The Boaz Secrets – Page 3 – The Pencil-Driven Life

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

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 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.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 11

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 11

August 1970

Saturday night Dad and I spent nearly three hours reviewing and discussing my notes so far, things I had observed over the past two months in Boaz hanging around Boaz teenagers. The only thing that surprised Dad was how quickly Olivia and I had connected given how many weeks at the beginning of summer that I hadn’t even met her. He attributed this to how sold out she was for Christ and how committed she was to convert me to Christianity.

Sunday came and went. About all I did was go to Church. Dad returned for the third week to Creekside Baptist Church, five miles out in the country in a little community called Aroney. He was connecting with the pastor, Gabriel Gorham, who, according to Dad, was just as much a Christian fundamentalist as all the other pastors he had met in Alabama. However, Pastor Gorham exhibited a humility unlike the near haughty arrogance of the two First Baptist pastors Dad had met. He had said, “If there actually was a Jesus Christ of the New Testament, I suspect he would be like Pastor Gorham: kind, respectful, generous, and oh so humble.”

I didn’t see Olivia at Church either service, morning or night. She had told me yesterday that she taught a middle-school girl’s Sunday School class, and during preaching she often volunteered in the nursery. Last night, the youth choir had visited Second Baptist Church and joined their choir to present a musical titled The Blessed Mary. Olivia had said the purpose was to persuade me and everyone that hears it to be ready for God’s call. This takes focus and commitment.

Summer had finally ended. My one year of high school in a Southern town began today. I both dreaded it and couldn’t wait. My excitement rested on my belief that I would get to see Olivia every day, or at least this was my hope. I rode my bike and wore an empty backpack, orders from Mrs. Gilbreath when I registered. It was a tradition at Boaz High School. All students reported to the gymnasium at 7:00 a.m. on the first day of school. Tables had been set up all around the large room, alphabetically ordered to reflect the student’s first letter of his or her last name. Over the weekend the teachers and administrators had worked to organize and assemble an easy book-distribution system. I reported to the ‘B’ table at 6:50 a.m. (I always liked being early) and didn’t have to wait. I filled my backpack with thirty-plus pounds of books. The Biology textbook alone seemed to weigh ten pounds. I walked to my locker on the second floor and stored all my books except my ten-pounder. It was now barely 7:00 a.m., and my first class didn’t start until 7:45 a.m. The Pirate Practice had warned against ‘wandering the halls,’ forbidding eleventh and twelfth graders from being on first floor unless we had a class there. It was reserved for ninth and tenth graders. I decided to go to my first period class and wait, and hopefully meet some other students.

Dr. Ayers was sitting behind her desk when I arrived. I knew her instantly from the Pirate Practice. It contained a photo of each teacher, a brief biography, and a list of the classes taught. I already knew she was from Chicago. She had taught Evolutionary Biology at the University of Chicago before moving to Boaz six years ago. She immediately got up and walked to me, shook my hand, and said, “Good morning Matt, seems like we have a lot in common.” I guessed she had conducted a little research on me after I registered for school.

It was nearly 7:45 before the next student showed up. Dr. Ayers and I had talked the entire time. She shared her story of what had brought her and her family to Boaz and the tragic death of her daughter, Ellen, almost five years ago. She was open about her faith, or, lack of faith. I will never forget her statement, “it’s difficult, near impossible, to believe in God and be an evolutionary biologist. At most, I’m a Deist, but that has its own set of problems.” She said it was her philosophy to instill and intensify each student’s sense of curiosity, to encourage all her students to capture the wonder of life, life that had evolved on earth for billions of years. I too shared my story and my lack of faith. I related Dad’s story (the parts I could reveal). Dr. Ayers made me promise that Dad and I would join her and her husband for dinner at their house very soon. She seemed especially interested in talking with Dad.

Biology II with Dr. Ayers was the highlight of my morning. Calculus I, American History, and English Literature were interesting, at least according to the Syllabi each teacher had distributed. By the end of the last three classes before lunch I could already tell Dr. Ayers was the exception at Boaz High School. Virtually every other teacher applied a heavy God-dose to their classroom environment. Things like, from Clark Reiner, the history teacher, “from the beginning, at the landing at Plymouth Rock, you will have no choice but to believe that God had His hand on America’s founding.”

I ate lunch with James and the other four members of the Flaming Five. So far, I liked them all except for Randall Radford. He was a bully, a giant bully, that was uninhibited when it came to everyone who didn’t bow down as he walked by. After thirty minutes of listening to him disrespecting the bodies of every girl that wandered by our table, I decided I would find another place to have lunch.

At 12:45 p.m., I was passing through first floor, headed to the gymnasium for a school-wide assembly, when I saw Olivia staring into her locker. My mind and my heart responded like I had just seen a ship appear on the horizon after I had spent the last several days alone on a piece of driftwood bobbing about a lonely and dangerous ocean. I was still twenty feet or more away from her when she turned towards me. It was like she sensed my presence. It was a gloriously welcomed sign of our budding friendship. In truth, to her, it probably was her anticipation of another chance to witness to me.

“Hi Matt, are you headed to hear Pastor Gorham?” Olivia said closing her locker without any attempt to discover how things were going on my first day at school.

“I’m headed to the gym. I take it Mr. Gorham, Pastor Gorham, is speaking?”

“Yes, you’ll love him. If my Dad wasn’t my pastor I would be an active member of Creekside Baptist Church. For its size, their youth group is larger than ours. Brother G, as he likes kids to call him, is a magnet for Christ.”

“Is it okay if we sit together?” Once again, my boldness surprised me. Up until Olivia, I had always been so shy around girls that I could barely carry on a conversation. I had never asked a girl for a date, not that going to assembly with Olivia would be a date.

“It’s allowed for these type things. I guess you know we can’t hang out together during normal break times? You have to stay upstairs with the pretty Junior and Senior girls.” Olivia said smiling, her blue eyes pouring waves of mystery inside my mind.

“I’m aware. I nearly have the Pirate Practice memorized. I’ve read it so much.”

“Loosen up a little. This ‘ain’t’ Chicago. Olivia said accentuating her best Southern drawl. “Come on, or we’ll be late.”

Principal Hayes gave us a stern look as we walked inside the double, exterior doors of the gym. “Olivia, you’re being a bad influence on our newcomer. Try harder next time.”

“Yes, Mr. Hayes. I’m sorry.” Olivia said pulling my right arm to get me to hurry up.

Pastor Gorham was just walking to the podium that had been set up in the middle of the basketball court. Clark Reiner had introduced him and was sitting down behind the podium in a row of chairs occupied by, what I later learned, were the town’s mayor and city councilmen.

I liked him from the start, as a human being. He spent five minutes at least talking about how honored he was to be speaking to all the students of Boaz High School. He made me feel important by elaborating on our future and how all of civilization depended on us and what we learned now and our attitude towards our fellow man. He inspired me to treat everyone as though they were the last person on earth and that they held the key to my survival. No doubt, Pastor Gorham, Brother G, was a caring and compassionate man.

However, I began to feel differently about him during the last part of his speech. He was speaking about faith and Christianity. I shouldn’t have been surprised that a school in the heart of the Bible Belt would start off the school year with an evangelistic message. Brantley, Jessie, and Tyler, my friends from Chicago, had warned me that “you’ll come back a Bible-thumper. Those schools down South are wholly unaware of the separation of church and state. To them, it’s just one big milkshake.” I couldn’t help but laugh. I missed my three amigos so much.

Pastor Gorham said, “You can’t be a non-believer and know and serve Christ. You must abandon everything, including reason, and allow faith to be your guiding star. Always, remember, Christ and His ways are foolishness to the non-believer.” He then brought up the highly revered Martin Luther, the radical twelfth-century theologian that redirected Christianity back to faith and away from works. I will never forget three statements Gorham shared, all attributed to Martin Luther. The first one seemed to encapsulate all three: “Reason is the greatest enemy that faith has; it never comes to the aid of spiritual things. But, more frequently than not, struggles against the divine Word, treating with contempt all that emanates from God.” The second statement, according to my reason (I wasn’t trying to be funny) naturally followed: “Whoever wants to be a Christian, should tear the eyes out of his reason.” As did the third: “Reason should be destroyed in all Christians.”

I could barely believe what I had just heard. I had never heard such foolishness. In all my sixteen years, I had been taught to think; to use my reason; to ask questions; and to be critical. According to my eleven years of education so far, (including Kindergarten) I had been taught to be a skeptic. Now, I was sitting in what was called a school, a place where I was supposed to continue my education, and I was being told, with full permission of Mr. Hayes and I assumed the entire Marshall County, Alabama Board of Education, that I should take some dynamite and blow up my reasoning faculty. I had known for years that true faith is believing something without evidence. Over the past year or so I had learned, thanks to Dad and my interest in science, that faith was believing something in spite of evidence to the contrary.

Pastor Gorham made me feel a little better, but not by much, when he seemed to confine his statements to my spiritual life. In other words, I was to keep my reasoning ability sharp and use it in every area of life except when it comes to God. I didn’t believe in God at all, but even if I did, all I could think was, “God must be a little loony. He creates man with the ability to think. The reasoning ability had to come from God if you believe in the Genesis creation story. Yet, God says you can’t use the wonderful ability when it comes to discovering and serving Him. Just as loony, God created everything to look billions of years old, yet the Bible seems to describe the earth as less than 10,000 years old.”

As Olivia and I left the gym, I was confident that I had made the right decision. Years ago, I had chosen the ‘faith’ of my father, instead of my mother. Dad’s ‘faith’ existed, thrived, provided hope, because of reason and my willingness to use it.

“Matt, I hope Brother G’s talk helped you, and I hope you accepted his invitation at the end to believe in and surrender to Jesus Christ.” Olivia said as we walked like snails to maneuver away from the crowd that was siphoning out of the gym.

“I have to admit; his talk was interesting and did give me hope. Thanks for letting me sit with you.” I said, hoping Olivia would ask me over to her house after school to study together, walk her dog, or anything, even to sit and play cards with her parents. One thing was obvious, according to my reasoning, I wanted to spend as much time as possible with this beautiful, but loony, 14-year-old girl.

Two more classes and my first day would be over. I couldn’t wait. We had a substitute teacher for Poetry. Mr. Johnson was apparently sick. The substitute passed out the Poetry syllabus and had us sit quietly the entire hour and read the introduction and Chapter One from our textbook, The Limitless World of Words and Life, by Gretchen Ellsworth. I had never heard of her, but she won me over immediately in the Introduction. There, she wrote, “there is no limit to what you can discover if you put no limit or boundaries on your thinking.” This was going to be, along with Biology II, the highlight of my year.

I had chosen Vocational Agriculture as a joke for my three amigos in Chicago. I had no interest in learning how to milk a cow, castrate a pig, or rebuild a lawn-mower engine. After the first day, the joke was on me. Mr. Jackson, at first and during his fifteen-minute lecture in the classroom, seemed like a drill Sergeant in the Army. He laid out his classroom rules, none of which I had seen in the Pirate Practice. Especially the one about corporal punishment. Follow my rules or favor a hot ass. He didn’t say that exactly but that’s what he clearly meant.

The one statement I liked during his talk was, “if you’ll pay attention and apply a little effort, you will surprise yourself at what you can accomplish. Many of you probably are here because you wanted an easy class. This is going to be the hardest class you’ve every loved. Here, you will learn how to make a living, to survive, even if you never go to college.” After the first fifteen minutes Mr. Jackson had all eighteen of us follow him into the shop. It was filled with all kinds of machines and tools. He spent several minutes emphasizing the importance of safety and how ‘dicking around’ is how you get hurt, maybe lose a finger or hand, plus get your “ass lit up.” As he guided us around the large room describing some of the things we would be doing, no one in our class made a sound. We all imagined we had been drafted into the Army. Mr. Jackson ended class with a joke. “What did the pig say to the chicken as the Goldkist chicken haulers drove onto the farm? Which came first the chicken or the egg?” Everyone laughed, including me, even though I didn’t catch the punch line. As the bell rang, he said, “try to not be a pig when you’re in my class. Remember, the pig and the chicken both are headed to the slaughter. Use your time wisely and don’t ask dumb questions.”

As I rode my bike home, I figured that I would learn more about life in the trenches with Mr. Jackson than I would from any other teacher, except of course, Dr. Ayers. At least he had not said, “Which came first, reason or faith?” Nor had he said, “Whoever wants to be a Christian should tear the eyes out of his reason.”

Life in North Alabama, attending Boaz High School over the next school year, was going to be anything but boring.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 10

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 10

December 9, 2017

At 2:15 Saturday, Olivia and I were at Cracker Barrel Restaurant off Highway 77 in Gadsden. After I picked her up, we had decided to go out of Boaz. She Googled restaurants in Gadsden and found what she described as her favorite place in Chapel Hill. “I was hoping there was one around here. I love their turnip greens and cornbread.”

“That fits. I always thought of you as Ellie Mae Clampett.”

“Not a chance. She would have been intimidated by my bust-line.” Olivia said looking over at me with a faint smile. I was the one intimidated. She was, as always, so open, but never about anything sexual. She was the most modest girl I had ever met. But now, had she changed? Was she flirting with me? Coming on to me?

Last Thursday morning, I had driven to Brandi Ridgeway’s house and asked if I could rent 118 College Avenue for a month. She had reluctantly agreed. I had the utilities turned on, bought a sleeping bag and two large pillows, and moved in. The only appliance in the house was what looked like the same old stove that was there in 1970. I doubted that to be true. I had purchased a coffee maker and coffee but nothing else. I had been eating every meal at a little cafe called Rooster’s downtown where the Sand Mountain Bank was when Dad and I lived in Boaz nearly half a century ago.

I was surprised to learn that Olivia did love turnip greens and cornbread. She had them and country-fried steak and the biggest slice of coconut pie I had ever seen. Everything was coming back to me. It’s weird how everything that we have ever experienced is buried somewhere in our heads. I recalled the appetite Olivia had as a teenager. Now, as then, I couldn’t figure out how she maintained almost a perfect figure. In the past, she was never one to exercise formally, although by the end of mine and Dad’s time in Alabama, Olivia was my regular companion on the running trails. I wonder if she was now a workout freak to rank her perfect 10. I thought it inappropriate to ask her.

“Are you going to eat the rest of your pancakes?” Olivia eyed my plate. I had ordered breakfast after seeing the older couple at the table across the aisle from us eating pancakes, bacon, and sausage. It was the best smelling bacon ever.

“No. Do you want them?”

“I’d like to try the pancakes. I usually eat dinner at our Cracker Barrel in Chapel Hill but Sissy, my new research assistant, has been trying to get me to go one Saturday morning with her. She says they are divine.”

“Here, help yourself. I’m sure they will taste great after that coconut pie.”

The next ten minutes were almost surreal. Olivia ravaged my pancakes and then we simply sat silently. We both had taken the first minute or so to investigate our surroundings. When our waitress came by to refill our drinks, Olivia had asked her if there was a private place we could meet. “I’ll check but I bet it’s okay for you to sit in our smallest banquet room. The big one is occupied with a birthday party.” The older woman said with the best Southern drawl I think I have ever heard.

After our move had been approved, Olivia and I sat at a long oak table, one along the far-right side of a room that would hold probably thirty people. Within a few seconds after sitting down, I noticed Olivia was staring at me. I didn’t linger at first, but quickly came back for a peek. She was still staring and the mood on her face had grown almost pale, with a tinge of sadness given how she was not smiling and the pupils in her eyes were on alert, even attempting to penetrate my mind.

“Matt, I have something I must tell you. I’ve put it off for way too long. This isn’t a good time to do this, but I have to take this opportunity.” I couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

“Okay, you have my permission. But, you don’t have to be so frightened. You know we decided early on that we would be completely open and honest with each other. I suspect that’s the main reason I didn’t fall apart when you ditched me. It was weird, but I trusted you and your decision. I knew you had done what you thought was best for both of us.”

“Matt, I have lied to you. I broke my promise to you, the promise you just mentioned. I did promise you to be completely open and honest. But, I wasn’t. This is going to hurt you Matt, but it’s the truth. You deserve to know.”

“Just tell me. You’re killing me with all this suspense.” I said trying to imagine what could be so terrible that she had born such a burden for so long and now was about to crawl out of her skin.

“When you left Boaz in 1971, I was pregnant.” She finally said it. Then, she just sat there.

“Olivia, we had sex the first time, and the only time, the night before Dad and I moved back to Chicago. It, the sex, took place June 9, 1971.” The date was etched in my mind. Forever.

“Do you have to call it sex? It was the most wonderful and beautiful thing I have ever experienced. That night, in your room, in your bed on College Avenue, we made love.”

“I agree. My point is, and this sounds cold. Had you been having sex with someone else? How did you know you were pregnant?” I said.

“No, no, no. Matt, you must know that I was a virgin before you. I’m confusing things. That night, I didn’t know that I was pregnant. I found out three months later. Until I married Jack in 1988, you were the only man, boy, whatever, I had ever slept with.”

“Then, how could you, you of all people, have ditched me. You were carrying my baby when you abandoned me? No, that wouldn’t have been right. That took place nearly 18 months later. What happened to our child Olivia?”

“John and Paul, twins, were born March 9, 1972, nine months to the day after our one and only sexual encounter.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to ask every follow-up question since you seem to not want to give me, at one time, the full narrative. What happened to John and Paul? Tillman, was that their last name?”

“Matt, I had no choice, really. My father, the fundamentalist of fundamentalist preachers, the hard-liner Walter Tillman made me promise to never tell you about the babies. I suspect you can fathom his power over me. Once mother found out I was pregnant and told Dad, he insisted I drop out of school. I became an absolute shut-in for the next six months. He convinced the community that I was sick and couldn’t have visitors. I was an involuntary recluse during that entire time. It was awful.”

“But, you kept me on the line. It seemed to me, for at least the first year after I left, that we were fine, that our plans for you to finish high school and join me were right on track.” I said.

“I did too Matt. Dad’s only condition, at the time, was that I couldn’t tell you about the babies. He convinced me that if I truly loved you that I shouldn’t tell you, and it was in your best interest. I was such a fool. Please know that it was an absolute shock to me that after I delivered, in Birmingham mind you, the babies were taken away. I never got to hold the only children I ever had.”

“I take it, they were put up for adoption. Right?”

“All I was ever told was that Dad had a friend in Texas, another pastor. He and his wife were in Birmingham when I gave birth. I never saw them. Two days later they left with John and Paul. I didn’t get to name my two precious boys.”

“And, you have never had any contact with them?” I asked.

“Here’s what, I suppose, prompted me now, at least in part, to come clean. Matt, you must know that if I hadn’t seen you, in the flesh, here in Boaz, I don’t know if I ever would have told you the truth. That makes me so sad, and angry at myself. But, when I saw you in the Church’s basement, the moment our eyes met, my first thought was ‘Matt has someway found out and has come looking for me. I must deal with my secrecy and lying.’ Of course, you hadn’t found out. But, I still knew I had to tell you.”

“You didn’t answer my question. “Have you ever had any contact with John and Paul?” I said, feeling anger build up in my gut. Anger was so foreign to me. I sometimes wondered if I was human.

“A few days ago, before I left Chapel Hill, I received a call at my office, at the School. It was John, John Cummins. The conversation was most awkward, but some way he had found me. I think it was because I had gone back to being Olivia Tillman when I moved to Chapel Hill from Dallas. The real clue that had started his intensive search was some documents he and Paul had found going through their parent’s things after they died. The boys, from an early age, had known they were adopted, but they hadn’t been told the truth. They had been told their parents had gone through an adoption agency, one long-defunct. John and Paul literally knew nothing about where they came from. Included in the documents they found was a type of journal entry their mother had written. It gave the entire story, including my name and where I was from. With modern technology, it was easy to find me. If John and Paul hadn’t found those documents, I suspect they might never have known the truth.”

“How did the two of you leave things, after that phone call?” I asked, absolutely blown away by what I was hearing.

“I know it is natural for a mother to want to see and hold her children. I suspect most of them feel the same about their parents. I sensed from the tone of their voices they were excited about talking and with me and were serious about taking the next logical step. We three agreed we had to meet.”

“This is rather selfish of me, but did John say anything, ask anything, about his father?” I had to ask.

“He did, he asked, ‘Who is my father and where can I find him?’ “I told him that I would tell them the entire story and try to help them find you. Matt, like you, I intentionally stopped keeping up with you after we broke up.”

“Do the three of you have a plan to meet?”

“We do. They will be in Boaz next Thursday. Is it too much to ask for you to be with me when we meet?” Olivia said, unable to even look me in the eye.

“One question. I’m sorry but I must give you one more chance to be honest if you have not been. Is there any way that I am not the father of John and Paul Cummins, the twin boys you gave birth to?”

“Matt, you are their father. But, I must tell you something else. I would hope, someway, you would know this. I have loved you forever, almost since the first time I saw you. I love reading romance novels and they are filled with stories of how beautiful it is for the adage, ‘love at first sight,’ to be real. Novels are fiction. Our story is not. Even though I cared for Jack, loved him deeply, it was nothing like what I felt for you. Matt, you are my once-in-life love. That will never change. Please forgive me for what I have done.” I looked closely at Olivia as she talked. I would have bet my life that she was laying open her soul to me. She wasn’t lying.

“I’m sorry Olivia that I was not someway there for you. I love you too. I hope you know that if I had been told the truth, I would have abandoned my life in Chicago and, if I had to, walk the 700 miles back to Boaz. Maybe we could have worked things out, eloped or something, raised our boys and spent the last near-fifty years enjoying each other’s company. I would have liked that.”

“Thank you Matt for being you. You are exactly the man I fell in love with. You are too good for me.” Olivia said, now looking at me so sweetly.

“Don’t even go there. Would it be alright with you if we got out of here and went for a drive?”

“I’d love that.”

Olivia and I did go on a five-hour journey with multiple stops including a hike at Noccalula Falls Park, a photo session in downtown Chattanooga, and a milkshake detour at a Sonic’s in Fort Payne. We returned to Boaz at 9:30 p.m. and sat on my front porch swing, just like we had sat together, here on this same porch, nearly a half-century ago. At midnight, I walked Olivia the three blocks back to Warren and Tiffany’s house.

“I’ll call you tomorrow if that’s okay.” I said, still holding Olivia’s left hand, facing her outside the parsonage’s front door.

“Early, okay?” Olivia said with a quick, out of the blue kiss to my lips.

With that she went inside, and I stood spellbound. I didn’t sleep much that night.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 9

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 9

July 1970

I spent the next 65 or so hours thinking of nothing but Olivia and her question. If all I had to do was fulfill my promise to Dad, gather information for his research project, my work would be a piece of cake. Things were radically different now. Somewhere along the way, ever since Dad and I arrived in Boaz and I met Associate Pastor Grantham, the mystical and mysterious Olivia had invaded my mind and heart. I think it was the three weeks it took to meet her. This gave the double M’s enough time to sprout, root, and evolve into a life-force that saddled up against my initial promise and equally competed for my time and attention. Not to say my heart. My twin mission now was to fulfill my commitment to Dad while at the same time win the heart of the most beautiful and captivating girl I had ever met.

On Thursday, I had pretty much convinced myself to lie to Olivia, to answer her ‘have you been saved?’ question with a resounding yes. I had anticipated that this approach would avoid a mountain of interrogation and allow me to focus on my mission to become Olivia’s boyfriend. I was confident I could pull this off. I probably knew more about the Bible than anyone, well, maybe except Olivia, but I could act the part of a dedicated Christian. I was excited about my decision and my plan. Then, Mother showed up. I could never do this, the lying, to her. She, with her Catholic teachings, had instilled in me the importance of truth, of always being honest with myself and others.

On Friday, my mind had settled on answering no. I would say, “I’m not sure what being ‘saved’ means. Can you help me?” Oh man, this was it. Olivia would think God Himself had given her the best blessing of all. A lost young man who was open to hearing the Gospel of Christ. By the time Dad and I returned from the Dairy Queen, now, our Friday night tradition, I knew I was on the right path. ‘Can you help me?’ It was brilliant. And, I wouldn’t make it easy on her. This could take a while. She would be determined to answer every question I had no matter how long it took. A year? No problem. During this time, I could reveal to her that I was not only a gentleman, one her mother would pick out of a ‘potential boyfriend’ lineup, I was also a prince. I would become Olivia’s protector. That would surely win the hearts and minds of her parents. I knew that was imperative. Once again, Mother showed up, reprimanding me for being hellbent (not her words) on lying.

By Saturday morning, I was hopeless. All I had left, something remotely akin to a strategy to use when, no doubt, Olivia popped out what I suspected was her favorite question. ‘Are you saved?’ I would simply be honest with her. I would answer ‘no.’ And, if she continued her interrogation by asking me what I believed, I would tell her that I didn’t believe there was a God. This wouldn’t be lying. It seemed Mother had been a little vague about this strategy. She, at least according to my interpretation, had allowed me to rationalize that not telling Olivia about my promise to Dad, about me being an undercover agent of sorts, wasn’t directly relevant to Olivia’s question. I could just as easily, and honestly, be a writer, falling in love with his character while at the same time taking notes of her every word and action.

It was 2:05 p.m. before I left the house. I had already timed my bike ride to the Lighthouse. I would be there easily by 2:10 or 11. I didn’t want to be early or on time. It was better for Olivia to not think I was overly eager to please her. I hated a suck-up.

The Lighthouse was on the south end and west side of Main Street. It was next door to the First State Bank of Boaz. The building, like all along Main Street, was old. It was easy to tell this one hadn’t been well cared for over the past several years. The ceiling carried the obvious signs of multiple long-term leaks. The walls were cracking plaster that appeared to have had some recent patch work. The recently applied blue paint helped. The lingering smell didn’t. The front part of the building was crowded with odd chairs, couches, and bean-bags. Two girls, maybe thirteen years old, sat on a couch to my left and smiled and said as I entered, “Welcome stranger, welcome to the house of light.” I wanted to tip my hat, but I wasn’t wearing one. To the right, at the center and along the outer wall was a small stage. Three guys with guitars were playing and singing “Amazing Grace.” On the left wall, about midway to the rear of the building, was a half-circle wooden bar that looked like something I had constructed. I suspected all the renovation had been performed by the youth group, with little adult supervision. There were two guys sitting on bar stools, both about my age. Olivia was behind the counter. It looked like the three of them were playing cards. She looked up and said, “Hey Matt, come join us.” As I walked forward I could see the back half of the building was filled with multiple rows of chairs and a podium facing me from the back wall. I suspected this was the nerve-center of the Lighthouse, where real Christians, both adults and teenagers, shared the gospel of Christ to anyone who would sit and listen.

Olivia introduced me to Ben and Danny from Sardis, and instructed them to ‘man the bar’ while she talked with me. She motioned for me to follow her to the back towards the podium. I guess she had a lecture planned for me. “I’m glad you came.” Olivia said as she pulled us two chairs from the front row, positioned them facing each other, and moved the podium back out of the way.

“I’m glad you invited me. I was expecting more of a crowd.” I said looking shyly into Olivia’s eyes. I had to learn how to look at her. Her eyes were like magnets. If I kept staring, she would start to think I was obsessed. She would be right. Not all versions of obsession are sin.

“I forgot, there’s a preseason scrimmage tonight at the football field. I think that’s today’s competition. This afternoon there are flag football games, one for girls and one for guys.” Olivia said.

“Matt, I’ve been looking forward to hearing your story. You said Wednesday night that you would share with me your Christian experience. It’s funny, but I’ve been trying to guess what you would tell me. I’m sorry, but I even thought you might try to bamboozle me.”

“Why do you say that?” I said, a little shocked how direct and quick Olivia was to jump right into the fire.

“I’ve heard about you Yankee types. You’re rather slick and can dazzle a girl with bull.”

“I’ve heard it called bullshit.” I said.

“Me too, but I don’t talk like that.”

“I’m going to surprise you. I’m going to be honest in answering your question, your Wednesday night question. You had asked me if I was saved. The short answer is no.”

“Thanks Matt. I take back my insult. You are not the typical Yankee. Truthfully, I don’t know much about Northerners, just the typical southern rumors. I appreciate your honesty. Would you allow me, us, to talk about Christianity and how you become a Christian?”

“I’m all ears.” Here we go.

“Jesus Christ is God’s only Son. He came to make a way for every man and woman, boy and girl, to go to Heaven when they die. He, like God, was perfect, sinless. He was crucified on a cross and thereby paid the full punishment for your sin and mine. Three days later He was resurrected, came back to life, reflecting His power over the greatest enemy of all, death. Jesus now sits on the right hand of God in Heaven longing for everyone, including you Matt, to surrender to Him, and make Him Lord of your life.” Obviously, Olivia had given this little speech before.

“Olivia, is it okay for me to ask a few questions? I don’t have any intent on hurting your feelings or making you mad.”

“Oh gosh, you don’t even have to say that. This is a conversation. I doubt you could make me angry.”

“I’ve heard your story, the story you just told. My Mother was Catholic, and my Dad is a Bible professor. First, how do you know all this stuff?”

Olivia didn’t pause a second. “I have always wondered when I’m going to hear a question that either I haven’t heard before or that is difficult and perplexing. I’m still wondering, but don’t take that as an insult.” I wasn’t insulted, but I was surprised. Her response seemed unlike the goddess I had constructed in my mind.

“I don’t. Now, back to my question.” I replied. Olivia was certainly a fireball.

“Oh, didn’t I answer it already? I’ll repeat. It’s the Bible. I may have not said that directly, but I assumed even the son of a Catholic mother and a Bible professor father would know that I’ve been virtually quoting the Good News. No problem, I’ll start from scratch.”

Olivia could have become a smartass without much more practice, I thought as her blue eyes were becoming distracting.

“The Bible is God’s word. He wrote it for mankind, His children. He didn’t physically write it, but men wrote it under the inspiration of the Holy Ghost. Matt, the Bible is God’s story. It contains everything we need to know to worship God. That’s how I know all these things I shared with you.”

“How do you know the Bible is true?” I began feeling a little nauseous. Not about my work for Dad. In that regard, I was doing fine. It concerned my other mission. How on earth would I win the heart and mind of the sweet, gorgeous, and naive Olivia, by cross-examining her about the foundation of her life?

“It’s history. The Bible has been around for centuries. It was written by men who either knew Jesus or who had special revelations from God. The Bible itself says it is God’s word.” Olivia said. I suspected she fully believed what she was saying but had never truly questioned her beliefs.

“Let me ask you. Set aside the Bible for a moment. How else do you know that your story about Jesus is true?”

“Several reasons there. As I said, the Bible has been around a long time. The New Testament for nearly two thousand years. The Old Testament, probably four or more thousand years. History is full of men and women who believed the Bible and lived their lives dedicated to its teachings, with many dying for the truth of the Bible. Their testimonies cry out from history for the truth of God’s word. If it weren’t true, don’t you think we would know that by now? Also, my heart and mind tell me Jesus is real. From a child, I have heard the powerful message of Jesus Christ. When I was six years old, Jesus spoke to my heart and I was saved. Since then, my faith has grown leaps and bounds. I could tell you of tons and tons of prayers that I have seen answered. Matt, you are lost without Christ, therefore you question Him. It seems foolish to a lost man.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong. Apart from the Bible, your belief in the truth of Jesus as savior is based on your personal experiences, not on any tangible, documented evidence?” I said, realizing that I never wanted to become a lawyer. I had too much sympathy for the witness.

“This is why I brought up the Bible to begin with. Your question is not valid. The Bible is the real evidence. You can’t exclude it. That would be like saying, prove the United States is a real place but you can’t use the land we live on, the land containing the 48 connecting states.”

“So, let me see if I get this. The Bible itself is the evidence that the Bible is true?” I said.

“Absolutely, it is God’s Word, and it has withstood the test of time. I’m wrong. Stupid me. I’d go so far as to say that even if we didn’t have the Bible, I would know God exists. Matt, all you must do is look at nature, flowers, animals, the stars, everything. They all scream out that they were created. It is only basic common sense to know that the earth, and the entire universe is designed. That requires a creator. That’s exactly what the Bible tells us.” Olivia said standing up. I couldn’t tell if she was getting frustrated with me or not. She walked over and pulled the podium back to its spot.

“Would it be okay with you Olivia if we gave this a rest. I’d like to have some water, maybe go listen to the band. Those guys are pretty good.” I felt compelled to change the subject. I was not ready to continue my cross-examination. It would surely be an attack on Olivia’s logic.

“Sounds good. But first, Matt. Don’t you believe for one minute that I am finished with you. You won’t get off this easy. I like your attitude. I’m thankful you are asking questions. You realize you’re lost. You are blessed by God to be seeking the truth. Let’s go to the bar. The youth group has dubbed it the water of life well.”

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 8

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 8

December 7, 2017

Thursday night in the basement for James’ prayer group I had acted like a love-struck dumb teenager. I hoped Olivia hadn’t paid too much attention. Although, it was glaringly obvious to me that I had stuttered on two or three sentences, and I nearly tripped as we took our seats. Now, I had convinced myself that my being completely frozen when our eyes had first met had been matched by her own shock as her smile seemed to linger just past the time it took me to melt enough to speak.

Hopefully, for the both of us, the initial awkward moment we encountered and endured faded into memory and was replaced by a mutually rewarding conversation after the prayer service had ended. When the group dismissed, Olivia had asked me to meet her on the front steps in ten minutes. She had wanted first, to stay behind to speak with Randi Radford, Randall’s widow.

I had waited at the bottom of the stairs and was vividly reminded when she came out the front door of the old auditorium that her manner and movements were etched in my mind. They almost unerringly matched that of Olivia the 14-year-old teenager I had stood here with after first meeting her, after the skit where she suggested her, and Ryan go to her house after the movie and play cards with her family instead of going parking. Her simple descent down the stairs was (I hate the cliché), poetry in motion. She had always, to me, defined, a woman of grace.

Now, back in my hotel room, I could recall every word that had been said. “Thanks for waiting on me Matt. I’m speechless. I never imagined seeing you here. Did you know that it has been over forty-six years since we have seen each other? I have to say, that I still am so sorry for what I did to you. It’s unforgivable.”

“It is, but time has a way of creating the forgiveness. Otherwise, life is smothered. I have to admit, it wasn’t easy, and it did take a very long time.” I responded, having rehearsed this little speech forever.

“Thanks for being so respectful and kind. Can I ask you what you are doing in Boaz?” Olivia said setting her purse down and pulling on the jacket she had been holding. The temperature was approaching freezing, but I wasn’t cold at all. I could feel a bead of sweat forming on my upper lip.

“You can. I am here for James Adams. I guess the proper thing would be to include your father and brother too. I know this must be very difficult on you.” I said straightening the collar to her coat.

“It is the most awful thing I have ever encountered. I can’t imagine what, especially Wade, is going through. I will never believe he could have killed sweet Gina. You remember Gina Culvert from school? She was in your and Wade’s eleventh grade class.”

“Barely. She was a cheerleader, right?”

“Yes. Her and Wade married shortly after high school and, as far as I know, had a great marriage.” Olivia said, obviously cold. Her teeth were chattering.

“I assume you are married and have children? Hope that’s not too personal a question to ask.” Over the years I had intentionally avoided the urge to investigate Olivia. I figured it wouldn’t take a private investigator to find her and to learn about her life after she ditched me. But I hadn’t. Now, standing in front of the woman who had broken my heart, I wanted to know everything about her. I wanted her forty-six-year biography.

“I was married. Jack, Jack Crowson, my husband, died of cancer in April 2008. We never had children. I was in my late thirties when we married. He was over ten years older. Children were just not in the cards for us.”

“Olivia, you are freezing. I don’t want you to catch a cold out here.” I said thinking and hoping Olivia might suggest we go to MacDonald’s or somewhere for a cup of coffee. But, she didn’t.

“You’re right. I think I’ll head on over to Warren and Tiffany’s. They now live in the Church’s parsonage. He was Associate Pastor for years but has been pastor since 2014, I believe.”

“Thanks Olivia for talking with me. Would it be possible to find a time to share a cup of coffee? I’d love to hear more of your story, if you wouldn’t mind.” I was surprised at my courage.

“I’d love that. I have an idea. Let’s meet for lunch but for now, why don’t you call me in a couple of hours. That’ll give me time to warm up and to visit with Warren and Tiffany. By 10:00 p.m., I’ll be in my old room. My cell number is 706-294-7319.”

“Let me write it down.” I pulled a notepad out of my back pocket. It was a habit I had developed during my undercover work. I almost laughed out loud at my thought as I was writing down Olivia’s phone number. “I’ll call you at ten o’clock sharp.”

I walked to my car and drove to MacDonald’s for a large coffee before heading to the Key West Inn on Highway 168. I had checked in before coming to the prayer service.

I didn’t know why I had wanted coffee. I never liked it when I was hot. My encounter with Olivia had made me sweat. It wasn’t about sexual desire. I was simply nervous, extremely nervous. And when I got caught in that state, I always broke out in a sweat. By 10:00 p.m., I was back to normal. Watching nearly three episodes of Seinfeld reruns probably helped. If Kramer couldn’t make you laugh, no one could.

“Olivia, this is Matt. Is now still a good time to talk?”

“Perfect. I’m in my Crimson Tide bean-back chair. Can you believe that Mom and Dad kept my room like a shrine? It’s just like it was when I was a kid. I would have thought that Warren and Tiffany would have dismantled it. Seems like there’s plenty of bedrooms in this castle for my four grand-nephews and nieces.”

“I want to apologize. Earlier, when you mentioned your husband dying in 2008, I didn’t respond. I want to say that I am very sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose a spouse.” I said, truly sorry, and in no way wanting Olivia to feel sorry for me or to prompt her to ask about Alicia.

“Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do. I have always assumed you married.”

“Alicia and I married in 1984. Dad had introduced me to a rising star in the Divinity School. In a sense, she and I hit it off like the two of us, back in our day.”

“Children?”

“None. It’s difficult talking about it. Alicia was killed by a drunk driver. I discovered from her journal that she was, that very night, going to tell me she was pregnant. It was devastating to lose her. She was a wonderful woman. I guess I don’t have a very good record when it comes to long-term relationships.”

“Matt, that certainly wasn’t your fault. I am so sorry for your loss, you’re double loss.” Olivia said, thoughtful and clearly concerned.

“Let me ask you. Do you feel this all very strange?” I said.

“Are you referring to us? What with our meeting today after forty-six years and now talking on the phone?”

“Exactly?”

“Maybe it’s God will that I do what I should have done way back in the day.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“To be professional about our relationship. To be open, honest, and avoid as much hurt as possible.”

“From your statement I take it that you still believe God has a plan for everything?” I had to say it. This was no place to tip-toe around the issue that, to me, had destroyed our teenage love.

“This is going to blow your mind. Are you sitting down?”

“I am.”

“Matt, I no longer believe.” Olivia said it with a confidence that had me speechless.

It took me a minute to respond. “That’s not something to kid around about.”

“I’m not kidding.” She went on to tell me a little about her journey concerning her loss of faith. I didn’t find it unusual. I had read and heard about this type thing. What was surprising was that it had happened to Olivia. The one person in the world that I would have bet my life that would have forever remained unalterably committed to Jesus, God, and Christianity.

“I don’t know what to say. I won’t say ‘I told you so.’ That would be insensitive, even mean. Maybe I’ll just say welcome to the family.”

“That’s the first sign I’ve noticed that you are still rather funny Matt Benson.” Olivia said recalling how she used to call me by my full name after she had tried to persuade me of my need to be saved.

“Let me ask you, was it an interest in science that finally convinced you?”

“Actually, that came later. Maybe I should say, it was Jack’s sickness, the cancer, that prompted my interest in reading more broadly than I ever had. In seminary, it’s slanted you know.” She tried to continue, but I interrupted her.

“Seminary? You went to seminary?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Olivia, all I know about you, other than what you have told me tonight, is what I learned back in 1970 and 1971. To be frank, after you ditched me, I promised myself that I would never do anything that would enable me to discover what was going on in your life.”

“That’s cold, but I fully deserve it. I not only attended Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary in Dallas, Texas, but I taught there for years, I resigned in 2010 and have been at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill since 2011. I teach Bible related subjects there but simply from a historical and not a theological standpoint.”

From here, our conversation went deeper into Olivia’s story of how she walked away from her faith. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when the talk subsided, and our alertness faded.

“Matt, I’m about to crash. Please know how much I have enjoyed our dialog, everything about seeing you tonight. Is it too much to ask that we have lunch? I really need to tell you what happened after you returned to Chicago in the summer of 1971.”

“Olivia, I’m going to be very direct with you. These past few hours have been the best time for me in ages. I would love to see you again. I only have one request.”

“What’s that Mr. Benson?”

“That we be completely honest with each other. At this stage of my life I need and want the truth. I hate mind games. I would love to know the inside story, what went on in your head and heart. Please. Is this too much to ask?”

“Not at all. I promise to be totally open with you.” Olivia said.

“So, when is this lunch you are talking about?”

“I have commitments tomorrow. How about Saturday? A late lunch?”

“That’s good with me. I assume we couldn’t just go to the Lighthouse, could we?”

“I’m afraid that’s long gone. Funny you bring that up. I have wonderful memories of our Saturday afternoons. That place was truly a beacon among the storms for a lot of people.”

“Do you want to meet somewhere Saturday? Or, would you be okay if I came by and picked you up. We could drive somewhere together.” I again surprised myself with my boldness.

“This is sounding more like a date. Is it?”

“Only if you want it to be.” I said.

“Pick me up at 1:30 here at Warren’s. Okay?”

“See you then. Goodnight Olivia.”

“Goodnight, uh, no, good morning Matt.”

With that we ended our call. I lay across the bed and reminisced for another hour before falling asleep. If I dreamed, I don’t remember.

Novel Excerpts–The Boaz Secrets, Chapter 7

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 7

July 1970

It was my fourth Wednesday to be living in Boaz, and I still had not met the girl who was becoming more perfect and more mysterious in my mind as every day went by. The first two Wednesdays she was in New Mexico on the Church’s missions trip. The third kept her home. According to Youth Pastor Miller, she was sick with a virus. Last Sunday Dad made me go with him to First Baptist Albertville, so I missed a chance to at least see Olivia. Hopefully, today would be the day I met the mysterious ninth-grader.

I spent half the morning at Boaz High School. It was my second trip to register. Last Monday, a week ago Monday, I had gone and a lady, a Ms. Gilbreath, in the office told me I needed my birth certificate and records from Woodlawn High School. I had returned home and called Mrs. Beaumont to request she mail a copy of my ninth and tenth grade transcripts to Boaz High School. I had also called Mrs. Gregg, our neighbor across the street. She was watching our place while we were away. Dad had given her a key. He had also told me to bring my birth certificate, but I had forgotten.

When I walked in, Ms. Gilbreath saw me and smiled. “Hi Matthew.” No doubt she had received my records.

“You can call me Matt. It’s shorter. Matthew sounds too, well, Bible.”

“Okay Matt. Looks like we have us another scholar. Congratulations on being a straight A student.” She said walking to the counter where I was standing. She was probably fifty or so years old. Attractive, a little. No make-up. I would have bet my life that she was deeply religious.

“I’m pretty average at Woodlawn. But, I do work hard and try to keep up. I’ll do my best to do the same here at Boaz High.”

“We are all set to complete your registration. I just need to know which electives you have chosen from the list I gave you last week.”

“I’ve decided on Poetry and Vocational Agriculture.” I said.

“Mr. Johnson’s Poetry class is a mixed class. Oh, that sounded weird. What I meant is there will be all ages, from ninth-graders to seniors. There are so few interested that we cannot limit registration to simply one grade.”

“That’s okay. I don’t see a problem. I’m used to mixed classes at Woodlawn, truly mixed.” I said wanting to gauge how well my subtle humor would affect Mrs. Trudy Gilbreath. I had just noticed her name tag.

“We don’t have that problem here. Thank the Lord.”

“Yes, thank the Lord.” To her, I wasn’t humorous at all. I was deadly serious.

“I’ll register you for Poetry and Vocational Agriculture. Oh, here. I almost forgot. Here’s the Pirate Practice. It’s our guidebook. Read it and know it inside and out. It will keep you out of trouble. The first day of school is Monday, August 10th. We’ll see you then.”

I rode my bicycle home. I was as frugal as Dad, well, almost. I tried to conserve my weekly advance. For the next hour I sat out front in the swing and read through the Pirate Practice. It seemed all standard. I then took a long run all the way to the Boaz Country Club and back. I returned and napped until Dad woke me a little before 5:00 p.m.

As usual, Dad and I walked to First Baptist for the Wednesday night fellowship meal and services. No way was I going to miss my fourth opportunity to see, and maybe meet, Olivia.

I sat with James Adams, which had become my custom after the first week. Two missionary couples had taken an interest in Dad and the five of them unintentionally pushed me away. Tonight, Wade Tillman and Randall Radford, along with James and me, sat over in the corner by the back door. As I listened, and the three basketball stars discussed their skills at passing, including making passes at lucky members of the opposite sex, I saw a group of girls sitting two tables over. James and Randall were bantering back and forth about how the twins were already dating, even though neither of them had started the ninth grade. Randall surprised me when he said he knew the two guys who had moved in on the two Boaz girls. “That’s not going to work. No Aggie is going to get first servings from either of these girls. James, you agree?”

Even though I might at times have less than honorable thoughts, I would never have said such a filthy thing. Girls were not food. I couldn’t help but think of Mother, she had made sure that I had learned the importance of treating members of the opposite sex with honor and respect. She had said that gentlemen never tried to take advantage of anyone, especially of a young girl. Mother also taught me that even when I had a girlfriend and she appeared willing to explore and become a little loose, as she called it, a gentleman maintained control. I didn’t have any personal experience in these things, so I believed Mother knew what she was talking about, and she believed I had the ability and power to become a true gentleman.

At 6:30 p.m. I was seated in the Church’s basement with about fifty other kids. After the mission’s team had returned, Youth Pastor Miller had added another concentric circle to accommodate the growing youth group. I tried to not be so conspicuous, but I was able to look all around me. I again was disappointed that I could not see Olivia. Or, maybe all the facts I had gathered about her were wrong. Maybe, Olivia was that rather plump redhead sitting directly across from me. The poor girl needs a Dermatologist.

Pastor Randy, as he instructed us to call him, again, just like last Wednesday night, stepped into the middle of the two circles and began his sermon. It was nothing like what Pastor Tillman had done on Sunday mornings. I guess the energetic youth minister knew that young people are wholly different than adults, with unique ways of learning. Last week Pastor Randy had talked about freewill and how it was a blessing and a curse. He had said, the decisions you make during your teenage years will go with you the rest of your life. If they are good decisions, you will be rewarded. If they are bad, well, you can fill in the blanks. It will be like shooting blanks. You won’t hit your target, your goals.”

It seemed last week’s talk beat us up. He seemed to leave us with the thought that we had one chance to get it right, and if we got it wrong, we would be forever doomed. Tonight, it was a radically different talk. He called it redemption. “Only God’s children get a second chance. If you screw up, you may suffer some unpleasant consequences for a while, but you can start over. No matter what you have done.” He said walking the circle and engaging, it seemed, with every one of us.

I particularly liked how he interacted with our group. He would be talking and then would call someone to the center with him. Tonight, I thought it was absolutely fitting that he called Randall Radford out and said, “big double R, we all know you are a young man and you have the desires that all young men have, which is to pursue the girls. If you don’t allow God to guide your mind, you will most likely make some mistakes. Oh yes, sin is fun for a season, but it always comes at a price. I’m not trying to embarrass Randall, but simply want each of you to know, whether you are a young man or a young woman, sexual desires are possibly the most difficult desires to conquer. Hear me carefully, you cannot, by yourself, even come close to defending yourself, warding off the attacks. Satan will use every one of his powers to seduce you into believing that it is okay to fool around, to go all the way. Let me tell you the world will tell you, gosh, it is already telling you, do what you want, do what feels good. Hear me carefully, that is a lie. Be smarter than that. Call on the power of Jesus to come walk beside you and let Him battle the Devil.”

Pastor Miller went on for a full forty-five minutes, keeping Randall Radford beside him the entire time. I was feeling frustrated when the two of them walked outside the circle towards the refreshments table along the back wall beyond the ping-pong tables. As everyone else got up and started following them I remained seated and pondered what I had just heard. It all sounded pretty good. Especially, if you believed that God and Jesus existed. What I didn’t understand was the detailed mechanics of how it worked. How would I ask Jesus to help me? I figured it was by simply saying a prayer. But then, did He always respond positively and invisibly go tie up the Devil and change my mind about those sexual desires Pastor Randy spoke of? I was confused.

Standing in line for some lemonade I learned that at 7:45 we were to reassemble for a skit. While all the youth were enjoying refreshments a group of adults had moved all the chairs to the other side of the basement. I hadn’t paid any attention before to a stage with an open set of long curtains over behind a large row of boxes that seemed to divide the basement.

I sat with James and Wade on the front row. James had encouraged me to follow him if I wanted to finally see Olivia. The skit was in two scenes. Both took place in a make-shift cardboard box car. Someone had done an excellent job of creating a make-believe Bonneville. I suddenly thought I should have persuaded Dad to buy the 1964 model David Adams had offered.

The first scene opened with a boy and girl inside the car. The sound of crickets and a background setting out along the edge of some woods, indicated the couple was alone, parking. Without words, the two started making out, kissing. Remember, it was a skit. They didn’t kiss but it sure looked like they did. After a few moments of intense kissing the boy said, “you wanna get in the back?” The girl responded. “I know we shouldn’t but okay if that’s what you want.” The scene ended with the boy and girl crawling into the back seat and disappearing from the audience’s view.

The crowd was howling until Pastor Randy got up and said, “I hope you know that was what you are supposed NOT to do. Now, let’s watch another scene.”

In a few minutes the curtains reopened, and the setting had changed. The car and the woodsy background had been moved to the right side of the stage. In the center was what no doubt was a movie theater. Another boy and girl sat with their faces away from us. It hit me like a brick. I could see this girl had silky straight blond hair. I had no doubt this was Olivia. I missed details from this skit I’m sure. But, the gist of it was, as the two were exiting the theater walking back to his car, the boy asked her if she wanted to go parking. I didn’t think that’s probably how it would happen, but I acknowledged time was of the essence in theater productions. The girl said, “I don’t think that is a good idea. Christians are to flee temptation. Why don’t we instead, go play cards at my house. My parents love playing cards.”

There were a few boos coming from the back of the audience. Again, Pastor Randy stood up front and seemed disappointed. “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s what I want you to become. I pray you will take this seriously. Olivia, in the second scene, was obedient. She let Jesus help her avoid a dangerous situation. David and Karen, in the first scene, were virtually doomed by their initial decision to go parking in the first place. Take note of this example. If you get inside the lion’s den, you stand a big chance of getting mauled. You are safer on the outside. The key to battling sex sin is to be smart, make wise decisions. In other words, stay close to Jesus, listen to Him, allow Him and the Holy Spirit to control your every thought and action. That’s it for tonight. Take care and see you on Sunday.”

It didn’t take five minutes for everyone to leave. Except me. I couldn’t move. I was still in a daze from seeing Olivia after she and Ryan had left the movie theater and she had faced the audience. I was in no way disappointed. She was more beautiful than I had let myself imagine. She was tall, maybe as tall as me. I couldn’t tell exactly since she was up on the stage. Her straight blond hair came down to her shoulders. It looked natural, not dyed. She wore baggy clothes, so I couldn’t tell much about her figure, but she was not as slim as had been described to me by James.

As I was contemplating what I would say to her the first opportunity I got, the basement lights went out. I realized that whoever was the last to leave had not seen me. I was on the stage side of the row of boxes and they would have blocked the view. “Hey, I’m still here.” I didn’t know what else to say. I sure didn’t want to get locked down here.

“Whose there?” It sounded like a mix between Pastor Randy’s voice and a young girl.

“Matt Benson.” I said walking back towards the main door.

“Come on Matt or you’ll be stuck here until Sunday.” Pastor Randy said.

As I rounded the row of boxes I saw Olivia standing beside the youth pastor. She was smiling. “Hey Matt, I’ve been hearing about you. It’s nice to meet you.” Olivia said walking towards me and reaching out her right hand.

I took her hand. I almost held on too long. That would not have been the right way to start off.

“Matt, this is Pastor Tillman’s daughter and she helps me manage a rowdy bunch of teenagers.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” I said looking straight into Olivia’s eyes. They were blue. Oceanic. I hated that word, but it popped into my head. Olivia surely wasn’t a rising 8th grader. She was too, well, mature looking.

“I hear you’re from Chicago. I’d love to hear about the windy city. I’ve always wanted to visit there. Will you be at the Lighthouse this weekend?”

“Lighthouse? I’m confused.” I responded barely able to listen and respond while experiencing a shock, a feeling I had never had before.

“It’s a weekend hangout on South Main Street. It’s run by none other than Pastor Randy and a group of adult volunteers. That sounded funny, Randy is an adult too.” Olivia giggled.

“Well, you are not an adult Ms. Olivia, and don’t you forget it.” Randy said. I wasn’t sure what his intent was.

“The Lighthouse was started last year to give local young people something to do, a Christian alternative from hanging out at the movie theater or the skating rink. Too much temptation around those places. There’s always plenty of good food, music, and fellowship. I’m usually there on Saturdays. Come if you want to. Again, I’d love to hear about Chicago and your Christian experience.” Olivia said.

I could tell Pastor Randy was ready to leave by the way he was looking back and forth. Olivia apparently had concluded I was a Christian. Boy, was she in for a surprise.

“Sorry, I assumed you are a Christian. Matt, have you been saved?” Olivia blurted out. I couldn’t believe what she had just said.

“Uh, I need to get home. I’m already late. Dad will be worried. I’ll try to come to the Lighthouse on Saturday afternoon. We can talk about my Christian experience and Chicago if you want.”

By the time we were up the stairs and outside the church I was pouring sweat. I was glad it was nighttime, and my discomfort wasn’t so apparent. I said goodbye and started walking west on Sparks Avenue.