away like that? Can’t you just relax and be yourself? Be our friend?”

Alissa didn’t have an answer. Brad seemed to slide past all her old, flirty ways and cut to the core of who she was, the way a brother would, if she had ever had a brother. Her instinct told her to run toward this relationship and embrace it. Something else told her to run away from it.

Alissa looked into his piercing green eyes and said, “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He waited, holding her gaze as if it were a light thing for him to bear and not heavy at all. Everything inside Alissa told her she could trust this man.

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“When?”

“Now.”

“Nothing.”

“Then what were you thinking while we were playing?”

“Heaven and hell,” Alissa answered truthfully to this man who seemed to look right through her.

He slowly nodded and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Come on,” he said, walking past her and heading into his side
of the duplex. “That’s too powerful a topic to walk away from. I’ll make the coffee, and you talk. Better yet, I’ll have Jake the gourmet make us a couple of cappuccinos, and we can both talk.”

He was inside his back door before he stopped talking and turned to notice that she wasn’t following. He stood there, without saying another word, his calm smile and stubbly face turned toward her, waiting.

What is your problem, Alissa? Can’t you just put one foot in front of the other and go inside there? It isn’t a date. This is your neighbor. And Jake’s there. Just take the first step. Be friendly. You have to get over this aloofness if you want friends
.

She looked down at her feet as if waiting to see what they would do. It didn’t completely surprise her when the right one moved first, then the left, crossing the patio and delivering her at the back door of the bachelors’ pad.

“Jake,” Brad called out, “plug in the espresso machine. We have company.”

Alissa didn’t say anything as she entered their sparsely furnished living room. A light was on over an old television set, revealing a dark brown couch, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along one wall, and an expensive looking stereo cabinet. Jake was in the kitchen with a bag of coffee beans in his hand.

“You like decaf or regular, Alissa?”

“Doesn’t matter. Whatever is easiest.” She felt sheepish, as if she had walked into a trap. For so many months she had kept to herself, and now she was interacting with people she might actually refer to as friends. The only thing was, she hadn’t decided if she wanted to stop being an island yet.

Jake ground up the coffee beans and spooned them into the filter of his espresso machine. Brad kicked back in the one easy chair in their living room and motioned for Alissa to take the whole sofa.

“Heaven and hell, huh?” Brad began. “So what are your thoughts on the subject? Wait. Before you answer you should know that Jake and I are God lovers so that’s the direction our thoughts are slanted.”

Alissa tried to remember where she had heard that term before. Not in Phoenix, not in Boston. Maybe it was Atlanta. Or California with her beach friends.

“I’d say that’s the point of view I’d be coming from, too,” Alissa said. Then, as if she were fed up with her reserved approach to everything, she let go with her double-barreled question. “But answer me this: how can you love God when he sends people to hell?”

“He doesn’t send them,” Jake said quickly. “They choose to go there by not accepting Christ.”

“My parents didn’t choose to go to hell,” Alissa said fiercely. “Neither did my grandmother and neither did … another friend of mine.”

“But if they rejected Christ,” Jake continued, “it’s the same as choosing to be separated from God for eternity.”

“They didn’t choose that,” Alissa argued. “They didn’t make any choice for or against God.”

“Same thing. To not decide is to decide. By not receiving God’s gift of salvation through Christ, they rejected him.” Jake pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard and seemed to be scrounging for two more. “I’m sorry, but that’s what the Bible says.”

“I know what the Bible says,” Alissa muttered. She wondered why she had ever agreed to come in and talk to these guys. If there was one thing she couldn’t stand it was a know-it-all, especially one who acted like he had the Bible all figured out. She never would have guessed Jake would be so dogmatic.

Alissa felt a gentle tap on her arm. It was Brad. He had moved from the easy chair and was now sitting next to her on
the couch. “When did your parents pass away?” he asked softly.

“My dad when I was in high school and my mom a few years ago. Then my grandma.”

“Any brothers or sisters?” he asked. She noticed his T-shirt was torn at the ribbing around the neck. This guy needed a few tips in grooming. But he had managed to look fantastic at Chet and Rosie’s wedding.

“Ah, no. Just me.” Alissa’s mind quickly sprinted away from his question.

A kind smile spread across Brad’s unshaven face. “You’re a strong woman,” he stated. “My dad left before I was born. I mean, it’s nothing like what you’ve been through. But it made my sister and me really close. I told you about her. Lauren. The one with the cat. Anyway, sometimes I wonder if he’s dead, my dad. He just vanished. Is he in hell? Or did he turn to the Lord?”

“There’s no way of knowing,” Alissa said, feeling the pain of the words as she said them.

“Sugar?” Jake called from the kitchen.

Alissa looked over her shoulder at Jake, holding up a pink and white box of granulated sugar. “Yes. I mean no. Or, well, how about half a teaspoon. Thanks, Jake.”

She could hear him fumbling in the drawer for a teaspoon as she turned her attention back to Brad.