Novels – Page 31 – Richard L. Fricks

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 21

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Fifteen year-old Matt Benson moves with Robert, his widowed father, to Boaz, Alabama for one year as Robert conducts research on Southern Baptist Fundamentalism. Robert, a professor of Bible History and new Testament Theology at the University of Chicago’s Divinity School enlists Matt to assist him as an undercover agent at First Baptist Church of Christ. Matt’s job is to befriend the most active young person in the Church’s youth group and learn the heart and mind of teenagers growing up as fundamentalist Southern Baptists.

Olivia Tillman is the fourteen year old daughter of Betty and Walter Tillman. He is the pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ. Robert and Matt move to Boaz in June 1970, and before high school begins in mid-August, Matt and Olivia become fast friends. Olivia’s life is centered around her faith, her family, and her friends. She is struck with Matt and his doubts and vows to win him to Christ. Over the next year, Matt and Olivia’s relationship blossoms into more than a teenage romance, despite their different religious beliefs.

June 1971 and Matt’s return to Chicago comes too quickly, but the two teenagers vow to never lose what they have, even promising to reunite at college in three years after Olivia graduates from Boaz High School.

The Boaz Secrets is told from the perspective of past and present. The story alternates between 1970-1971, and 2017-2018. After Matt left Boaz in June 1971, life happened and Olivia and Matt’s plans fell apart. However, in December 2017, their lives crossed again, almost miraculously, and they have a month in Boaz to catch up on forty-six years of being apart. They attempt to discover whether their teenage love can be rekindled and transformed into an adult romance even though Matt is 63 and Olivia is 61.

In 2017, Olivia and Matt are quick to learn they are vastly different people than they were as fifteen and sixteen year old teenagers– especially, when it comes to religion and faith. Will these religious differences unite them? The real issue is the secret Olivia has kept. Will Matt’s discovery destroy any chance he and Olivia have of rekindling their teenage relationship?

Chapter 21

February 1971

January had been the worst month for me in Alabama so far. Two giant snowstorms had disrupted every aspect of my normal routine. And, everyone else’s around me. The City of Boaz was poorly equipped to deal with over twenty inches of snow. Unlike in Chicago, where a snowstorm is little different than a summer rain, in Boaz, everything came to a virtual halt. During the middle of the second week and then again at the end of the third week, school had been dismissed seven days on straight. First Baptist Church of Christ held no services for what seemed like two weeks. The Wednesday night service before the second big storm wasn’t normal at all. Olivia was mysteriously absent.

It was hard to believe that over seven months had passed since Dad and I had arrived in Boaz. In a little over four more months we would be back at home, and I would be making pizzas for the summer at Papa-Mama’s and hanging out with my three amigos. That part I looked forward to, but I was already starting to worry how I would cope with being separated from Olivia. I had to take Dad’s advice, ‘live one day at a time. If you spend too much time hoping or worrying about the future, you will miss out on the here and now and every wonderful detail offering themselves to you as life-altering memories.’ It made sense and it was ludicrous at the same time. In one-way Dad was correct, my time was limited here in Boaz and I needed to enjoy every day.

The two giant snowstorms had played havoc with the High School’s basketball schedule. It was now the first week into February and the regular season still had two more games before the County Tournament. Tonight, Boaz was playing Albertville. It was an out-of-town game. Dad let me drive but as usual, made me promise that I would have a buddy come along. He always felt it was safer to travel in pairs. Ryan Grantham and I had become friends during the youth group’s trip to Gatlinburg over the Christmas holidays. I had known him since my first visit to First Baptist Church of Christ last June. His father, Peter Grantham, was the Associate Pastor. Ryan and I had always been cordial to each other at church but never hung out. During the Tennessee trip, we shared living quarters and for the first time had really talked. I was surprised that he was a closet atheist. We shared many of the same views when it came to life, love, and the supernatural.

I had shared a few of my thoughts concerning Olivia with Ryan. For some reason I knew I could trust him. Ever since the first of the year, when Olivia was selected as one of the B team cheerleaders, I had been her number one fan. I had attended every B team football game on Tuesday nights, whether they were at the Boaz Football Stadium or out of town. I also hadn’t missed a single in-town B team basketball game.

Ryan and I were sitting in the stands watching the B team warm up and all I could think about was how right I had been concerning the one and only kiss between Olivia and me. That was over a month ago. She had initiated it because she was out of her mind in grief. The trauma of the horrible car wreck that had killed four of her friends, two, which were classmates of mine, had caused her to do something that she would never have done in her right mind. All during January I had fought this beast. Olivia didn’t care about me as a boyfriend. This hadn’t meant we didn’t remain friends. But, it was all confined to church, mostly our time during youth group, both in the church basement and at the Lighthouse. There, she was friendly and even took time when she could to sit and talk. It was a different story at school. In the only class we shared, Poetry, she was aloof. I think she was faking her attention and interest in whatever Mr. Johnson was saying. As I was watching Olivia and the other cheerleaders present another routine to gel up the crowd Ryan nudged me.

“Jesse Dawson does the perfect splits. Don’t you think?”

I almost didn’t hear him until he repeated his statement but added, “I bet she can thank Ericson for that.”

“Grantham, what the heck are you talking about? You’ve got to get over this crush you have on the delightful Dawson.” I said, barely giving Ryan any attention. It was Olivia that had my heart, and every second of my gaze.

“Benson, you are the smartest guy in school, yet you can be so out of touch. It’s like you hear only what you want to hear.” Ryan said spilling half his popcorn on the empty bench in front of us.

I heard him. I also knew Ryan was a straight A student with the highest GPA of anyone in high school. Rumor was he had almost a photographic memory. Even though I had heard him I repeated, “what’d you say?”

“You are an even worse comedian. Listen, rumor is Ericson has been banging little Jesse Dawson for months now. But, no more. Her mama put a stop to their dating. Seems like Jesse thought she was pregnant. I guess Romeo John will have to move on and find him another innocent Juliet.”

“This is why I stay away from rumors. That’s all most of them are. There’s no truth in them. You should try ignoring them.” I said, now worried about Olivia. If what Ryan was saying was true, then she could be vulnerable. There was no doubt he was aggressive and manipulative.

“I admit a lot, maybe most of the rumors that fly around school are simply made up crap, but I’m darn sure this one is true. Rita, you know my little sister, is good friends with Tesse, Jesse’s twin. Tesse told Rita that Jesse had all the fun and had asked Rita what was wrong with her. Tesse was more worried about not being attractive enough, not having someone like John as her boyfriend, than she was about the trouble Jesse was into. Tesse said that Jesse and John had been going at it since last October.”

The Aggie B team walloped Boaz but our A team won in a squeaker. As fate would have it, John Ericson was high scorer for both teams with thirty-six points. As Ryan and I made our way off the bleachers and onto the gym floor, I regretted looking for Olivia. There, just outside the concession area and next to the hallway leading to the visiting team’s dressing room, stood Olivia talking with the night’s leading scorer. I felt a punch in the pit of my stomach. Was he already wooing Olivia into the back seat of his car? I decided, someway I had to warn her, to talk some sense into her. Could she be so naive to think that Jesus would protect her from making the worst decision of her life?

I dropped Ryan off at his house, drove home, and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. I wanted with all my heart to be Olivia’s one and only boyfriend, but as I finally dosed off right before dawn, I felt like I was just a father-figure to her. She had never and would never see me as her once in life love.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 20

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 20

December 20, 2017

The next morning John and Paul and I had ridden in my car the four miles back to the Appalachian trail and alternated hiking north and south, thirty minutes in one direction and then an hour in the opposite. No Eagle Scout would dare call it hiking. John and Paul didn’t either, but by late afternoon, we all agreed that we would be faithful to continue to grow our relationship. At one-point John suggested that Olivia and I should get married and finally complete our family. By the time I dropped them back off at The Martyn House B & B, all I could think about was, ‘what if Olivia and I gave it our best try?’ John and Paul and I once again shared man-hugs, this time allowing our real emotions to shine through. Tears were gleaming in each of our eyes as I drove away.

During my long drive back to Boaz I reminisced every conversation we had out on the Trail. The one that played over and over in my mind concerned John and Paul’s adoptive parents. The story was that Bret and Stacy Thompson of San Marcos, Texas had adopted the two boys as three-day old infants. All their lives, until the discovery of their mother’s letter after she passed away, the brothers had thought they had been born in Nashville, Tennessee. That’s what they had been told and their birth certificates had indicated the same. When the twins were two, Bret and Stacy divorced. At first, the couple were faithful to follow the custody agreement, each parent would have physical custody of both boys for one month at a time. This had worked well until Stacy moved to Phoenix, Arizona. Ultimately, the parents, tired and frustrated over the seeming deterioration in John and Paul’s mental health, decided to split custody. With the flip of a coin John stayed with Bret, while Paul went to live in Arizona with Stacy. The part that had interested me the most was that Paul was raised Christian, in a Baptist church and by a mother who was as fundamentalist as any Southern Baptist from Alabama. Even though John remembered occasionally going to church, his father hadn’t attempted to influence his religious beliefs. Clearly, John’s secular and Paul’s religious upbringings had influenced their current beliefs and philosophies.

My return from Ellijay, Georgia was two days ago, and I still didn’t have the results of the DNA test from the samples I had sent to my lab in Chicago. For some reason I had forgotten it was the end of the year and the State of Illinois Department of Forensic Sciences was in town conducting its annual audit. I was fortunate that Jerry Coyne, the imminent evolutionary geneticist, was also in town over the holidays and was bored from the lack of students during the semester break. Last night he had told me that “the bureaucrats were finishing up this morning. I will conduct the test tomorrow afternoon. I’ll email you the results. Keep in mind the results will be correct, but you’ll need an independent lab to verify if you ever want to use the findings publicly.”

I woke up this morning almost giddy over seeing Olivia. We had talked a dozen times since I got back into town. Her and Randi Radford had decided, spur of the moment, after I left for Ellijay, to take a trip to Gulf Shores. I should have seen her late yesterday afternoon but at the last moment, Randi had suggested they stop in Montgomery and visit with one of her college roommates. The intended two-hour visit had transformed into an overnight stay. This morning, I was acting like a teenage boy anticipating his first date. At 11:00 my cell phone rang. It was the woman, the beautiful woman, John and Paul wanted me to marry. It would take very little to persuade me to follow that road. I wondered what Olivia would think.

“Hey good-looking. I’m ready to see you.” So far Olivia was falling into the correct character. “If you’re free why don’t you come over. I’ve got the whole house to myself. Randi dropped me off and I found a note from Warren that he farmed out the kids and took Tiffany to Gatlinburg for a few days.”

“Sorry, I’m very busy. I have to make up my bed and polish the furniture.” I said, always trying to improve my humor.

At first it seemed Olivia thought I was serious. So much for my humor. “Okay, maybe later?”

“No silly, I can come right now if that works for you.”

“It does. I really want to see you. Come on over.” Olivia said, more eager than I could remember her, other than maybe half a century ago.

She met me outside on the front porch, even though it was cold. But, it wasn’t windy. I hadn’t worn my jacket.

“I like your sweater. You were always a sweater guy. I think they make you look sophisticated.” Olivia said hugging me, taking my hand, and pulling me inside the house.

“I’ve always been extremely sophisticated. So much so that I won your heart back in my prime.” I needed to think before I spoke. That statement seemed arrogant, certainly a put-off.

“Let’s go down in the basement. I love Warren’s man-cave. Hey, what does that tell you about me? Am I transgenderizing?” Olivia said with an aloofness unlike anything I had seen since reconnecting with her as an adult.

“I hope not. Is that even a word?”

“Seriously, I want to show you what I found. You know, obviously, that I grew up in this house. I’ll show you my room later. I’m still astounded that Mom and Dad left my room intact. There is a closet in the basement where Dad kept his music collection. You might not remember but he loved to listen to tapes on his eight-track player. Everything is still there. Warren upgraded the entire basement but left that closet like a shrine.”

“Man, that brings back memories. I bet you’ve forgotten but I just remembered the night before I was to present my first semester research paper to Dr. Ayers.”

“Mr. Matt, you are not the only one with a memory. By the way, don’t let me forget to tell you someday about my own presentation to her during my eleventh-grade year. Of course, you were not around. You were sophisticated in Chicago.”

“Funny. Okay, put up or shut up. What do you remember about that night?” I said wanting to probe into Olivia’s past, not about my Biology class project but hoping she might say something relevant about John Ericson. I was reaching.

“You don’t believe me, do you? I’ll show you. Noah’s Ark. Your silly little piece of fiction, at least that’s what I thought at the time, was all about proving that Mr. Noah’s story could not be true. You did, I bet with the help of your dear father, a credible job of showing how it would have been impossible to put two of every species on the 400-foot wooden boat. I remember you saying that there were, in 1970, more than thirty million species and at a minimum there would have been several million back four thousand years ago.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it? To think, the earth, the universe, is less than ten thousand years old.” I interrupted.

“I think most Christian Fundamentalists believe the earth is only about 6,000 years old. They claim to prove this with the Bible itself, including its many genealogies.” Olivia said.

I was proud of Olivia for breaking free from her many years of entrapment in the biggest myth ever. I knew that it was almost impossible for someone brought up as the daughter of a Southern Baptist Fundamentalist pastor to overcome a lifetime of persistent brainwashing. “The key to evolution is time, a very long time. There simply wasn’t enough time in four thousand years for millions of new species to evolve.” I said.

“I don’t recall you mentioning a ton of other facts that destroyed the Noah’s Ark story.” Olivia said looking through records and tapes in Pastor Walter’s music collection.

“You forget it was a Biology paper. I had to stay in a narrow lane. I would have loved to include geographic, geological, and a ton of other arguments that clearly placed the little story solidly on the fiction shelf.” Just as I was about to ask her how on earth Christians could believe such nonsense, she screamed.

“Matt, look here. It’s Bobby Vinton.”

“Who?” I clearly remembered but wanted to see Olivia’s reaction.

“The song, “You Are My Special Angel,” you’ve forgotten. I can’t believe you don’t remember. That night, after you rehearsed your oral presentation, Dad let us stay downstairs and listen to some music. It became our favorite. We danced. I am so disappointed you have forgotten.” Olivia looked at me as though I had killed her puppy.

“I’m kidding. No way I’ve forgotten that song or that first night we listened to it. I would have to have lost my emotional mind to not remember how close we were. Or, how close I thought we were.”

“Let’s see if it will play. I bet it’s too old.” Olivia said trying to figure out how to operate the old eight-track player. Oh good, it powers up.”

A few seconds later, I instantly traveled back over forty-six years:

You are my special angel

Sent from up above

The Lord smiled down on me

And sent an angel to love (to love).

Olivia walked over to me as the song continued to play. It was as though we had rehearsed our next actions a thousand times. We both reached for the other at the exact same time. She pulled me in as I did her. For a minute she just lay her head on my shoulder as the song continued. We swayed and listened:

You are my special angel

Right from paradise

I know you’re an angel

Heaven is in your eyes

The smile from your lips brings the summer sunshine

Tears from your eyes bring the rain

I feel your touch, your warm embrace

And I’m in heaven again

You are my special angel

Through eternity

I’ll have my special angel

Here to watch over me

I feel your touch, your warm embrace

And I’m in heaven again

You are my special angel

Through eternity

I’ll have my special angel

Here to watch over me (watch over me)

Here to watch over me

(Angel, angel, whoa-oh-oh-oh, oh, oh oh, oh).

As the song ended we stood still and she looked up at me, pulling back just slightly. “Matt, I have never stopped loving you. Is that too hard to believe?”

“No. Not at all. Seeing you here in Boaz has brought back thoughts and feelings that I have long tried to bury. To be totally honest, I never got over you. It’s like I had to put you in a bottle and place you on a shelf high up in my mind, one that was virtually impossible to reach.” I said, anticipating the truth I would learn in a few hours when Jerry emailed me the results of his DNA analysis, but being overwhelmed with an extra important truth, my feelings and continued love for Olivia.

Then it happened. As things like this seem nearly impossible when I recalled my teenage years when sitting by myself contemplating how on earth I could find just the right time to kiss Olivia the first time. How to do it? When to do it? I had a thousand questions. But now, it was as natural as breathing. It was impossible to discern who made the first slight move. Our lips touched. The smell of Olivia, just salty enough to spice my life forever. Just sweet enough to keep me sane and wanting more. One kiss led to another. She interrupted our embrace long enough to restart old Bobby and his angel song.

Two additional replays along with more intense kissing accentuated with four hands that began to explore, ended with Olivia whispering, “do you want to go see my room?”

“I thought you would never ask.” I said exchanging looks of eager submission.

It was two hours later before we made the opportunity for Olivia to show me her doll collection. In the interim, we had shed our clothes and made love. It was like our bodies were let out of a cage, one we had been locked in for a million years. We were free. Our bodies needed to move. And, they did. Not always vigorously, but enough to make me realize I was much older than that first time nearly half-a-century ago. At first, I was surprisingly strong and enduring, but after our second attempt, I finally realized our activities were simply too much for my 63-year-old body. According to a few words exchanged during our intimacy, I realized that, like me, Olivia, had traveled back in time to the night before Dad and I left to return to Chicago. It was, in many ways, our first time all over again. No weeks, months, or years had intervened. We were both virgins, or so I thought at the time, in love, committing our lives to each other for an eternity.

Later, after a trip to Waffle House for a breakfast supper, and watching The Best of Me movie, we slept and fooled around some more, curled up in the basement on Warren’s huge leather couch in front of his seventy-two-inch TV.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 19

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 19

February 1971

I had never changed my clothes, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and walked five blocks so fast in all my life. Betty, Mrs. Tillman, opened the front door before the doorbell’s tune ended. “She’s in the living room. Thanks for coming Matt, she really needs a shoulder to cry on. Go on in and I’ll check on you in a few minutes.” Olivia’s mother turned and walked away, and I figured her last statement was her subtle way of telling me, ‘Oh boy, I’m watching you every second, don’t you dare try to get fresh with my little girl.’

I almost tip-toed over to the large archway that led into the living room. Olivia wasn’t there. She must have gone to the bathroom or something. “Matt, come on in.” Just for two seconds my mind played one of its jokes on me. I thought Olivia was invisible. She was now an angel. She was here, I could hear her voice, but I couldn’t see her. The punch line was wordless. Olivia set up from the couch that backed toward the archway. She had simply been laying down when I walked in and she had made her statement.

Olivia got up and ran over to me and surprisingly put both arms around my waist and pulled me close. She started to cry but whispered, “hold me Matt. I need you to hold me.” I didn’t resist. Was this Heaven or what? I’m glad no one else was there to witness my awkwardness. My arms seemed unnatural, overlapping hers. I was glad she resolved my problem by withdrawing her arms and moving them up around my neck. My arms then felt just right around her waist. She buried her head into my neck. I couldn’t help but catch the smell of a fragrance I have never forgotten. I really don’t think it was perfume. It was just Olivia. She was an angel. She wasn’t quite human. She was my goddess. I began to worry Olivia’s mother would return and see me so close to her daughter. She might scream or look for a gun. My mind alternated between dread and evaluation. The later activity was more enjoyable. With my hands connected behind Olivia’s back I could feel her shape. My mind flashed back to her cheerleader tryout. I was feeling one of the curves that I had seen from a distance. Not since that day had I realized how wonderfully shapely Olivia was. I was just turning my attention to what I was experiencing with my chest, nestled only a hair’s width from Olivia’s already well-developed bosom when I heard a man’s voice, “Olivia, why don’t you and Matt sit down. You are probably too weak for any activity.” I thought it was an odd statement but then I heard a burst of laughter. I turned, and it was Wade imitating his father. And, doing a darn good job at that.

I immediately released Olivia and stepped to the side as Wade walked over and embraced Olivia. During the next few minutes I gathered that he had spent the night at Club Eden with the other four members of the Flaming Five. He had not heard about the car accident until a few minutes earlier when he arrived. My thoughts seemed to always come unprepared, like I don’t have much control over a lot of them. I kept thinking, ‘Wade, why were you not at church this morning? Did Pastor Tillman approve, or does he pretty much let you do what you want?’ It was a strange and virtually irrelevant question.

Wade left, and Olivia and I sat down. She sat on the couch and I chose a wingback chair near one end of the huge coffee table. “Sit by me. I need you close.” Olivia was unlike any time I had ever seen her. Again, I didn’t resist. As soon as I sat down she took my right hand in her left and placed her right hand on my knee. “Matt, I don’t know if Kyle and Kent were Christians. I told you about Tina being saved just last week. I’m not worried about Brenda. She was committed to Jesus, active at Second Baptist Church in their choir and youth group. As far as I know neither Kyle or Kent went to church. I failed them. Kent was in my class, had been all my life. God is showing me that I have to care about all those around me.” As I sat and listened to Olivia make this somewhat disjointed statement, it was clear what was coming.

“Matt, please. Let’s talk about you. It’s been a while since I asked you to accept Jesus as your savior. I’m not your judge but it seems like if you had changed your mind and given your heart to Him that you would have told me.”

“Olivia, first let me say, and this isn’t like me at all. Ever since I first met you I have been a different person. I’ve never liked a girl so much in my life. I’m very torn because I want to please you. I know it is selfish of me to say but I have been tempted to fake a relationship with Jesus just to try and win you over.”

“Matt, in a way that touches my heart, makes me all giddy to think you care that much for me. Right now, right here and now, forget about me. Why can’t I persuade you to get serious about your life and where you will spend all of eternity?” Olivia said reaching up with her right hand and pulling my face more towards hers. I wanted to kiss her but didn’t think it was the right moment.

“Sweet Olivia, know I am being serious. Double know that I would eagerly accept Jesus as Lord of my life if I didn’t know what I know, if you could just give me a little evidence.” I really didn’t want to talk about Jesus. I wanted to get back to consoling Olivia. Surely, she wasn’t fully consoled. Yet.

“Matt, you keep trying to figure God out. You think He is like you and me. He’s not, He’s God. His ways are not our ways.”

“That’s what I keep hearing. I also hear that He is all loving and all powerful and all present.” I said hoping to persuade Olivia that she needed to talk about Kyle and Kent, and Tina and Brenda.

“You are correct. My God is these things.” Olivia replied pulling her hand away from my leg. She set up straighter as though she was trying to show me how confident she was in what she was saying.

“Olivia, how does a loving God, one that loves His children beyond what the most perfect parents could do, why does this God allow such pain, heartache, and suffering?” I had thought about this type question many times. The only answer I had ever come up with, actually I borrowed it from a book I had read, was that either God was incapable of preventing horrible car wrecks where teenagers died a violent death, or he flat out didn’t care.”

“Matt, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Your question gives me more trouble than anything I’ve ever encountered when it comes to God. I’ve talked with Dad about this several times. He says that ‘because of the Fall, you know, the sins of Adam and Eve, we live in a sinful world. Bad things happen. When God created humankind, he gave us freewill. We are free to make choices.’ I guess we have the perfect example right before us. Kyle chose to drink beer and drive. God didn’t stop Him. I must let my faith take over. I must not try to figure God out. I must trust God that He has a plan, and it is all good. God loved us enough to let us choose wrong, to reject Him. But, I must admit, at times, like right now, Dad’s answers are not very satisfying.” I could tell Olivia was troubled. I sensed I was seeing Olivia at a very vulnerable moment. She was showing me her human side.

“I know reason, our use of reason is of the devil, from what I keep hearing, but I believe it is the most important resource we have to live our lives. We couldn’t survive without exercising our reason. You use yours every day. You wait on a car before crossing the street. You naturally used your reasoning ability to conclude that it would be unsafe to attempt to walk to the other side, the car is coming too fast.”

“I cannot argue against that.” Olivia said putting her hand back on my leg next to my knee.

“Olivia, I learned a long time ago, from Dad, that religion was part of life and that it was okay, actually, it was imperative, that I utilize my reasoning ability when considering religious claims. That’s what I do and that’s why I don’t believe in God. Consider this, if God is all knowing and all powerful, he knows everything that is going to happen. That means, in a real sense, everything is predetermined. At least from God’s standpoint. If that is so, then He does not have the power to change His mind and to cause something different to happen. So, he is not omnipotent.”

It was weird timing but right as I completed my statement my left leg got a cramp. I couldn’t stay seated. I immediately regretted being so lax about my running routine. I think Olivia thought I was about to have a seizure or something. I hobbled around, stopped, jumped, rubbed the back of my leg. The pain subsided within a few seconds.

“Cool move Matt, but as I’ve told you a dozen times. I will never give up on you. I intend to win your heart to God.” Olivia said. She didn’t realize that she had already won my heart.

I was still standing when Mrs. Tillman came in with a tray of cookies and some lemonade. “Matt, help me convince Olivia that she needs to eat something. I know sweets are not what she needs but it beats nothing.”

For the next thirty minutes Olivia laughed like she didn’t have a care in the world. I sat back down beside her and fed her cookies. She even let me hold her glass up to her lips. I played airplane with the cookies and she relaxed. So much that she joined me. After she dropped a cookie on the floor and sat up on the edge of the couch to reach for it, she picked it up and blew on it as though cleaning off some dirt or dust. She then turned to me with the chocolate chip cookie. “This little cookie lost its way.” She lifted her arm high and then slowly hummed her best airplane gliding sound as she gently landed the cookie on my lips. She then urged me to chew and swallow, making me take two sips of my lemonade. When I stopped chewing she leaned towards me, put her left elbow on the couch and with her right hand pulled my face towards hers.

The kiss didn’t last near long enough, but it was anything but a quick little peck on my lips. The two of us were obviously new to this activity. We both turned our heads, leaned our heads, the opposite of what we should. We both giggled but she kept steady with her attempt to reach my lips. I will never forget our first kiss. It was real intimacy. I could have lived in that moment forever.

It probably was over in less than a minute. She turned and sat back beside me. Neither one of us said a word for minutes. But, we did hold hands. I thought a lot during that time. My mind raced from ‘I wonder when we will kiss again?’ to ‘this doesn’t mean what I hope it does. Olivia is not in her right mind, having suffered such a traumatic event.’ One thing I knew as Pastor Tillman came in and told Olivia that it was time for her to get ready for church, I no longer needed to concern myself with whether Heaven was real. I now knew it was real. I had been there, and I would forever long to return.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 18

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 18

December 17, 2017

The walk home from Warren and Tiffany’s had the opposite effect than my earlier walk to their house. I was almost sweating as I reached my front porch and unlocked the door. No doubt in my mind, Rickie’s words, “Rumor was she was pregnant by John Ericson,” had pierced my mind and heart like a flaming arrow.

I didn’t sleep at all. For hours I tossed and turned on my sleeping bag. I finally got up at 3:30 a.m., made a pot of coffee, and sat in my ‘Alabama’ beanbag chair. My mind was spewing out every imaginable what-if scenario it could, even attempting to go rouge on me offering up little tips on how to find the truth. ‘Sit in the Alabama Crimson Tide chair. It knows the truth, it knows because John spent four years at the University of Alabama.’ It was crazy stupid. By sunrise I had solid proof that hearing an unexpected statement could throw one’s seemingly organized, structured, and predictable life, into a tailspin. One, almost like falling out of an airplane without a parachute.

By 8:30 a.m., I had drunk more coffee than any one person should consume. I think it helped to counter the illogical leaps my mind was experiencing and offered some direction. It may not have been the coffee at all.

John, Paul, and I had exchanged cell phone numbers before we all went our separate ways outside the Cracker Barrel in Trussville. The two of them had even invited Olivia and me to come join them for a few days as they hiked the Appalachian Trail. Olivia had quickly declined saying that she was too afraid of bears and snakes. She didn’t care if it was winter. I had indicated to John and Paul some interest in spending at least one day and night with them out on the trail.

John answered on the second ring. Even though it was almost 10:00 a.m. in Georgia, they were not yet hiking. John laughed saying that he and Paul were not as tough as they used to be. In fact, yesterday afternoon they had left the main trail and hiked into Ellijay and found a Bed and Breakfast. Within five minutes I had spoken to both John and Paul and had arranged to meet them, where they were, in four hours. Google Maps said that it was less than a three-hour drive, but I wanted to allow myself plenty of time.

I had called Olivia before I left Boaz. I told her about my spur of the moment decision. At first, I started to tell her a little fib about what I was doing or where I was going, just to not raise the possibility of her becoming suspicious, but I realized that it was more than possible for her to be talking with her two boys. Anyway, she knew John, Paul, and I had discussed the possibilities of me joining them for a day or so. As I drove for nearly three hours I attempted to plan my every move. Of course, I wanted to spend quality time with my boys. I still clung to Olivia’s story. What reason would she have to lie to me? If I was not the father, why would she tell me I was? Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe she thought I was the father. She could think this even if her and John had had sex themselves. I simply couldn’t wrap my head around the notion of her and John being intimate. It didn’t fit at all. I had almost a perfect memory of Olivia when we were teenagers, her in the ninth grade and me in the eleventh. I was certain she would not have been having sex with John. Anyone. Then, it dawned on me. What if I was wrong? What if her and John had had this dirty little secret? They were sexually active. And, what if they had safe sex? I hated that phrase. Meaning, John always used a condom. And, I hadn’t. The night before Dad and I had left for Chicago, Olivia and I had had unprotected sex. The situation had surprised us both. Not the being alone, but our feelings knowing we would likely not see each other for months and months, possibly up to three years. Our emotions had taken over and, I remembered Olivia’s words in response to my concern that “I don’t have a, you know what.” It was the most awkward statement I had ever made. She had said, “Matt, I know this is wrong, but I also know it is right. We are already one in spirit. I want to make us one in body.” It had surprised me. It hadn’t sounded like the Olivia I had known for nearly a year. As I neared Ellijay I concluded that someway Olivia knew beyond all doubt that John and Paul were our children. I was their father. Ericson wasn’t. As I parked and walked toward the front porch of The Martyn House Bed and Breakfast, I knew that my love for Olivia would have no trouble forgiving her even if she had sex with John Ericson.

John and Paul were, as agreed, waiting for me in the great room. The Inn was a huge log cabin structure with probably the biggest fireplace I had ever seen. It was massive. It’s rock face stretched the entire width of the far wall. John and Paul were sitting at a table next to a row of floor-to-ceiling windows along the rear of the lodge. They saw me as I stood looking at the fireplace and walked over. We exchanged our man-hugs and they invited me to join them. They asked about Olivia and relayed their disappointment that she hadn’t come. “Please know it’s not anything personal. If anything, it was my fault. I didn’t really give her a chance. If she had known that hiking wasn’t on the agenda she would have killed me to come.”

The three of us spent thirty or so minutes updating each other on our careers. John seemed especially interested in my genetics research. Paul sit silent as John and I talked about how uncanny it was that Charles Darwin’s theory was proven correct even though he had no knowledge at all about genetics. Paul finally interrupted his brother and said, “even if Mr. Darwin’s theory was correct, although I totally doubt that it was, it changes nothing. God created Adam and Eve just as Genesis says. That’s where humans began. Please don’t tell me that I came from an ape.”

I was anticipating a big row between John and Paul. I had read quite a bit on Lee Berger’s discovery in the Rising Star cave in South Africa sometime in 2014. The many bones found deep in the cave shared similar characteristics with both humans and apes. John had said enough about his work with Berger when Olivia and I had met him and Paul in Birmingham. I knew John had played some role in Berger’s bone recovery project. The man, ape, man/ape had been dubbed, Naledi. I was surprised when Paul smiled at John and said, “Matt, don’t worry that John and I will kill each other. We have a unique relationship. We can argue till the sun goes down or it falls out of the sky, but we won’t get angry and we won’t love each other any less. We both know we will never change each other’s minds, but we still try nonetheless. We just like to argue. He makes stuff up and I simply stick to the facts.”

John couldn’t resist. “Paul is the typical Bible thumper, the typical Christian fundamentalist. He has read only one book, the Bible, and thinks it holds all the information he will ever need. He is a spitting image of an AD 90 desert peasant.”

I didn’t know what to say but I knew I had to say something. “I think it is wonderful that you two are so close and can agree to disagree. Let me go ahead and confess that I don’t believe in God and that I fully believe in the truth of Darwin’s work, evolution by natural selection. It’s the best theory ever offered for how life emerged and has continued to change over millions of years.”

“You and your son John may think you can gang up on me but I have God on my side.” Paul said. Seriously, but then burst into a laugh.

“Brother, how many times do I have to tell you that you didn’t come from an ape. The truth is that humans and apes have a common ancestor. It is a ridiculous argument for someone to say, “if I evolved from an ape, why are there still apes?” John asked.

“The problem you never want to address is that all the fossil discoveries, what you and your peers consider to be evidence that humans have evolved from, for simplicities sake let me say, an ape-like creature, doesn’t truly address homo sapiens. Those fossils deal with animals not humans.” Paul said standing up and turning towards the tall windows behind him.

“Paul, your belief that God, in an instant, created Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden defies all logic and reason. And, scientific fact.”

I decided to just listen. I wanted to witness whether these two, my sons, could so clearly disagree but continue to respect and love each other.

“John, you have absolutely no proof that an ape-like creature turned into a human.”

“Actually, we do. The fossil records prove this.” John added. I know you will never look openly and honestly at the facts, the evidence I speak of. By the way, take the time to read up on Naledi. What are you afraid of? What you keep your head in the sand over is the huge problem you would have to recognize that there never was an Adam and an Eve. What you know, even though, again, you will never admit it, is the absence of an Adam and Eve destroys Christianity. If they didn’t exist, there was no ‘Fall’ as you call it. If there was no ‘Fall,’ there was no need for Christ to come and save mankind. Paul, my dear brother, your Bible, its credibility, now rests on the tip of a pinhead. Science has filled gap after gap, the holes you and your peers have tried to use in arguing the believability of your one and only book. Here’s something for you. I admit, your good book is holy. It is wholly, that’s with a w, wholly man made.”

Paul turned and looked back at John and me. “The Word says, ‘in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’” He then stopped. I could tell he wanted his and John’s conversation to continue. I suspect Paul had a belly-full to lay out, here, something akin to a sermon. However, he put all that aside to say, “John, you and I can continue this discussion after Matt leaves tomorrow.”

But, John acted as though he didn’t hear Paul and kept going drilling further and further. It was getting old.

For the next fifteen minutes I listened as John and Paul went back and forth, almost like a football game. John on offense, Paul defending. Then the ball changed hands.

Finally, John said, it’s nearly 6:00, let’s go to the dining room. They’re having Buffalo T-Bone steaks.”

“I’m ready to share a meal with my two boys.” I said, glad that the two hadn’t come to blows.

John looked at me. “I want to hear why you and Olivia never got together.”

We three did enjoy a great meal. The Buffalo steaks were perfect, having been cooked over a wood fire. I savored every moment with my two boys. Over an hour passed with John and Paul appearing to savor every word I shared about my love for Olivia and how she had terminated our relationship. By the time we each finished a huge slice of coconut pie, in remembrance of our dear Olivia, we were stuffed.

As we got up to leave the almost empty dining room, John and Paul turned away towards the entrance long enough for me to use each of their cloth napkins to grab the forks they had used during our meal. After I reached my room, I removed them from my pants pockets and sealed them separately in two plastic zip-lock bags (I thought of them as a policeman’s evidence bag) that I had retrieved from my suitcase in Boaz. In two days, my lab at the University of Chicago would be conducting DNA analysis.

The first step of my plan was unfolding. I had to know whether I was the biological father of John and Paul Cummins.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 17

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 17

January 1971

Saturday afternoon I had escaped from the Lighthouse and Olivia’s attempt to learn about my response to Mr. Johnson’s Poetry assignment. After she had asked me to tell her about my Who Made God? poem, Brother Randy had called out to her from the back of the room. It was both a funny and weird moment. I felt as though God Himself had rescued me with his booming voice from the Heavens. The light rain that had begun when the Flaming Five had left didn’t hurt my cause, my need to flee. As Olivia walked away, I told her I had to leave but I would call her tomorrow afternoon after church and she would learn who made God.

After returning home, I worked on my poem for over an hour before Dad and I made our weekly trip to the Dairy Queen. It was becoming a tradition. The trip, along with sour kraut and extra onions on a foot-long hot-dog, was becoming my weekend meal of choice. By 10:30 a.m., right as the local TV news broadcast ended, my stomach revolted. The rest of the night was spent alternating between trips to the bathroom and laying across my bed wishing I would die. Dad said it was probably food-poisoning and would have to run its course. That it did. By sunrise, the rain had ended, and the evil bug had reached its destination. I finally dosed off to sleep and would probably have slept until Monday morning if Dad had not awakened me when he returned from church. It was a rare moment when I was nostalgic for Sunday School and preaching but as I got up and showered all I could think about was missing Olivia this morning, even though I rarely caught a glimpse of her on Sunday mornings. I guess, it was just the knowing that she was near. No matter if I never got to go out with her, I was realizing more and more how she was crawling inside every cell of my being.

Dad made me eat a small bowl of chicken soup that he had managed to prepare, and to drink some Coca Cola. My stomach was much better. I fought the urge to watch TV and slumber on the couch but instead retreated to my bedroom to continue drafting my “Who Made God?” poem. I was torn. I couldn’t wait to call Olivia, just to hear her voice. But, I was extra reluctant today to speak to her about God. I knew she would attempt to persuade me that God had always existed. She would also try out her best evangelical tricks to persuade me that I needed to accept Jesus by faith.

I knew what I wanted to write but had trouble since starting the assignment. Yesterday, I ditched my whole idea of trying to rhyme every other line. I simply wasn’t ready for this more intense poetry method. Mr. Johnson had said that a poem is what you say it is. There are no rules. I really liked that. I really hated rules even though I was pretty good at following most all of Dad’s. Instead of rhyming, I chose prose poetry. And, I chose to let my dear departed Mother help me get going. She was a devout Catholic and had told me about Thomas Aquinas, probably one of the most famous Catholics. He was still well respected by the Pope and all his underlings. Mother had told me about Aquinas’ five proofs for the existence of God. She had trusted old Thomas nearly as much as she did God. His first three proofs were all similar sounding to me. They involve infinite regress. This was a term I had just learned about. Dad had been able to locate for me an article by a Harvard scholar that he liked and trusted. The scholar had described infinite regress as a continual question arising the farther one goes back in time. Aquinas had said that “nothing moves without a prior movement.” He said something similar about cause and effect, “nothing is caused by itself, every effect has a prior cause.” Whether something is moved or caused, it leads back and back in time to something that moved something or caused something. Aquinas argued, with no real proof that I could ever gather, that God was the first mover or the first cause, something that got everything started. To me, Aquinas argument was feigned. I recalled how I had asked Mother how Aquinas knew this. She had answered, “Faith. He knew this by faith.” To me, then and now, that was not a valid answer. The only logical and true definition of faith was believing something without evidence, not because of evidence.

The first line of my poem read, “Faith made God, and man made faith.” Aquinas also had argued that if we could go back in time far enough we would discover that there were no physical things in existence. He argued that, again according to the scholar’s article, “since physical things exist now, there must have been something non-physical to bring them into existence, and that something is what we call God.” As I was contemplating how to create a visual of what Aquinas believed, here what was referred to as his Cosmological Argument, I realized, as just a 16-year-old, that Aquinas must have been deranged. Where did he learn basic logic? I reminded myself that logic wasn’t needed in Christianity, that it was evil. I couldn’t help but think of Brother G’s talk on the first day of school and how Martin Luther had warned Christians against using reason in their contemplation and relationship with God.

After turning my attention to Aquinas’ fourth and fifth proofs, the argument from degree, and the teleological argument or argument from design, I realized that I wasn’t going about this, my poetry writing assignment, in the right way. I was turning this into more of a research project. I was not using my imagination at all. I was not attempting to connect seemingly unlike things as Mr. Johnson had instructed. I need to be more spontaneous. I sat with my eyes closed for at least five minutes. The thought crossed my mind that I had started off thinking wrong. God, which God? What if I didn’t start with the Christian God? Weren’t there, hadn’t there been hundreds and hundreds of different gods over the years? Couldn’t I start with a wind god or a rain god or a sun god? I wasn’t making much progress. I was already contemplating my next poem, “Where is God Now?”

Somewhat frustrated, I stood up and was walking to the kitchen for a little more Coca Cola when the phone rang. Dad hollered over the blaring football game that it was for me.

“Hello.”

“Matt, it’s Olivia. I’m so upset. I hope you don’t mind me calling.” I could barely understand what she was saying. She seemed to be both crying and out of breath.

“It’s okay. I was working on my poem. I was going to call you in a little while. Why are you upset?”

“You haven’t heard?” Olivia said, sounding more like her natural voice. “The horrible car wreck. Last night.”

“No. I’ve been here all day. I was sick last night and couldn’t come to church this morning. What are you talking about?” I said realizing that I had never heard Olivia being so incoherent.

“Kyle Keller and his younger brother Kent, and Brenda Simmons, and Tina Williams were all killed late yesterday afternoon. Kyle and Brenda are seniors and Kent and Tina are my age, ninth graders.”

“What happened?” I was searching my mind for what to say. I had never had such a conversation.

“Nobody knows for sure, but the police are saying that Kyle was going too fast for the curve on Bruce Road, given the rain. Matt, they found beer cans in the car. Here’s what is tearing me up. They don’t even know for sure who was driving. If the four of them hadn’t had their school ID cards the police wouldn’t have known who they were. They were so mangled.”

“I’m so sorry. Were you friends with Kent and Tina?” After I said it, I recognized that it was a dumb question. What relevance was Olivia’s friendship. If the three of them were not friends, would the accident and Kent and Tina’s death have been no big deal.

“Tina had just started coming to youth group. She was quiet. Matt, she was saved only last week. My heart goes out to her family. Why would this happen?”

I was surprised that Olivia would ask this question, especially that she would ask it of me. “I don’t know. From what you just said it sounds like Kyle, or whoever was driving, made some bad decisions. I hate to say it but, to me, bad decisions usually have bad consequences. I suspect you would have a different take on what happened and why.”

“I usually do. This is the first time I have ever had someone so close to me to die. Before, I’ve always thought, ‘God is mysterious, we do not know, and cannot know what He does, and why He does things the way He does, but we can trust Him because He loves His children.’”

I don’t know if I was simply trying to be a smart ass or what, but I responded, so low Olivia couldn’t have heard me: “Maybe God needed Tina to help him hand out angel’s wings in Heaven.”

“Matt, I didn’t hear you, but were you making fun of me? I need you to console me, to help me get through this. You are the only boy I can confide in.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Could you? Mother said it would be okay. I asked her before I called.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes. Olivia, I’m glad you called.”

I rode my bike and was excited about seeing her and that she had asked me to come to her, but my heart went out to the families of the teenagers who had died a horrible death.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 16

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 16

December 16, 2017

Saturday afternoon Olivia and I had ridden bicycles to Aurora Lake and back. It was almost dark when we returned. We were exhausted. The bikes, although ten speeds, used old chain & gear technology. It had been a spur of the moment purchase decision at Walmart and halfway through the ride we both regretted not having gone to a movie instead.

At Aurora Lake, Olivia had asked me to join her at Warren and Tiffany’s tonight at 7:00. They were doing all they could to minister to Randi Radford and Judith Ericson. These two women were still reeling from the disappearance, and most likely, death, of their husbands. Randi’s Randall, and Judith’s John, had been missing for several months. All investigative efforts had concluded their disappearances were involuntary. According to Olivia and her earlier conversation with Warren, foul play was suspected since rumor was there had been a ransom demand made shortly after John’s disappearance. Warren and Tiffany had invited Olivia and me mainly because, I suspected, we were more contemporaries with Randi and Judith, the four of us having attended Boaz High School together in the early 70’s. I also suspected that Wade Tillman, Warren’s father, had something to do with this little gathering.

Olivia and I sat on the front porch for nearly an hour after returning from our bike ride. I still had no real furniture inside, although I had bought an Auburn and an Alabama beanbag chair at a local thrift store. I had wanted us to go inside but Olivia had requested the cool air and the gentle breeze, saying it would cool us off better, and, “dissipate the smell of sweat.” I hadn’t realized that I was beaming out body odor. Maybe she was afraid we might start something inside that we couldn’t finish before our little get-to-gather. I would have liked nothing better. I think she would have too. Maybe it was all in my imagination, but I thought I had sensed a little vibe rumbling when we had spread out a blanket I had carried with us to the Lake. Couple that with her unexpected reference to the night we had created John and Paul Cummins, my hopes for a passionate kiss were heightened, but not rewarded. After returning, I thought maybe the smoldering embers could be reignited now. Again, it didn’t happen. The swing, and being close to Olivia, were reward and satisfaction enough. For now.

At 6:00, Olivia left to return to Warren’s to shower and dress in time for the gathering. I stayed, showered, and walked the five blocks wishing, the closer I got to Warren’s, that I had driven. The night’s frigid air made me wish I had worn more than the light jacket I had on. Tiffany opened the front door just as I walked up the porch steps. “Hi Matt. Come in, I can’t believe this cold weather. Come in and warm-up.”

I didn’t know Judith Ericson, John’s wife, but I remembered Randi Radford. As teenagers, Randi Bonds and Olivia were the same age and both in the ninth grade when I was in the eleventh during my one year at Boaz High School. They were the best of friends. Randi’s sister, Rickie Bonds, was my age and was in my grade, along with Randall and the other four members of the Flaming Five. Olivia had told me the whole Boaz community had been surprised when Randall had married Randi. Rickie was Randall’s age, a varsity cheerleader, and rumors were, one of four cheerleaders who had hung out with Randall and the other four members of the Flaming Five throughout their high school years at a place call Club Eden. Again, rumor was, it was a secret place out in the woods, owned by the families of the Flaming Five, where Randall and his buddies spent time, with Rickie and three other sexually-active teenagers, when the guys were not playing basketball,

Tiffany led me into a large den where a roaring fire in the fireplace was like a magnet for my chill. “Why don’t you let that fire pull out the chill of the night air. I still can’t believe you walked. You’ll catch your death of cold.” Tiffany was, what I imagined, the typical Southern Belle. She was tall, slender, graceful, and had spent thirty-six or seven years developing the perfect cadence to mesmerize her audience with what, at first, might appear as gullibility. I figured she was anything but gullible, having come from a family of lawyers and judges in Atlanta. “Oh, by the way, Warren and the others are down in the basement. He’s showing off his man-cave. They’ll be right back.”

I stood by the fire thankful for its presence. I imagined the intensity of its heat as analogous to what my heart was beaming to my head. I was still amazed at how, after forty-six years, just the sight of Olivia Tillman had rekindled the love I had let almost die. In less than ten minutes Warren and Olivia appeared followed by three women, none of whom I recognized. Warren introduced me. I had expected Randi and Judith, but not Randi’s sister, Rickie Downs, my eleventh grade Boaz classmate. Warren had us all sit on an assortment of couches and chairs forming a semi-circle around the fireplace. I chose a lounging chair the furthest from the overly fed fire. In ten minutes I had almost set my pants on fire. I sat and listened. Warren seemed determined to keep the conversation light. He focused on college football and whether Alabama would be able to tame the Clemson Tigers this year if that’s how the National Championship Game shaped up in January. Olivia soon tamed Warren and moved the talk in another direction. She told Randi and Judith how sorry she was about Randall and John. Warren’s cell phone sang out a loud ‘Roll Tide’ and he dismissed himself towards what I suspected was the kitchen or dining room. Over the next several minutes or so I sensed a little coldness between Judith and Olivia. It wasn’t anything that had been said. I had always been, or at least I had always thought I was, an expert on reading and interpreting body language. Eyes, body posture, voice pitch and tone, all fit together, along with the motion or lack thereof, from the hands, seemed to be key indicators of relationships, or, the current feelings between two people. I may have been reading too much into it, but it was clear that Judith was an extra cog in a wheel carefully controlled by Olivia and Randi Radford and Rickie Downs.

Just now, I saw Olivia’s smile almost turn to a smirk, Tiffany walked in and politely requested a little help setting the table and pouring the drinks. Olivia and Randi jumped up immediately and almost galloped towards Tiffany. Rickie and Judith remained seated. Maybe it was Randi and Olivia’s youth, albeit, only two years younger than the rest of us, that had launched them from their comfy seats.

Judith’s countenance changed remarkably when Olivia and Randi left. I listened as she and Rickie reminisced. It seemed Rickie had moved away after high school, and Judith had moved to Boaz. It was after her and John had married during college at the University of Alabama. Judith had grown up in Birmingham and had met John at a Christian youth camp one summer during high school. The following summer the two again attended the same camp. In college, at Tuscaloosa, they had rekindled their friendship. I was surprised when Judith turned her attention to me. “Matt, I hear you’re not from Boaz but did spend one year here with these crazy people back in high school?”

“That’s right. This is the first time I have been back to Boaz since the end of the eleventh grade and when my Dad and I moved back home to Chicago in June 1971.” I said, standing up and removing my jacket. The way Judith was looking at me made me feel I was about to be cross-examined. I hoped that my intuition was wrong. There was no good reason to be thinking I was in a witness chair.

“Did you meet Olivia while you were here? I know she’s a lot younger than you.” Judith asked.

I didn’t know how to take her, especially the last statement. Did I look like Olivia’s father? Much, much older than Olivia?

Judith seemed to sense my confusion. “Oh, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was, two or three years difference in age during high school seems like an eternity. You said you were in the eleventh grade. That would put Olivia in, what, the eighth or ninth grade?”

“She was in the ninth grade, her first year of high school, during the year I was here.” I said, wondering the relevance of mine and Olivia’s ages.

Rickie seemed preoccupied with a magazine she had picked up off the coffee table. From my angle it looked like it was a copy of The Pastor, a journal I knew from my Dad, that was published by the Southwestern Theological Seminary in Dallas. “I can’t believe a Tillman is still the pastor of First Baptist Church of Christ. After what his grandfather and father have done.” I couldn’t believe Rickie had said this.

“Right now, nothing has been proven. Don’t be so quick to rush to judgment.” Judith responded.

“Maybe not in court but sure as hell, Wade and James Adams killed Gina.” That’s Warren’s mother.” Rickie said looking at me. “How could he still support his father, I’ll never figure.” Rickie seemed intent on getting some things off her chest.

“Rickie, you always seemed to buy into rumors. That’s all you know, just what you’ve heard. I hear you haven’t lived here in over forty years. Your opinion of Wade and James is based totally on how you remember them from high school. Like John Ericson, my dearly departed husband, Wade and James grew up and became honorable men. They volunteered countless hours to youth in this community, trying their best to lead them to a closer walk with Christ.” Judith eloquently made a good case.

Rickie didn’t back down. “Shit, I’d bet you an ounce of gold that every one of the Flaming Five have continued to have their sexual playmates on the side, even while they were playing their Jesus games. Their lust for female companionship started way before you came along. Not to disparage John but he and his four buddies, and me and three of my cheerleader friends, enjoyed many a roll in the hay.”

“Rickie, don’t talk like that. John is no doubt dead. Whatever he did as a teenager was forgiven by God. John told me everything. We had no secrets. He was ashamed of all that went on when he was in high school, all the times in the big tent at Club Eden. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know. John changed. He became a faithful Christian man.” Judith said as I became more uncomfortable and wishing Tiffany would call us to dinner.

“I bet you John didn’t tell you about him and Olivia.” Rickie blurted out, covering her mouth just as the last syllable reeked out of a mouth that I wish was nowhere around Boaz right now.

Suddenly, I felt sick. At first, I thought I had misheard Rickie. It’s funny how your mind can play tricks on you. I had interpreted her statement to be a reference to the lives of two people, things that had happened independently of each other. Then, it dawned on me that Rickie was implying that Olivia and John had a relationship, a boyfriend and girlfriend relationship during high school.

“What are you talking about?” Judith’s voice now evidenced concern, maybe even a little anger.

“I admit this might just be a rumor. Olivia spent six months or so of her Sophomore year as a recluse, holed up here in this parsonage. Rumor was she was pregnant by John Ericson. Most people in the church and even in the community knew John was charged by Olivia’s father as her protector, at least one of them. Pastor Walter was so fooled by the Flaming Five that he trusted all of them, having made them promise to watch after his sweet, dear Olivia. Word was that Olivia liked John more than her brother Wade, and the other three. Everybody for the most part believed she was so zealous for Jesus that she was trying to save him, get him to confess, repent, and accept Jesus as his savior. But, somewhere along the line, John manipulated her into a sexual relationship. Judith, I shouldn’t have said any of this. I’m sorry.” Rickie’s apology was too little too late.

“Sorry is what you are. You had no right to throw this in my face. May you rot in hell for lying about my sweet and faithful husband.” Judith stood up, walked over to the front door, and walked out. Slamming the door enough for it to have good reason to jump off its hinges. Fortunately, it didn’t.

“Sweet and faithful my ass, surely she ain’t crazy enough to believe that shit. Rickey said just as Tiffany and Warren appeared in the archway from the kitchen. No doubt brought here because of the door’s thunder reverberating throughout the house. “What’s going on?” Warren asked.

“Judith got her panties in a wad and decided she had another appointment. I guess.” Rickie said standing up and moving towards the fireplace.

“What was she upset about?” Tiffany asked.

“I don’t like starting rumors, so I’ll just say she needed to express her response to some news about her late husband. Let’s leave it at that.”

“That’s too bad. None of us will ever know what she’s going through. It must be terrible not really knowing what happened to John.” Tiffany said.

“Whatever.” Warren didn’t seem too concerned. “Come on you two, the steaks are perfect if I do say so myself.”

During the next forty-five minutes I wished I had the courage to run out the door with Judith. I couldn’t enjoy the good meal before me, even though I was hungry. All I could think about as I sat silent and the five others talked non-stop about the good ole days was whether what Rickie said was true or whether it was simply a rumor. I decided it was just gossip. I believed Olivia. I certainly knew the truth about her teenage pregnancy. I was there. Even though it might be a rare thing, one sexual encounter and twin boys appear nine months later. It certainly was way more than possible. I had proof. John and Paul Cummins were my proof. They were my sons. They were Olivia’s sons. And, Olivia and John had been just friends.

By the time Rickie and Randi left and Warren and Tiffany were busy cleaning up the table and the kitchen, my mind was at peace. I would have liked to have stayed longer with Olivia, but she had a headache and we decided to call it a night.

She walked me out onto the front porch, kissed me quickly, and said goodnight.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 15

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 15

October 1970

The rest of the week was all downhill after Wednesday night. Olivia had played me in a game of ping-pong before the youth group disbanded. She had also asked me to walk her home. Something about the Flaming Five being at Albertville First Baptist speaking to their youth group about how basketball had changed their lives. Olivia said her father was hard to figure, “He wants John, Fred, Wade, Randall, or James, to walk me home on Sunday and Wednesday nights, even though I only live next door. But, he lets me ride my bicycle to the Lighthouse, and sometimes to school, all alone. These times I feel like I’m being watched. I’m getting tired of being so smothered.”

This had given me the opportunity, or so I thought, of asking Olivia to go with me to Friday night’s football game. Boaz was hosting Guntersville. She turned me down. Cold. She said that her father didn’t allow her to date, he says she is too young to be alone with a boy. Something about Christian girls should be at least 16 before they started dating. I had learned Olivia’s birthday was in May. She was now only 14 and it would be an entire school year before she was 15 when she could date, supervised. I would never get to date the sweet and naive Olivia.

Olivia’s rejection was the beginning of my troubles attending Boaz High School. Friday night Dad and I had gone to the game. We sat up high in the bleachers, behind the band and the cheer section, where all the other students sat. It was midway through the first quarter before I saw her. Olivia was sitting in the next section over, towards the fifty-yard line. And, she wasn’t sitting with any of her girlfriends. She was sitting up close and comfy to John Ericson. I first thought about what Olivia had said. Her dad was smothering her by always insisting on her having a protector, a chaperon of sorts. He, Pastor Walter, no doubt believed that he could trust his son Wade’s four closest friends, the four other members of the Flaming Five. As the game progressed, all I could do was watch Olivia. No one in their right mind, if they had been in my shoes looking at Olivia and John, would have concluded that the two of them were not on a date. I saw nothing that would persuade me otherwise. Of course, this wasn’t the worst thing. It was what I already knew about John and his four teammates. They thought about nothing else except basketball and naked girls. Their Christianity, rather their fake Christianity, was nothing but a cover, a way to cozy up to the girls in the youth group. During the game, all I could think about was how vulgar a mind John almost daily had expressed during lunch the entire first week of school. I hated myself for being such a damn chicken. On Wednesday I had vowed to find another place to eat but hadn’t done a thing but fall right back in the same routine and sit with these five guys.

Before going to bed on Friday night it hit me like a rock. Were Olivia and John dating? Secretly? Maybe John had everyone fooled. He had won the trust of Pastor Walter and Olivia’s mother, Betty. Olivia too was part of the conspiracy. She was playing along with her father, being the quiet and obedient little girl while all along letting her natural hormones drive her conduct. I became so agitated imagining John’s dirty mind directing his big hands to wander all over Olivia’s body, I had to get up and drink a glass of milk. I think it was nearly dawn before I ever dozed off to sleep.

Saturday afternoon, I rode my bicycle to the Lighthouse. During the ride I realized the power of a Christian community. More particularly, I thought how easily I was falling into indoctrination. Not so much believing in what Brother Randy and Olivia were always spouting about, but in being drawn to the youth group. This was one of the strongest draws. Everyone needs other people in their life. We, as humans, are social animals. I knew the youth group was like a magnet and I was becoming virtually powerless to resist. I had to keep my focus on my mission. But, already, that had become a secondary objective. I guess my reason for going to the Lighthouse was the hope of seeing Olivia. Who was I kidding?

When I arrived, Brother Randy was talking with a group of kids around the podium at the back of the large room. Gerry and the Candlesticks were playing contemporary Christian rock from the little stage. Gerry Goss was the best guitarist of the three. James was dozing in an Auburn Tiger beanbag chair, soaking up the afternoon sun which beamed through the large glass windows that covered the entire front of the building.

“Hey Chicago.” It was a nickname James had coined almost from the first night we had met in the basement of First Baptist Church of Christ. After slamming the ping pong ball down my throat, he had said, “Take that Chicago.” The name had stuck and more and more of the youth group, even students at school, were trying it on for size.

“Hi James. What’s happening?” I said, comfortable that this question was as common in the South as it was in Chicago.

“Just hanging out. Waiting on the gang. We have a pick-up game at the gym at 4:00. You better join us.”

“Thanks, but you already know, from three weeks ago, that I’m not too coordinated when it comes to basketball. I’m okay if you don’t add in the part about running, shooting, passing. That doesn’t even include the dribbling part.”

“Oh yea. I forgot. You are totally spastic. You could come and watch you know.” James said getting up, stretching his big frame that seemed to span halfway across the entire front wall of the building.

We walked back toward the refreshments bar. The bell on the front door rattled just as we took a sip of our Kool-Aid. I turned and saw Olivia coming first through the door followed by her brother Wade, Fred, Randall, and my biggest enemy, John Ericson.

“James, you retard. We waited thirty minutes on you. You were supposed to meet us at Wade’s to plan our game strategy. Those guys from Albertville, we hear, are dog gone good.” Randall said to us and grabbing a handful of chocolate chip cookies.

“I knew you could handle it. It’s just my way of keeping you guys guessing whether I’m just your little puppy dog. If you didn’t know. I’m not.” James responded.

For the next hour we all sat in bean bag chairs at the front of the Lighthouse. It seemed everyone else was frozen. Even though kids came and went, it appeared they all gravitated to the back where Brother Randy must have been handing out free cash (just kidding), or sharing a new Biblical insight. Gerry and the Candlesticks, according to Olivia, were experimenting with some of their new music. They seemed talented in turning old gospel songs into something a little more modern and with a faster beat. I don’t think I said a thing for the whole hour. I just listened as the Flaming Five gossiped about who was with who at the dance Friday night after the game. I hadn’t even known there was a dance. I noted that Olivia had not joined in the conversation either. At two different times she had looked at me and smiled, once offering to get me some more Kool-Aid.

I was truly thankful when the Flaming Five left for their basketball scrimmage. I wasn’t disappointed that Olivia had stayed at the Lighthouse. For a few minutes it was awkward, mainly, unknown to her, because of my desire to find out about Friday night. Just as I was about to ask her how she liked last night’s game she jumped over into the bean bag next to mine.

“Matt, I feel I owe you an apology.” She said, straightening up and laying her hand on mine.

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Last Wednesday night you asked me on a date, for us to go to the game last night. I declined. I should have told you that John was taking me but that it wasn’t a date. I saw you walking out of the stadium with your Dad last night. All I could think was, ‘I bet he saw me with John and believes we were here on a date.’”

“You are brilliant I said with my best sarcasm. That’s exactly what I thought. Olivia, it’s okay if you don’t like me or want to go out with me.” I said.

“You must be the most stupid boy from Chicago to think I don’t like you. Matt, my father won’t let me date.” Olivia said, returning her hand onto mine.

“It sure looked like you and John were nothing but a couple, a dating couple. I guess I watched you for nearly two hours. Damn, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Watch your language sir. It’s okay to be open and honest. Just be careful what you say around Brother Randy. He hates foul language.” Olivia said looking towards the back area of the Lighthouse.

“I hate it too. I rarely ever think about saying an ugly word. Olivia, thanks for talking with me. I know you have a million friends and don’t have to spend any time with me.” I said, being fully honest.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“You wouldn’t believe how good I am at keeping secrets.” I said, almost trying to admit me working for Dad on his little project. But, I didn’t. I knew that would kill any chances I had with Olivia.

“Out of all my friends, I had rather be with you. You kind of have been on my mind lately. You are so different than John and his buddies. You seem truly interested in me as a person. Matt, I’m not so naive as to think that if it weren’t for my Dad, John, and for sure, Randall, would be doing everything they could to date me, which obviously would include trying to get me in the back seat of a car.” I was shocked by what she had said.

“Let me let you in on a little secret. I would bet my last dollar that’s what those two guys are after regardless of being Wade’s friend and the respect they have for your pastor father. They are playing games. They know that if they reveal their hand, they will lose. They will no doubt be kicked out of the youth group and lose all chances of being around you. Please Olivia, be wise, be careful.” I said beginning to feel like a counselor.

“You are wise beyond your age Matt. Thanks for caring about me. Now, let me hear about your “Who Made God?” poem.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 14

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 14

December 14, 2017

Thursday couldn’t have come too soon. John and Paul’s plane was scheduled to arrive in Birmingham at 1:45 p.m. Olivia and I had decided to spend the morning in Talladega at the Federal Correctional Institution. It was here that Walter and Wade Tillman, and James Adams, were being held awaiting their criminal trials.

We arrived in Talladega at 9:00 a.m. after an hour’s drive reliving the three days we, along with sixty other members of the First Baptist Church of Christ youth group, had spent in Gatlinburg, Tennessee in December 1970. We had taken this trip during the Christmas break from school. For the first time, I could be completely honest with Olivia about how she had treated me that entire long weekend. She had provided John Ericson almost uninterrupted attention. Back then, after we had returned from Gatlinburg, she had told me that the two of them were just friends and that she was trying to get him to realize he was lost. She explained that a real Christian didn’t act and talk the way he did. Olivia expressed sincere grief over John’s disappearance (and assumed death), along with the same for Randall Radford and Fred Billingsley sometime during 2016. I was not one to hold a grudge, but I still didn’t feel any sadness over his disappearance and assumed death that had taken place last year.

For the next two hours, I sat before James, separated by impenetrable glass, holding an ancient phone, and talking non-stop. Olivia, I assumed was doing the same, except alternating her time between Walter and Wade. I wouldn’t have recognized James if it hadn’t been for his voice, and possibly his eyes. He didn’t seem nearly as tall as I remembered him. It could have been the way he walked, and slouched, even while sitting. I hadn’t seen him since the day Dad and I had left Boaz in June 1971. He was probably fifty pounds lighter, balding, and now wore glasses. His skin looked as yellow as someone about to die from liver failure. He seemed pleased that I had come. At first, I asked all the questions and he responded with the shortest answers possible. But, after thirty minutes he had taken control of the entire conversation. He wanted to know everything about my life. The last hour, he talked about his two children, Justin, and Loree Adams Neilson, and his four grandchildren. James seemed concerned that I had never had children. We didn’t talk about his predicament. I felt that he would have brought it up if he had wanted to talk about it. When my two hours were up, he placed his right hand upon the glass with his fingers splayed out as much as he could. He said, “The Flaming Five are dying a slow but certain death. Please remember Randall Radford, Fred Billingsley, and John Ericson. Pray they may be found and that they are alive.” I placed my left hand over his, almost feeling his slowing pulse although separated by the half-inch glass. The prison guard came for him and I didn’t know what to say. In hindsight it was stupid, but the only way I could give James hope was to say, “stay strong my friend because when we meet again I’m going to kick your butt in ping-pong.” He smiled as the guard led him away.

Olivia had arranged with John and Paul to meet us at the airport. During the entire drive from Talladega to Birmingham, it seemed all Olivia could do was cry. She didn’t gain control until we were parked on level four in the parking deck across from the airport terminal. “Thanks for respecting my need to let it all come out. I’ve kept it in for nearly half a century.”

“I’m sorry your visit with your father and brother were so painful.” I said as we walked toward the elevators.

“Seeing my father and Wade brought back such horrible memories. I relived every bad thing they ever did to me.”

“Try to recognize the flip side. You and I are here to meet our children. Olivia, we are eternally connected. To me, that is the most beautiful thing I could ever imagine. I love you today more than ever. Let’s try to forget the bad and focus on the good.”

“You’re right. Thanks. You have always had a way of making me feel safe and secure.”

John and Paul’s plane was delayed. Something about snow in Cleveland, Ohio. I had never been able to figure out airline logistics. Our two sons were flying from Dallas, Texas to Birmingham, Alabama. Why on earth would they fly through Ohio?

At 4:30 p.m., after over an hour and a half waiting, Olivia screamed with excitement as she elbowed me hard and said, “There they are.” She had recognized them instantly, the first moment they were visible walking from inside the long hallway from their plane.

I looked over and my mind raced back nearly fifty years. I thought I was seeing Wade as he looked in high school. My mind changed its framing the closer they got. Olivia had made one of the silly little signs that people use to connect with a long-lost friend or someone they had never met. Her sign read, ‘Olivia Tillman.’ She had drawn a large heart shape where she had written, ‘Mother loves her twins,’ in smaller letters. They must have heard Olivia’s scream although I didn’t think it was that loud. No doubt the three of them were already connecting because John and Paul were jogging towards us. Now, it seemed the two of them looked like Walter Tillman. I quickly did the math and thought it a strange coincidence that John and Paul were now only a few years older than Walter was when I moved to Boaz in 1970; Walter would have been around 40 to 41 and John and Paul would now be 44. They looked exactly like I remember Walter when I was fifteen years old.

“Mother.” They both said, sitting their carry-on bags down and reaching out for a visibly shaken Olivia. The three of them stood in a circle with arms enveloping arms while cheek-kisses abounded amid multiple streams of tears. I had never felt so alone. It was like I was invisible. Neither John nor Paul had even peeked a look at me. Finally, emotions subsided, or their arms grew weary of an uncomfortable embrace, and they all three turned to me.

“This is your father, Matthew William Benson.” Olivia said walking over to me and taking my hand. He is the reason you two are so good-looking.

I made the first move and took two steps forward. They responded as I had hoped. They both shook my hand and first, Paul, and then, John, reached out and gave me a man-type hug. They were both tall and slender. They certainly looked more like Olivia than me.

The four of us stood there for five minutes chatting about their flight and the delay from the heavy snowstorm in Cleveland. We finally decided to go to the Cracker Barrel restaurant in Trussville, just north of Birmingham. Olivia gave them the address and John and Paul left, but only after another hug. We went on ahead and let them grab their luggage and sign-out their rental car. By 5:15, we were all four sitting at a table in the far back corner of Olivia’s favorite restaurant.

As Olivia and her boys started the long process of attempting to compress half a century into a two-hour dinner, I watched the two middle-aged men. Paul was like a miniature version of John. They both had blue eyes, high cheekbones and dark hair. I concluded that these characteristics came from Walter’s side. He was the dark-haired ancestor. Olivia, no doubt, had inherited her blondness from Betty, her mother. Other than Paul being slightly smaller than John, his hair was more salt and pepper. It looked like Paul might have been dying his hair to retain a more youthful look.

As our visit continued, I learned there were much more than visible differences between John and Paul. Even though both were college professors, their chosen subjects could hardly contrast more. John was a paleoanthropologist at the University of Michigan. Paul was a professor of New Testament at Moody Theological Seminary in Chicago. At a high school in Dallas, they both had earned academic scholarships to Harvard, but Paul had transferred to Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia after his first semester. About an hour into our meal, I felt a rising antagonism building between the brothers. It didn’t take long for Olivia and me to notice that John was clearly an agnostic and Paul was virtually a spitting image of his grandfather regarding his fundamentalist Christian beliefs. I was relieved to see how Olivia diffused the mounting angst when she said, “I can see me in both of you. I have walked along both paths, that of faith and that of disbelief. I know and have known many people, most that I still consider as friends, who differed vastly concerning their religious positions, but one thing is central to all. We are humans. We may not know exactly how we got here, but we know that to survive, we must join hands and pull in the same direction. Now, who wants coconut pie?”

“I’m proud of you.” I told Olivia as we drove back to Boaz. She had held both her boys close once again as we all stood outside in the restaurant parking lot. I again shook their hands. No man hug was needed. John and Paul had shared how they were going to spend the next several days driving and reconnecting with the great outdoors. Both had been Eagle Scouts during high school and they wanted to hike a portion of the Appalachian Trail starting in North Georgia. They promised they would come to Boaz for Christmas.

“Why do you say that?” Olivia said, sitting leaning towards me across the console.

“You doused what I knew was a hot fire erupting between John and Paul. It was clear the two of them have some unsettled ground between them when it comes to the God question.”

“I’m trained you know. I know both sides and learned long ago that there’s not much to be gained by arguing over Jesus. It’s hard enough to deal with God, as a deist, the creator and now the silent and absent God, much less than dealing with Him having a son by a virgin girl who overcame death, and traveled back to Heaven. It’s such a waste of time.”

“I have a feeling that John’s evidence, his work with Lee Berger during the expedition in the excavation of Homo naledi at Rising Star Cave in South Africa, would give Paul a little difficulty.

“I doubt it. Paul would simply respond, “naledi wasn’t a human my dear brother. He, it, was just an ape.”

“I suppose you are correct. True believers, fundamentalist believers, know nothing of human evolution. They will die believing God created Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden less than ten thousand years ago.” I said, reminded that my world of biology and genetics was waiting on me in Chicago, and I needed to buy a box of Christmas cards to send to my dearest friends and co-teachers.

During the next hour, all Olivia wanted to talk about was how things would have likely been if she and I had found a way nearly half a century ago to stay together, get married, and raise our two boys. I found the entire conversation debilitating. But, I did enjoy Olivia’s hand in mine.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 13

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 13

August 1970

Tuesday and Wednesday were pretty much a repeat of Monday. Other than Mr. Jackson in Vo-Ag, who got right his syllabus with both a lecture and a shop demonstration on two-cycle engines. All the other teachers were still stuck in class preliminaries. On Tuesday, I realized Olivia was in my Poetry class. On Monday, with the permission of Principal Hayes, she had missed the first class since Mr. Johnson was absent and we had a substitute. Olivia and seven other students, two from each grade, had been selected to serve on a new committee. It was called ‘RESPEC.’ It was an acronym: ‘Respect Everyone’s Space Producing Excellent Choices,’ or something like that. Olivia had said that the purpose was to counter prior years complaints that upper grades tended to bully and manipulate Freshmen students. Last year the complaints included sexual harassment of the younger and prettier girls by several football and basketball players.

Mr. Johnson was also absent on Tuesday but on Wednesday had encouraged us to read some poetry every day and to write something, even if only one sentence in our required writing journals. Olivia and I sat towards the back of the classroom and across from each other. She was the perfect student, listening carefully as Mr. Johnson gave his introductory lecture. She didn’t look over my way until he had given us an assignment to write a few verses for a poem he titled, ‘Who Made God?’ Mr. Johnson, during his lecture, had told us that it was never his intention to disrespect anyone, but that it was imperative, assuming we all wanted to absorb the true meaning and power of poetry, to open our minds and play with words and ideas. He said that unless we became curious and allowed our imagination to connect, or attempt to connect, very dissimilar things, our poetry would remain stale and boring. He had given us the example of ‘Ted Talks with a Ton of Trees.’ It was a delightful poem he had written. He emphasized before reading it to the class that we don’t normally think as humans, that we would talk with a group of trees. I particularly liked how Mr. Johnson had personified several of the trees. One tree, named Oak, had human legs and walked around following Ted, but had ‘hair’ made of limbs and leaves. Each of Mr. Johnson’s trees had a lesson for Ted, who was poor, suffered from low self-esteem, and hated school. After he gave us our ‘Who Made God?’ assignment, I realized how creative he was in warding off any possible complaint from Olivia or any other zealous Christian who might think God was off limits for any such poetry consideration.

After class, I walked Olivia back to her locker. I assumed this was permissible because I was headed to my last period class, Vo-Ag, and thereby had to traverse the entire first floor, from one end of the hall all the way to the opposite side of the school. She said she wanted to read my ‘Who Made God?’ poem sometime. I didn’t respond but just kept walking. The hallway was crowded, and at one point she leaned her right shoulder into mine to direct me around several students who were blocking the path. It was the first time we had touched. Not surprising. It was like I felt the full weight of her body. I know I was only imagining but her shoulder triggered an electrical response that ran throughout my body. It simply confirmed what I had recognized the first time our eyes had connected. She was unlike any girl I had ever met, and we were destined to become friends. I hoped it would be more than friends. I wanted to someday marry this girl. Man, was I becoming delusional? Just as we reached Olivia’s locker, Mr. Hayes walked by and stared at us. I could sense he was about to say something like, “Benson, have you read the Pirate Practice?” I quickly interjected, “I’m headed to Vocational Agriculture.” It was a miracle. He kept walking and didn’t say a word. As I walked away from Olivia, I could barely hear her whisper, “You are too quick on your feet Matt Benson.” And then, she raised her voice and asked, “Are you coming to cheerleader try-outs?” I didn’t turn around, just kept walking away, but I did hold up my right hand and gave her the thumbs up sign.

Yesterday, during lunch, again sharing a table with the Flaming Five, I had heard Wade Tillman say something like, “Let me warn you heathens, Olivia is trying out for B Team Cheerleader tomorrow. If I hear one lustful word from any of you I will beat the holy hell out of your mushy brains. Do you understand?” That’s when Randall said, “I’m holy scared. Preacher man, will it violate your rules if I undress the sexy Olivia just in my mind?” I thought Wade was going to come unglued, but Mr. Hayes and Mr. Jackson walked by with their food trays just at that moment. Fred Billingsley quickly changed the subject to tonight’s Calculus assignment.

Once again, I regretted sitting at this table. On Monday I had sworn I would sit somewhere less violent to my digestive and nervous systems. Tomorrow, for sure, I would not be caught dead eating with these hypocrites. I shouldn’t have been surprised. In church, especially in Sunday School class and during Youth Group on Wednesday and Sunday nights, these five superstars were polite, respectful, and always eager to uphold and communicate the Christian message. In their own element, wearing their true colors, they were simply normal teenage boys. Maybe they had an extra dose of testosterone, but just like most every other young male, it was natural to have an infectious interest in the female anatomy. What I couldn’t stand was how openly vulgar Randall and John Ericson were about what exactly they would like to do with every pretty girl in high school. The other three were not nearly as vulgar, even though they too made no bones about their interest in members of the opposite sex.

B Team cheerleader try-outs were in the gymnasium. There were at least twenty ninth grade girls who had signed up, all believing that the only way to ever become an A Team cheerleader was to serve two years on the younger squad. All the girls except three did a respectable job of jumping, side-stepping, dancing, and ending their routine by doing the splits. The best performances were by Jesse and Tesse Dawson. These twin girls were acrobatic, energetic, and possessed unbelievably flexible bodies. I had never met them but had seen them almost every week during the summer hanging out at the Thursday night basketball scrimmages. I had already learned that John Ericson had the hots for Jesse. She was kind of flat-chested but had long, sexy legs and an extraordinary butt. Olivia’s performance was the third best of all twenty girls. Actually, I couldn’t remember much of her routine. It was the first time I had ever seen her in anything but rather baggy clothes. Like all the others, she wore a skimpy little outfit: a short skirt over what looked like crimson colored panties. Her top was sleeveless and tight. She possessed the opposite of Jesse Dawson’s flat chest. All I could do was imagine what she looked like naked. I fought back this thought. I was ashamed because I didn’t want to be like Randall Radford. But, I was a normal teenage male. It seemed Southern girls were more physically mature than the girls from Woodlawn High in Chicago. Maybe it was something in the water, or the cornbread. Olivia was tall and could easily pass for a college freshman, at least from a physical standpoint.

After the try-outs, the crowd waited over thirty minutes for the seven-judge panel to make their final decision. Principal Hayes had avoided a prior years problem of having members from the Boaz High School faculty serve as judges. That practice had caused a huge controversy. The accusations were, ‘bias, bias, bias.’ Several parents had complained that the teacher/judges had picked their favorites, not necessarily who were the most talented. This year, Principal Hayes had brought in two teachers each from Douglas, Sardis, Albertville, and one from Guntersville. I wasn’t surprised that Jesse and Tesse Dawson were the first two names announced, followed by Olivia, and then Dana Skelton, Renee Bradford, and Melissa Brown. It was a good group, but I didn’t think Dana’s performance was any better than the other thirteen who were not chosen.

I decided to sit with Dad and his four missionary friends for the Wednesday night fellowship meal. I didn’t think I could stomach sitting with the Flaming Five.

Brother Randy was especially serious it seemed when he finally had us all seated and quiet in the two concentric circles. I couldn’t help but be amazed at how well I was doing with my undercover assignment. Randy Miller, the youth pastor, had insisted that we not call him ‘Pastor Randy.’ He, I guess, thought that ‘Brother Randy’ made him seem more like any other Christian brother. Here I was, an active and accepted (at least I thought so) member of a vibrant Christian youth group in the heart of the Bible Belt.

He held out a hand and said, “close your eyes and listen as I read what a friend of mine recently wrote on the front cover of his ministry’s monthly newsletter:

‘God where would I be if You did not reveal Yourself in your Word? My knowledge of You would be limited to inferences I draw from the natural world, and I could never have known that You love me and have gone to unfathomable lengths to draw me to Yourself. Your revelation of Your works and ways in Scripture is the foundational authority for truth in my life, and it bristles with implications for how I should order my steps from day to day. Grant that I will seek more diligently to expose myself to its teachings and counsel, and that I would meditate on and memorize truths from the Bible. As I read and reflect on the Scriptures, I gain a wisdom and perspective I could never attain otherwise, and my soul is nourished with great thoughts about who You are and what You have done.’”

Brother Randy went on, as he encouraged us to continue to sit with our eyes closed, and said that even without the Bible every man knows from nature that God exists. I sat still wondering if Brother Randy had ever read Charles Darwin’s, The Origin of Species, or any other books that offered a contrary theory of how life evolved. As our leader continued to extol how obviously we lived in a carefully designed universe I began to wonder if he had ever read a single peer-reviewed scientific article that laid out example after example that supported Darwin’s theory that life had begun with very simple single-celled organisms and had ever so gradually, through a process known as natural selection, evolved into the complex world in which we live. Our dear Brother Randy either didn’t know, or intentionally chose to ignore the truth. Evolution was a fact. It was just as solid a theory as Newton’s law of gravity.

After Brother Randy shared how impossible it was, without God, for the human eye to exist, what to a gullible and uneducated mind, was obvious and perfectly reconciled to a Christian worldview, he said that nature, God’s creation, was insufficient to reveal to us the depth of God’s love for those He had created in His own image. Brother Randy explained that the Bible was our blue-print for knowing God and living a life that honored and glorified our creator. Without the Bible we could never know Jesus or accept His offer of salvation. He ended his lecture by asking us to open our eyes and look straight into his. He asked, “What would happen if you didn’t feed your body?” Several kids spoke up and said we would eventually die of starvation. Brother Randy said it was the same thing with our spiritual life. He continued, “After you are saved, you have a whole new you inside your body. It too needs to be fed. The only food for this new being is the Word of God. It is your life source. If you fail take in God’s Word, your spiritual body will die.”

Brother Randy then turned the session over to Olivia. He had asked her to share her Bible study method and her commitment to a daily devotion. What she called her ‘daily quiet time with my Savior.’ I had trouble listening to Olivia’s ten-minute presentation. Two things had me totally distracted. I looked at her as though she was still wearing her cheerleader outfit, and she was doing the little Pirate dance. And, I fought back a strong temptation to imagine sitting with her at the movie and laying my hand on her leg above the knee. I was somewhat thankful I was able to turn my mind back to Brother Randy.

Did he not know the true origins of the Bible? He was a graduate of a major seminary. I think he had also done some work towards a Ph.D. in Theology. I couldn’t imagine it to be standard for his school and his professors to not reveal to him and all the other students how man-made the Bible was. Maybe his professors didn’t tell him that the originals of any of the books of the Bible do not exist and that all we have are copies of copies of copies, that all contain multiple errors and inconsistencies. Surely, he was taught that the oldest complete manuscript in existence of the entire Bible dates from the tenth century. He apparently doesn’t know that the Gospels were not written by the men whose names are used as the titles to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. If he ever knew, he has forgotten that each of the Gospels were written decades and decades after Jesus supposedly was resurrected, years and years after the Apostle Paul wrote his epistles that hardly mentioned anything at all about Jesus’ life. And, the four Gospels were written by educated Greeks who had never seen Jesus, and not by illiterate fishermen. In other words, the Gospels are in no way eyewitness accounts of Jesus’ ministry. To cap it off, I wondered if Randy’s professors had told him there were several other gospels written about the same time, none of which made it into the Holy Book. I wonder if he had read the Gospel of Thomas and how its author had told story after story of how Jesus, as a youth, used his magic to transform his playmates into goats, turn mud into sparrows, or how Jesus gave his father a hand in the carpenter shop by miraculously lengthening a piece of wood.

As Olivia returned to her seat in the circle I finally concluded that Brother Randy was just a grown-up version of the girl I was falling for. Like Olivia, Brother Randy, was fully indoctrinated. He had grown up in a Southern Baptist Church and was easily, at a young age, brainwashed by everyone around him into believing in the Bible and Christianity. He had never, not once, been encouraged, especially by his pastor or youth director, to think for himself, to read widely, and to become a skeptic towards everything he was hearing and reading.

As the youth group concluded and I rode my bike back home, I realized that there was one thing from the quote Brother Randy had shared that I agreed with. By reading and studying the Bible, I would ‘gain a wisdom and perspective I could never attain otherwise.’ I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Olivia, Brother Randy, and all other members of our youth group. It would be virtually impossible for any of them to ever break free from this two-thousand-year-old myth.

My thoughts changed as I fell asleep a couple of hours later. I would gladly be indoctrinated if it would assure me of winning the heart and mind and companionship of the most precious, beautiful, and wonderful girl I had ever known or imagined.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 12

The primary aim of the "Novel Excerpts" blog category is to showcase my creative writing, specifically from the novels I've written. Hopefully, these posts will provide a glimpse into my storytelling style, themes, and narrative skills. It's an opportunity to share my artistic expressions and the worlds I've created through my novels.

The Boaz Secrets, written in 2018, is my third novel. I'll post a chapter a day over the next few weeks.

Book Blurb

Chapter 12

December 10, 2017

Sunday morning at 6:30 a.m., my cell phone vibrated beside my sleeping bag. It was Olivia.

“Get up sleepy-head. Take me to breakfast and let’s go hear Warren preach.”

“Let’s not and say we did. At least concerning the preaching.” I said, still disoriented from being shocked awake.

“I get it. Last night you said you would call me early.”

“That was your suggestion.”

“Oh, I get it. You’ve had all night to reconsider.” Olivia seemed truly sad, almost perplexed.

“I was going to call early.” I said, struggling to stand up from the floor while holding on to my cell phone. Sorry, I forgot that early to you is 5:00 a.m.”

“Matt, you have a good memory.” I had always thought it strange for a teenage girl to love getting up early. By age 14, Olivia had developed the habit of having an early morning devotion, even on school days. She was so committed to God she immersed herself in Bible study and prayer in her bedroom at a little desk. I still remember her talking about looking out her eastward-facing window and watching the sun come up every cloudless morning. She never failed to say that the real Son had been up taking care of her all night.

“My memory isn’t near as good as it used to be, but I do remember you used to eat like a horse. I’m still full of that giant strawberry milkshake I ate at Sonic last night.”

“Pick me up at 7:00 and let’s go to Waffle House. It’s too far to drive back down to Cracker Barrel.”

“You should know there is also one in Guntersville. But, that’s too far also.”

We did go to Waffle House and Olivia ate a double order of pancakes. I had coffee and a piece of toast. All we talked about was John and Paul. After nearly an hour it seemed all we were doing was playing a game, imagining what each of them looked like. Were they identical twins? Did they have my dark colored eyes or the sky-blue eyes of Olivia? Were they taller than either of us? Probably. Were they slim, like Olivia, or had they picked up a few pounds on an otherwise perfect frame as the years had gone by. Like me.

After Waffle House, we came back to my house on College and sat on the swing. I had given Olivia the tour. As I showed her one empty room after another we ended up in my bedroom with two pillows and my sleeping bag on the floor. She commented that it had been in this room, on my bed, that we had confirmed our love and commitment. We held each other, and she shared how thankful she was that she had been able to not get caught up in a life of promiscuous sex. She admitted, as I did, that we should have waited about having sexual intercourse until we were married. Olivia started to cry. I held her, and she whispered that she wished things had worked out when we were young and that we had married as soon as she graduated high school. Before we walked outside to the swing, I kissed her lips. A real, passionate kiss. She accepted my forwardness. I could have stood there with her in my arms forever. We both sensed things could get out of hand, so she pushed me away. “Back Fido. Sit.”

Warren’s preaching was predictable. He was an excellent speaker and stuck strictly to the text of the scripture. He followed a three-point outline like any good Southern Baptist preacher. His scripture was one verse, John 3:16. Warren’s theme was God’s love and his ongoing involvement with His children. God loved us, past, present and, here, after two points made, I anticipated Warren having a third ‘p.’ But, he didn’t. I wanted the alliteration to continue. It didn’t. ‘F’ for future was his last point. All believers could rest assured that God would never stop being interested and involved with His special creatures.

At 11:45, Warren called for an altar prayer for Eugene Lackey. I had not heard of him. Warren went on to say that Mr. Lackey was the thirty-five-year-old Boaz High School basketball coach who was very sick. Two years ago, he had contracted a virulent form of cancer, but prayer, according to Warren, had worked and Eugene’s condition had gone into remission. Now, the cancer was back. It seemed well over half the people present walked to the front and bowed. After a long time of contemporaneous prayer, Warren verbalized his final prayer to the ever present and active God. He ended his plea with an all familiar statement, “God, may your holy, blessed will be done.”

After the service I walked to the Parsonage with Olivia and waited on the front porch. She went inside and changed clothes, again. This time, donning a jogging suit. We walked back to my place on College where I changed. For the next two hours we mixed walking and jogging, mainly for her to counter the zillion calories she had consumed in the last twenty-four hours. It was for me too. I no longer ran five miles a day as I had most all my life. Three years ago, knee surgery had slowed me down. These days, I rarely ran more than a mile at a time. I was now more of a walker.

One thing we had learned long ago, when Olivia started running with me as teenagers. Our best talks came when we were outside, putting one foot after another as we traversed city and country roads.

“Can I ask you something?” I said, out of breath after pushing myself during the last mile to keep up with a surprisingly eager and athletic Olivia.

“No.” She replied. I hoped she was joking but I wasn’t sure.

“I’ll ask anyway sweet pea. I assume you came to a point you no longer believed in prayer. How did that take place? Do you recall how the first doubts started?” I said realizing I probably should stick to asking one question at a time.

“How could I ever forget. That’s like not remembering the night I lost my virginity.” Olivia said, hardly puffing at all.

“Let’s not go there.”

Olivia continued. “Okay. It was in 2007. I was still at Southwestern, teaching. My students had learned that Jack was very sick, that he had cancer. One class had asked a few weeks earlier if they could start praying for Jack after I had finished my lecture each day. Of course, I agreed. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a small class, Pauline Theology. I didn’t voice a prayer, I just let the students pray as they were led. The prayers had ended, and everyone had left, except the oldest student in school, Thomas Stivender. He asked if I had a few minutes. The short version is that he said, ‘I don’t intend to offend you, but you do know that prayer doesn’t work?’ I was taken aback. Why would a seminary student say such a thing? Why would he be spending a lot of money to learn to be a preacher if he didn’t believe in the efficacy of prayer?”

“Let me guess. He wasn’t a believer at all. But, he was deeply interested in learning the inside story of what preachers were being taught?”

“Pretty close. I suspect you have heard this from your Dad, about this type thing happening.”

“Yes.”

“That day I learned that Thomas Stivender was thirty-five years old and had spent the past five years traveling the country, observing and investigating miracle claims. He also had a deep interest in Televangelists and watching the so-called miracles that happened on national TV. Thomas would track down those who were supposedly healed. He said that so far, all he could conclude is that prayer doesn’t truly work. He had never discovered one instant where the claim would stand up to real scrutiny.”

“So, this made you change your mind about prayer?” I asked while we were resting on the bleachers at Snead State’s Baseball Field.

“No, not at all, but someway the thought buried in my mind and it launched a search, an aggressive search for answers, for the truth. One thing that Thomas said to me was particularly persuasive, and enlightening. He said, ‘I encourage you to do one thing since I know you are skeptical of my position. Imagine you did not grow up in church and that you are simply an observer, an outside observer of Christianity. Be a skeptic, forget faith. That won’t get you to the truth. Be honest with yourself and your investigation. Reason your way to the truth. Simply follow the evidence where it leads. If your Christianity is true, it can withstand all scrutiny.’”

“Sounds like good advice to me. Of course, I also know, for a Christian, this is almost impossible to do.” I said.

“I agree, but for some inexplicable reason, I took his advice. I thought I was ‘secure and intelligent enough to see the value of questioning my beliefs,’ as Derren Brown wrote in his back-cover review of Richard Dawkins’ book, The God Delusion.”

“What happened? What did you do?”

“To begin with, I read everything I could get my hands on about prayer, from a research or scientific standpoint. Obviously, I already knew quite a bit about prayer from a theologian’s standpoint. I discovered the Templeton Prayer Study. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“I have.”

“As you know, it was a double-blind test and the results revealed that prayer had no effect upon those who were prayed for, those undergoing heart surgery and recovery.”

“I think it actually showed that the group who knew they were being prayed for, fared worse than the other two groups.” I added.

“Correct. Here’s the funny thing. What truly convinced me that Thomas was correct was not all that I read, it was when I finally started evaluating my own life and my own experiences. I realized I had a mountain of data to consider. I had grown up in virtually one continuous prayer meeting. This got me to searching my mind to determine if I could recall examples of obvious miracles, like a physical healing, only as the result of prayer. Here’s the bald-faced truth. I couldn’t think of a single incidence. Oh yes, I thought of many examples of what, on its face, appeared to be an answer to prayer. Things like, I would never have moved to Boaz if God hadn’t guided me in the purchase of my house. Other type examples were where family problems, including sickness of a child or parent, resulted in the person recovering. All my life I believed this was God at work, answering the prayers of His children. At best, they are mere coincidences. You know humans love to seek out patterns.”

“I do. Of course, you know that died-in-the-wool Christians would never agree with you. They have been brainwashed into an entire nonsensical method of analysis. They believe nothing happens to them without God’s permission. God helps them find their keys when they go missing. Ask God for guidance. He responds. The keys appear. Here’s the rub. These folks credit God with every good thing that happens. Uncle Bill’s cancer goes into remission. Praise God. But, when Aunt Sue dies, these folks don’t blame God. They never once question, ‘why did God fail?’ No, it’s always, ‘we can’t know the mind of God. He works in mysterious ways. No matter what, I will praise Him because He has a plan for my life and it is perfect. God is good, yesterday, today, and tomorrow.’”

“I agree fully with what you are saying. It makes me mad, almost angry, to realize that I spent fifty years believing a lie.”

“Indoctrination is a powerful thing. When a baby is born and grows up saturated by family, friends, and a community, with nothing but God talk, the Bible, it is virtually impossible to gain freedom. The truth is, this same child would have totally different beliefs if he were born into a similar Muslim environment. Religion, religious beliefs, are almost fully geographical.” I said.

“I’m thankful I’ve been set free. I’m excited about my new life’s work. Trying to persuade others to, as Darren Brown said, be ‘secure and intelligent enough to see the value of questioning their beliefs.’ As you say, it is almost a losing battle, but I feel so strongly, given my half-a-century wandering in the wilderness, that I have to try.”

As we walked back to 118 College Avenue I couldn’t help but remember how zealous teenager Olivia was to evangelize the world with the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Her complete transformation was almost unbelievable, as I considered her view of Christians and Christianity now.