Going to the Chapel

by Janet Tronstad

  “For the record, some of it is in poems. But I’m sure no one expected you to know all of that,” I say.

  Doug looks up in surprise. “I expected it. If I’m going to talk about what’s in the Bible, I should be able to sit down with the book and find where it says that.”

  “Well, it’s not that hard,” I reassure him. To tell the truth, I’m kind of relieved he’s not bailing on God. This certainly keeps my record cleaner with God. I’m back to the neutral zone.

  “So, you’ll show me?” Doug asks.

  I am silent for a minute. The only sound is the clock ticking away. I’m not sure I’m the right person to be doing this.

  “I guess I can give you a quick lesson after we eat,” I finally say. I have never been one to hoard knowledge. Of course, I’ve never had someone come to me and ask for this particular knowledge before, either. Books of the Bible is not exactly party conversation—well, unless you’re Doug.

  “I brought my Bible,” Doug says as he unzips his backpack and pulls out a huge black book.

  “Did they give you that at the rally?” I ask. That’s one impressive book. It is three inches thick. The guy and girl at the rally with the spike necklace and lipstick could do some serious damage with a couple of books like that.

  Doug shakes his head. “They just gave me a flyer at the rally. I went to the bookstore and got the biggest Bible I could find. I didn’t want to get any kind of a condensed version.”

  I nod and look at the book. It has King James Version and Extra Large Print stamped on the cover. It probably has reference material, too. “Well, that should have it all.”

  Doug carefully sets his Bible on the corner of the table next to the wall. It sits there the whole time we eat and I keep eyeing it, wondering if I’ll remember everything I know about it when I start talking. The King James Version isn’t the most friendly version of the Bible. People just don’t talk that way anymore. But the books and verses are all in the same order so Doug can use it to begin to learn how to find things.

  “You know, sometimes people think that belonging to a church is like belonging to a family,” I say. I want to be sure Doug understands what he’s getting into before we start talking about the King James. “But it’s not always like that. I mean, I know that someone like us who has family issues might think it’s the solution, but—”

  Doug smiles. “It’s okay. I’m doing this despite my past, not because of it.”

  I kind of study him to see if he’s been brainwashed or anything. His eyes look clear so I think he’s okay. His eyes are green, by the way. A nice mossy color. “I just wondered because of the suitcase thing.”

  “I wondered about that, too.”

  He doesn’t say anymore, but I thought if he had wondered about his commitment problems he would have slowed this train down some. “There’s nothing that says you can’t take some time to evaluate your decision. Maybe you jumped in too fast?”

  Doug shrugged. “So I make a decision too soon here. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  I don’t answer Doug on account of the fact that I don’t generally use those kinds of words. But if he doesn’t know what kind of trouble he can get himself into—for eternity, yet—I’m not going to be the one to tell him.

  “I guess it’s too late anyway,” I say and go back to eating.

  Doug waits a bit and then answers me some more. “It’s different with God. It doesn’t seem like He’s going to ask me to pack my suitcase and move down the line in a month or two.”

  I shrug. I guess Doug is making his own misguided decision here and, one thing I know for sure, is that we’re all entitled to make our own mistakes in life.

  Finally, we’ve finished eating and have washed the plates and neatly stacked them in the dish drainer. I don’t remember until then that we didn’t say grace before we ate. Aunt Inga always says grace before a meal. I guess Doug doesn’t know the rules as well as Aunt Inga, because he didn’t make any mention of grace.

  “Ready?” Doug says as he folds the dish towel and hangs it on the hook that Cassie has for it.

  I nod as we walk back toward the table. “You might want to take some notes.”

  I have moved the vase onto the counter again so the table is completely clear except for that big Bible. Doug pulls a notepad and pen from his backpack and sits down in one of the chairs. I sit in the other.

  I clear my throat waiting for inspiration to come to me. Where do I start? “One thing you need to know is that everyone says a grace before they eat so if they give you anything to eat, wait for everyone to be served and then bow your head. Someone will say grace.”

  “Thanks. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Unless, of course, it’s communion,” I look at Doug and see blankness in his eyes. “That’s when they pass around little bits of crackers and some really little cups of grape juice. You bow your head before you eat that but no one says grace, well at least not like at a meal. Someone will probably pray, but they won’t do it like its grace.”

  “When does that happen?” Doug looks anxious. “Do I have to bring crackers?”

  “No, the church has the stuff for it and there’s not a set time when it happens. You’ll know when it’s going to happen because someone will say something.”

  Doug nods and looks grateful. I’m encouraged. I can do this. “The next thing to know is that the Bible is a big book.”

  Doug nods and starts to write that down in his notes.

  “This is just the introduction—this and the grace stuff,” I say. “You don’t need to take notes on this part.”

  “Okay,” Doug says and he sits back to listen.

  I tell Doug that the Bible is really just a big series of books written by various people.

  “Really?” Doug seems a little skeptical. “I thought it was all the word of God. I didn’t know about other writers.”

  “These were people writing what God told them to write,” I say. I figure we should move on here as I don’t really know all of the theological things to say about this. “Well, actually, it was mostly men who wrote down things and you have their names in the Bible.”

  I open the Bible to the Table of Contents and show him the names.

  “Isn’t that plagiarism?” Doug asks with a frown. “If they copied God, they shouldn’t have their names on it. They could be sued.”

  “I don’t think people sued over that kind of thing back then,” I say. “Besides, God didn’t exactly write it down, either.”

  “You mean it was some psychic thing—I’m not into voodoo hoodoo?”

  “It’s not psychic.” I don’t think. I know I’m not too sure and a teacher needs to have confidence. Doug looks at me with his skepticism showing so I say, “I never claimed to be able to explain anything. All I said is I could show you how to find things.”

  Doug seems okay with that. I show him some more of the names in the Table of Contents and I talk about the importance of organization. I may not know anything about the God part of any religion, but I can talk organization like a pro. I give Doug my deluxe pep talk on keeping things in a logical order and I’m thinking that, if it doesn’t work out for me at the Big M, maybe I could become an organization consultant, you know, one of those people who claim they can help you organize your life or, if not that, at least your closet. I never realized there was any similarity between cleaning out closets and talking about the Bible, but I guess there is.

  I must be talking a lot about the different ways to organize things because Doug is starting to look at me a little funny.

  “You don’t believe what the Bible says, do you?” Doug finally asks. “I mean, I know you don’t. I just didn’t know you knew so much about the Bible and still didn’t believe.”

  “I don’t choose to believe or to disbelieve,” I say in what I hope is a properly philosophical voice. There’s nothing wrong with being neutral. “Some of the smartest people who ever lived were neutral. I can’t think of any at the moment,
but I will. And, there’s Switzerland, of course. That’s a country, but they’re famous for being neutral.”

  “I thought I was the one with the cold feet,” he says as he keeps looking at my face. “I can understand after what’s happened with your mother that you might have a problem with commitment. Maybe I could help.”

  With most people, I would deny I had had a problem with my mother, but Doug knows how it is with me. Still, even though he knows how it is with me and my mother, he hasn’t always read me right so he might be wrong now.

  “Why are you so into commitments suddenly?” I say. “When you thought I was all over you trying to get you to make a commitment, you were scared to death. Now you think I’m the one who’s afraid of commitments. It wasn’t me turning to jelly at Aunt Ruth’s feet.”

  Doug smiles. “I guess we are a pair, aren’t we?”

  I had never noticed that Doug’s eyes get warm and crinkly when he smiles.

  I cannot help but smile back. “You know, you didn’t need to worry. I never thought you meant anything at that party except that you were being nice to me. We’d agreed you were going to act like my boyfriend, but that didn’t mean I was confused and thought you really were—well, you know—attracted to me or anything.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t have been confused if you thought that.”

  Okay, now I can’t breathe.

  Doug clears his throat. “What I mean to say is that, of course, I’m attracted to you. I’m not dead. You’re beautiful.”

  Okay, again. I need to put this in perspective. “Some people think my hair is too red. And I trip up a lot. Nerves.”

  “A nervous redhead. Sounds about perfect.” Doug grins and then he grows serious. “I thought you knew it was my feelings I was scared of, not yours.”

  “How would I know that? Besides, you left.”

  Doug is looking at me. “I always leave. That’s what I do.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m going to change, though.” He’s not smiling anymore. “That’s part of the reason I went to that rally. Something about God has been getting under my skin ever since that first rally. I would have gone down to the front then, but I thought there was no point because I never stay with anything.”

  I nod.

  “When we went there again, though, I realized I can make a commitment and keep it. It’s impossible to move to a place where God isn’t going to be. And He can’t kick me out. So He’s here no matter what. That’s what made me think I can do this. Besides, I want to do this.”

  “That’s good,” I clear my throat. I’m glad that Doug has had these new insights on commitment. That’s good for him. I’d hate to think of him going through his life with his suitcase packed, never making a commitment to anything because he thought it wouldn’t last. I’m not sure it means much for me, though. Not about Doug; I mean about God. I can’t just walk up to God and tell Him I’ve decided to make a commitment after I’ve bad-mouthed Him for years. I doubt He’s wasting any time waiting for me to walk down the aisle at any rally.

  I look up at the clock. It’s eight o’clock. “I think we should get going with the lesson.”

  Doug takes the hint. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve flipped through the pages of the Bible and looked for some of the old, familiar verses that I memorized all those years ago in Sunday school. And, of course, having now worked in the files of a big institution myself, I have a much better appreciation for the organization of the Bible. I wonder who thought of using the writer’s names and calling the sections books. They could have organized the whole thing by topics like Genesis and Exodus or by their intended audience like Hebrews. I wonder why they chose author’s names for most of the books.

  Doug gets the sense of the organization before long and he and I are looking up this verse and that verse. Mostly we’re just looking up the verses he has in the homework they gave him from the rally. Can you believe they gave him homework? He’s to have it ready for the follow-up meeting next Monday night. I’m surprised they actually have follow-up meetings, too. Doug says there are eight weeks of them.

  At some point during the discussion, I take the rose from the counter next to the sink and bring it back to the table. I set the rose next to the wall. Talking back and forth with Doug like this makes me think that the religious thing he has going isn’t so big that we can’t be friends. I’m glad about that. Doug’s a little intense—and probably anemic—but, now that I know he’s not thinking I’m going to trap him in some fake boyfriend scam, I kind of like him.

  I notice Doug is looking at me a little intently and I hope he can’t read minds or anything.

  “So, are you ever going to tell me why you’re not ready to make a commitment to all this?” Doug finally says as he gestures to the Bible. “If I had known a tenth of what you know, I would have walked forward at a rally years ago.”

  “There’s no big mystery,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. I want to talk about me and God even less than I want to talk about me and Doug. “Say, I forgot to tell you what all these red letters mean.”

  Doug lets me distract him from his question. I am glad. How do you explain to someone why you don’t want to believe in God? A lot of people already believe in God so it’s not that it’s freakish. It’s just, well, I’m not sure I can rely on God to actually care about me.

  I’m just not one of those people. In all these years, God has never bothered to answer my prayer that my mother would take me to live with her. It doesn’t seem as if it was too much to ask. If someone else had prayed that, God would have been all over it. I’m afraid that God will always see me as halfway important, kind of like the half cousin and half niece thing that happens with Elaine and her mother. I don’t like being a half.

  I am telling Doug the story of Joseph and his coat of many colors when Cassie and Jerry come home. I have been acting out the story with my hands as well as telling the story so Doug and I are too engrossed to hear the key turn in the lock.

  “Hey, Doug,” Jerry says as he walks in the door and sees us. “What’s up, man?”

  “Doug,” Cassie’s voice echoes in a pleased greeting.

  “Hey, it’s great to see you guys,” Doug says as he looks up at them.

  Jerry and Cassie sound a little too friendly, if you know what I mean. And they’re looking at Doug funny, as though they’re waiting for him to turn around in his chair so they can see whether or not there are little wings growing on his shoulder blades. I don’t think either one of them has known someone who has gone down the aisle at a religious rally.

  “So, what am I? The invisible person?” I say just to break the tension. “Does Doug get all the hellos?”

  “Of course, not,” Cassie says, “But we just saw you.”

  I smile to show I’m teasing. “We can finish up here if you want. Then we could play a game or something. Maybe Bunko.”

  A game should show them that Doug is still a normal person.

  “So, what are you doing?” Jerry, the great detective, says as he walks a little closer to the table. As I have said all along, the only reason Jerry wanted to be a detective was because he wanted to be a snoop.

  “Not much,” I say as I fold my arms over the open book on the table.

  At the same time, Doug says, “Cassie’s teaching me the Bible.”

  “What?” Jerry’s face turns a little white. He must have thought this big book was a dictionary. Or a medical reference book. Even Cassie looks shocked. I think they would have been less appalled if it had been a medical book and Doug had told them I was teaching him how to be a surgeon.

  “Just the organization of the Bible,” I say to clarify. Really, they have no reason to look so shocked. “You know the filing system of it all. The books. The chapters. The verses.”

  “You know that?” Jerry turns to look at me with utter astonishment on his face. “About the Bible?”

  “Of course,” I tell him. “I’
ve gone to church with Aunt Inga since the day I started living with her. What did you think I was doing all that time?”

  “I don’t know. Throwing spitballs at other kids, maybe,” Jerry says and he’s serious. “I sure never thought you were listening.”

  “I’ve never thrown a spitball in church in my life,” I say. It’s true, but I shouldn’t have to defend myself to him. “Besides, it was hard not to listen—sometimes things were loud. And I had to go to Sunday school, too.”

  “Quick, tell me what John 3:16 says,” Jerry challenges me.

  “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” I say and cross my arms. “You’re treating me like I’m a trained seal.”

  I notice that Jerry gives Doug a look that assumes Doug is with him on this. Have you ever noticed how guys do that? It’s sort of a male bonding thing that happens when they tease a female.

  Just then there is a rapid knocking at the door. I look at Cassie. She looks at me. Neither one of us is expecting any company beyond what is already in the apartment with us. We don’t even know that many people here in Hollywood.

  “Who’s there?” Cassie says softly as she walks closer to the door and picks up her plastic shovel from its place by the counter.

  Jerry snorts when he sees the shovel. “What’s that?”

  “Hush,” I whisper.

  “Julie, is that you?” the voice on the other side of the door asks.

  Jerry, Cassie and I all look at each other. We recognize that voice. We might not believe it, but we recognize it.

  Cassie opens the door. “Elaine?”

  Everyone inside the apartment just looks at Elaine. She’s a sight. I’ve never seen her like this. Elaine never leaves home without flawless makeup and a matching outfit. She makes sure her hair is styled, not just combed. This Elaine look-alike has streaks of mascara on one cheek and her hair looks as if it hasn’t been combed in a week. It even looks less blond than usual, as though maybe she forgot to put on some kind of mousse to add highlights. She does have lipstick on, but it’s only on the upper lip and it gives her a ghoulish look. Plus, she’s got a ketchup spot on the white T-shirt she’s wearing with her jeans and it doesn’t look as if she even tried to wipe the ketchup off.