Point of No Return

by Paul McCusker

  “This time I mean it,” he said, on the edge of pleading. All his life there had been a bond of trust between him and his parents. Even when he misbehaved, the bond somehow stood firm. To lose it, to feel he had truly failed them, was more than he could handle. “I’ll behave.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ll behave. I know better. You feel bad this morning, but that won’t last. You’ll get with Tony and forget.”

  He stood up to take his dishes to the sink. “It’s not Tony’s fault,” he said. He stood there, looking out the window into the backyard. The swings on the swing set moved gently in a breeze.

  “I’m not blaming Tony. He’s been like another son in this family. But he does influence you. You can’t deny that.”

  He turned back to face her and said, “Maybe I’m influencing him.”

  She took a drink of her tea. “I hope not,” she replied. “I hope I raised you better than that. But since you got bored with church—” Her voice faded, the sentence left unfinished.

  Jimmy knew where the conversation was going. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to talk about that. He wanted to go out.

  “You say you’ll behave, and then you don’t. I don’t think you can behave by yourself. I think you need help.” She watched him as she spoke. “So, until further notice, Tony can’t come over, and you can’t sleep over at his house. You’re on restriction. And that means you have to come straight home from school—no Tony, no Whit’s End, nothing.”

  Jimmy’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. He hadn’t expected his punishment to be that bad.

  Just then, somebody knocked at the front door.

  Mary stood up, saying as she walked out of the kitchen, “I want you to think about how you behave and what it does to us…all of us. Another night like last night and I…I don’t know what we’ll do.”

  Jimmy brooded as he listened to his mom walk to the front door and open it. Probably the mailman with a personal delivery, he figured.

  “Ever since you got bored with church—” she had said to him. Church, church, church, he moaned inwardly. Church was the last thing he needed. He knew plenty of people who went to church, and they weren’t any better than him. In fact, he could think of a whole list of people who seemed worse off because of church.

  “Jimmy,” his mom called from the living room, “there’s someone here to see you.”

  Huh? he thought. Who in the world would come to see me in the middle of a Saturday except Tony? He pushed off from the sink and rounded the corner into the living room. It might have been his imagination, but he thought he could still smell the cigar somewhere.

  That’s when Dave Wright and his son, Jacob, entered Jimmy’s life.

  Dave was the ever-smiling, ever-friendly kids’ pastor from Calvary Church—his family’s church. Jimmy had heard of him and seen him in the pulpit to make announcements, but he stayed clear of him whenever he could. But there he stood, right in Jimmy’s own living room, grinning from ear to ear. His 10-year-old son, Jacob, stood next to him with the same smile. Jimmy’s mom stood next to them both.

  It was a setup. A trap.

  “I’ll go to the kitchen to make some tea,” she said and quickly departed.

  Dave stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Dave Wright from Calvary.”

  Jimmy hesitated and then shook his hand. His grip was firm. Obviously a weightlifter, Jimmy thought. That’s a surprise. Most of the church leaders I’ve ever met turned out to be meek, mousy, turn-the-other-cheek types. “Hi,” Jimmy said.

  “This is my son, Jacob,” Dave said.

  Jimmy nodded to Jacob. Kids their age didn’t shake hands unless they were making a deal.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Jimmy,” Dave said. He moved to the couch to sit down.

  “Oh,” Jimmy said, bugged that Dave sat down. That meant he planned to stay for a little while. Jacob leaned against the side of the couch.

  “You’re wondering why we’re here, right?” Dave asked, then gestured to the end table. “I had to drop off some Sunday school material for your mom.”

  Jimmy glanced down skeptically at a couple of Sunday school books sitting there.

  Dave chuckled and said, “Actually, that’s a lie. I really came by to talk to you.”

  “Isn’t it a sin to lie?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah, it is,” Dave said with mock shame. “I guess that’s why I’m still just a kids’ pastor. I’ll graduate to pastor when I can stop sinning.”

  Jimmy looked at him blankly.

  Dave’s smile faded. “I’m kidding,” he explained.

  This guy is really weird, Jimmy thought. He was wearing a normal-looking sport coat and tie and had longish brown hair, a plain face, and an athlete’s build. He wasn’t at all what Jimmy thought a kids’ pastor should be. Kids’ pastors were supposed to be wimps. Even Jacob looked like his father, except he was too young to lift weights.

  “I have to go now, okay?” Jimmy said as he moved toward the stairs. “My mom’s in the kitchen if you want to talk to her some more.”

  “Wait a sec,” Dave said, waving him back. “What’s the problem? We’re here to talk to you.”

  Jimmy stopped. “Yeah, and I know what you wanna talk about, and I don’t wanna talk about it, okay? I don’t like church.”

  Dave laughed. “I know,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t like it either.”

  “I guess that makes us even.” Jimmy faked a smile and turned away to head for his own room.

  “How does that make us even? I still want to talk to you.” Dave stood up and followed Jimmy up the stairs. He obviously wasn’t going to let Jimmy go without a fight.

  “About what?” Jimmy asked.

  “I want to know why you don’t like church.”

  “I don’t know. It’s boring, that’s all. No offense.”

  “No offense? Are you kidding? What have I said, what have I done?” Dave pretended he was hurt. “It’s my breath, isn’t it? Go on. You can be straight with me.”

  At the top of the stairs, Jimmy stopped. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” This guy really was a wacko.

  “Then you have something against the church?”

  “I just don’t care, okay?” He went into his room, hoping Dave and Jacob would go away.

  But they didn’t. Dave and Jacob stepped into the room. Jimmy felt invaded—it was his room, for crying out loud. Why wouldn’t these guys go away? Jimmy looked for something he could busy himself with.

  Dave smiled and continued, “You’re evading the question, Jimmy. I want to know what your problem is.”

  “I don’t know!” Jimmy said.

  “Not an acceptable answer. Try again.”

  Jimmy felt uneasy. “What is this—a quiz?”

  Dave smiled. “Sort of,” he said. “Why don’t you come to the church youth group?”

  “’Cause I don’t feel like it.” It was all he could think of.

  “Not acceptable. You’re oh for two.” Dave frowned and shook a finger at him. “You’re flunking, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy was tongue-tied. He didn’t know how to get out of this. But he had to say something… so, he grunted.

  “I’m sorry,” Dave said, “was that a grunt?”

  “Yes, it was. Do you want me to do it again?” And he did.

  Dave laughed. “That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said so far.”

  Jimmy sighed and said, “What do you want from me? What’s it gonna take? Do you wanna hear my life story? I could tell you a lot. I could make up even more.”

  “I’ll bet you could.”

  “What do you want to know? Just ask.”

  “I did, and you grunted. I’m afraid of what you might do if I ask anything harder.” Dave sat down on Jimmy’s unmade bed and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I want you to come to one of our youth meetings. Just one.” His voice was low and very serious.

  Jimmy grimaced. “And do what? Drink punch? Sing some boring folk songs? Pray?�
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  “Maybe.”

  “Forget it,” Jimmy said firmly and glanced at Jacob, who seemed to be admiring some of his posters. It bothered Jimmy that Jacob didn’t speak.

  For a second, Dave seemed at a loss for words. But only a second. “That’s it? There’s nothing I can do to get you to come?”

  “You can tie me up and drag me, I guess,” Jimmy said.

  Jimmy knew right away that it was the wrong thing to suggest. Dave looked as if he might consider the idea. Instead, however, he stood up and offered, “How about a deal?”

  Jimmy cocked an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

  “What sports do you play?”

  “I don’t know. Most of them.” Jimmy looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of deal?”

  “Pick a sport.”

  Jimmy eyed him, trying to figure out what he was up to. “A sport?”

  “I saw a basketball hoop over the garage. You use it?” Even as Dave asked, he began taking off his sport coat.

  “Me and my dad play sometimes. Why? What are you going to do?”

  Dave knelt down and tightened his shoelaces. “We’ll play one-on-one. First to reach 10 wins.” He untied his tie and pulled it off. “You lose and you’ll have to come to the youth meeting.”

  “Play you? ” Jimmy laughed. “No way.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dave said. “I’ll just referee. You’ll play against Jacob.”

  Jacob looked at Jimmy without smiling. Jimmy realized Jacob stood about an inch shorter than himself. “And if I win?”

  “We won’t nag you ever again,” Dave said with a smile.

  “That doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”

  Dave laughed and said, “You’ve never seen us really nag.”

  Jimmy sized up Jacob and thought about his chances of winning.

  “Well?” Dave asked.

  “I don’t know.” Jimmy ran his fingers through his short, curly hair, his habit when thinking hard.

  “They call me the Hound of Heaven,” Dave said. “I’ll stay on your tracks for the rest of your life. For eternity.”

  Jimmy looked at him closely. This situation had all the elements of a Twilight Zone episode. But this was a dare, a challenge. It intrigued him too much not to see it through to the end. “I’m gonna regret this,” Jimmy finally said. “Deal.”

  Jacob and Jimmy silently shook hands.

  Dave smiled again and moved to the door. “I have a ball in the car,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Jimmy dug under his bed to get his basketball shoes. He tried to figure his chances of winning. Jacob was shorter and looked a little wimpy. Jimmy, on the other hand, considered himself a pretty good basketball player—not because he loved the game, but because he played against his dad. It would be a good match. And as Jimmy put on his shoes, he psyched himself up. He told himself all the reasons why he would win. Why he had to win.

  Jimmy’s mom caught him at the bottom of the stairs. She asked what was going on. Outside, Jimmy heard Jacob dribbling the basketball on the driveway. “I just moved the car so you could play…basketball?”

  Jimmy explained the deal.

  She shook her head. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “You’re right,” Jimmy agreed. “It’s risky. Jacob could win.”

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She turned and walked away.

  Thanks, Mom, he thought. Glad to have you in the cheering section.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Early Saturday Afternoon

  BEFORE LONG, JIMMY WAS leading off with three baskets. Then he made four and five before Jacob got his first. Piece of cake, Jimmy thought even as the midday sun bore down and his pace slackened. His lead slackened, too. Jacob got two more baskets. Then—after a long stretch where neither scored—Jacob got another one.

  “Jimmy: five; Jacob: four!” Dave announced from the side. What bugged Jimmy the most was Jacob’s silence. He never said a word: no jokes, commentary, or exclamations that were usually part of the game. It was killing Jimmy’s concentration.

  Donna stood off to the side, watching with delight. She screamed and cheered…for Jacob.

  “Get lost, Donna!” Jimmy shouted at her.

  Then it was Jimmy: five; Jacob: five.

  Good going, Jimmy, he thought. Give the poor kid a false sense of security.

  Jimmy pushed his inner power button and got two more baskets in rapid-fire succession.

  “Whoa,” Dave cried out, “maybe we should’ve challenged you to darts.”

  Mrs. Barclay brought a round of drinks, giving both Dave and Jimmy a disapproving glance as she served them. She didn’t like this one bit. She said so again.

  Back to the game.

  Jimmy stole the ball from Jacob and shot from halfway down the driveway. Jimmy: eight; Jacob: five.

  They traded baskets after they both alternately knocked the ball out of bounds. Then it was Jimmy: nine; Jacob: six.

  One more basket and it would be all over. Jacob, still silent, breathed hard, and looked tired. Jimmy figured he couldn’t lose. The thought gave him a shot of adrenaline, and he plowed through for an almost-perfect layup. Almost perfect. He missed.

  Jacob rebounded, recovered, and scored. To Jimmy’s irritation, he then snatched the ball from Jimmy and scored again.

  Jimmy: nine; Jacob: eight.

  Jimmy went up again, with style and grace, and fired a shot. It hit the basket and rolled round and round. And around. And out.

  “I’ve been robbed!” Jimmy cried.

  Jacob got a swisher to tie things up.

  The excitement and tension were at their peak. Donna could barely contain herself.

  “Why don’t you go find a friend or something?” Jimmy growled at her. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. He’d had the lead most of the game, and he should have made those last two baskets with no problem. He looked at Jacob and said, “No fair if you’re praying.”

  For the first time, Jacob made a sound. He laughed. Dave laughed with him. And while they laughed, Jimmy realized he liked them both.

  That was a good thing, because Jimmy went up for another shot knowing full well that this time it would be perfect, and he would get the basket and win and not be at the mercy of this lunatic father-and-son team that he liked in spite of his better senses. And there it was— the ball at the very tips of his fingers, reaching up and up and up toward the basket, and all he had to do was let go and it would be in, and….

  Then Jacob was up with him, jumping higher than Jimmy would have ever imagined someone of his size jumping. In that instant, Jimmy remembered reading about a guy from a nearby college who was known as the “Thieving Kangaroo” because he could jump high and steal the ball from anybody, and his name was Dave Wright, and he had given up his future in basketball to go into the ministry.

  That’s when Jimmy lost—no, he quit—because he realized he’d never had a chance to begin with and that Jacob had inherited his dad’s jumping ability and natural talent and probably could have slaughtered him at any time.

  Sure enough, Jacob knocked the ball away and, in less than a minute, scored and won.

  “You didn’t tell me who you were,” Jimmy panted as they all walked back into the house.

  “You didn’t ask,” was Dave’s reply.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Late Saturday Afternoon

  JIMMY SAT ON THE EDGE of his bed and fingered the small booklet Dave and Jacob had left with him. He didn’t read it. He simply turned it over and over absentmindedly while he tried to come up with a good excuse to go back on his word and skip the youth group meeting that night. At the moment, his only ploy was that it was unfair for Dave and Jacob to lure him into a basketball game when Jacob was the son of a great player. No, that won’t work, he decided.

  Maybe he could come down with something contagious.

  Jimmy’s plotting was interrupted by a tap at his window. Tony sat on a tree branch outside looking
like the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Jimmy opened his window.

  “Hey, Jimmy,” Tony said as casually as if he were sitting on the living room sofa instead of an unsteady branch.

  “Get out of here or I’ll get in worse trouble than I already am,” Jimmy said.

  Tony smiled as he asked, “Did your mom and dad give it to you good?”

  “You know they did,” Jimmy said. “They were really ticked off, and you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “That’s too bad. You’re gonna miss a great time tonight.”

  Jimmy frowned. “Tonight? What’s going on tonight?”

  “A couple of us are going out to Allen’s Pond. I heard that a bunch of Nathan’s friends are gonna get drunk and stuff.” Nathan was Tony’s older brother and did things like sneak out and get drunk. He hated Tony and Jimmy for hanging around, but they did it anyway.

  Jimmy thought of how fun it’d be to follow Nathan and his pals like a couple of secret agents on a mission. But he knew he couldn’t—not tonight of all nights. “I can’t anyway,” he said. “I have to go to church.”

  “Church!” Tony nearly fell out of the tree.

  “Yeah. I got tricked into going.”

  “But it’s not Sunday! Why’re you going to church on a Saturday night?”

  Jimmy toyed with the booklet he still held in his hand. “Because that’s when the kids get together. I guess it’s kinda like a Saturday night Sunday school.”

  “Oh boy! I wish I could go with you!” Tony said in the singsong voice he used to tease Jimmy.

  “Why don’t you?” Jimmy asked seriously. “Then maybe I won’t get so bored.”

  Tony scowled at Jimmy. “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “Forget it,” Tony said.

  “Thanks, friend,” Jimmy said and closed the window.

  Tony laughed as he slithered down the tree branch and out of Jimmy’s sight.

  Jimmy sat down on his bed again and looked at the booklet. “If you were to die tonight…” the black letters on the front said. Jimmy had seen the booklet before in a rack in the lobby of his church. He had never paid attention to it. Why should he? At his age, why would he think about death? Kids his age didn’t die unless they were in car accidents or got some kind of weird disease. And Jimmy didn’t plan on getting in any car accidents or coming down with a weird disease—unless it would get him out of going to that meeting at church. What did death have to do with him? Death happened to other people that Jimmy didn’t know. Death happened in the make-believe world of movies. Death happened to old people.