“Yes,” he murmurs as his cheeks turn red.
“And don’t you think she’s gorgeous?”
Jonah’s eyes flick to mine for a minute before looking sideways. “Kennedy,” he whispers in full embarrassment. It’s his turn to feel twelve.
“Sorry. Just…think about it, huh? You two would be perfect for each other. She sings, you play guitar—or whatever it is you’re doing with the worship team. She wants to be a pastor’s wife, and you’re like a Roland-in-Training.” I swallow hard over the last words, always second-guessing if I’m giving something away.
Jonah looks shocked as his eyes move back to my face. “You think I want to be a pastor?”
I sigh. “Oh, Jonah, before I came here, I assumed everyone came here for the purpose of leading a church. Cut me some slack.” Behind me, the bell rings, indicating an impatient customer. Can’t they see I’m setting up true love here? “Sorry, I gotta go. Think about it, k? And don’t you dare tell her about this conversation.”
Jonah looks shaken, but maintains his pleasant demeanor as he raises his hand. “Hand to God.”
“Thanks…I think.”
Jonah goes back to his seat and I return to my post to find Roland standing at the counter, looking quite amused with himself.
“Did you ring that bell?” I offer as my greeting.
He nods. “I did.”
Chelsea pokes her head out of the storeroom, where she’s been stocking coffee for the last half hour. “You okay out here, Ken?”
I nod and she goes back to her task.
“Ken?” Roland questions with a comical look on his face.
I shrug. “She’s the only one who does it. Here’s to hoping it doesn’t catch on.”
I like Chelsea a lot, and appreciate the non-Carter kids my age I get to talk to. She’s full of all kinds of questions about student life there, many of the same ones I had before enrolling. She looks at me like she’s viewing some circus sideshow and I manage to piece together some understanding for the way Joy looks at me if that is the way I look at her. Like she’s a freak.
“Do you want a drink? I know I told you to come so we could talk, but I’ve got like an hour and a half until my break.”
Roland’s eyes scan the menu behind me. “Just a coffee.” He shrugs as if the menu behind me is overwhelming. It kind of is.
I chuckle. “Yes, of course. Regular, decaf, half-caff?”
“Half, please.”
“Meet you at the end of the counter.”
Roland and I haven’t spent any time together in the last two weeks due to quizzes and studying and me wanting to take things slowly. He sends me texts regularly to check in with how things are going. Our conversations largely stick to coursework, and while I know he’d like it to go deeper, I’m thankful for the space at the moment.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks. Can we still talk on your break?” He takes the cup and begins sipping it black.
I shrug. “I guess. It’s going to be an hour—”
“And a half, I know.” Roland puts up his hand and smiles. “I’ve got notes to work on, so I’ll stick around here.”
“Cramming for tomorrow’s sermon?” I tease.
He laughs and adjusts the strap of his messenger bag across his chest. “I like to polish a bit before it all tumbles out of my mouth.” He toasts the air with his cup and makes his way to a booth in the back of the cafe.
Scanning the space, I see Jonah and his two friends laughing. They look completely normal in this setting. Just a few attractive college students drinking coffee. What makes them different to onlookers and eavesdroppers, however, will undoubtedly be their conversation. I wish I were a little closer to hear just what they’re saying. My assumptions, though, are once again proven wrong as I watch one of them move his hands in the air in the shape of a woman’s figure, moving in for the waist and out for the hips.
My mouth falls open, and I’m caught gawking at the group of them when Jonah’s head turns to the side and he spots me. Embarrassed at the whole thing, I quickly turn around to busy myself with something. Anything. Unloading the sterilizer is the first and most pressing task, and one that will keep my back to Jonah.
Of course. Of course they’re still guys. Just like I’m still a normal girl even though I go up on the hill. A month ago, watching guys engage in such behavior would likely have gone unnoticed. Elicited an eye roll at most. Seeing it from the godly men at Carter first fills me with the Oh my word, no they didn’t, and then I’m calmed by the Yes, yes they did. Because they’re normal people. Thank you, Jesus.
Once I rationalize that I’m more thankful to see slices of their humanity peeking through their Divine exteriors, I’m calmed and can go about my duties behind the counter.
Yes. Thank you. Thank you, Jesus, that they really are just people.
For the next hour, Word is slammed. The building is located across from a cinema that shows both new releases and classic movies, so pre and post shows the coffee shop is buzzing with activity. Chelsea finished her stocking job and moved out onto the floor with me during the first five minutes of the rush, and is still spinning circles around me as orders are called in left and right.
Thankfully, the evening crowd doesn’t order too many fancy drinks, but cappuccinos with varying degrees of foam requirements can render a barista unavailable for quite some time, so we team up to get through the rush. Just as the crowd dies down and I have a minute to catch my breath, I spot Jonah standing awkwardly at the end of the counter.
“What’s up?” I wipe my hands on my apron and tuck my hair behind my ears.
Jonah shrugs. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He’s having some difficulty making eye contact, which is rare.
“Um, sure…hold on.” I whisk back to the large refrigerator and gather cream and milk so I can take them to the coffee station and talk with Jonah. He follows me and starts talking before I ask him what’s up.
“I’m really embarrassed and I want to apologize.” His shaking voice underscores his nerves.
“Embarrassed? For what?” I make eye contact, setting down the half and half.
Jonah shrugs again and winces as he returns the eye contact. “What you saw Matt doing before. It was disrespectful and crude and—”
“Jonah,” I stop him and put my hand on his shoulder, “calm down. It’s okay. And, it wasn’t you, anyway.” I remove my hand from his shoulder and wipe down the tabletop, pushing straw wrappers into the trash.
“I know, but, that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize. I didn’t ask him not to behave that way.”
“Behave what way?” I chuckle. “I figured you guys were just being guys.”
Jonah shakes his head. “I don’t want to be just a guy, Kennedy. I want to be better than that. Anyway, again, I’m sorry.” He offers a soft smile and meets his friends out on the sidewalk before disappearing out of my line of sight.
“Kennedy,” Asher calls from behind the counter.
Crap. I turn around, expecting to be in trouble for fraternizing with the customers while on the clock, but he’s smiling and leaning against the counter.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take your break now. The cinema has a special showing of Casablanca in an hour, so it’s going to get busy again soon.”
I look to the back of the coffee shop and see Roland skimming over some papers and clicking on an open MacBook. “Okay,” I say when I look back at Asher.
I weave through the crowd and plunk myself down in the chair across from Roland, handing him a fresh cup of coffee.
Slightly startled, he jumps a little and closes his laptop. He folds his hands across it, giving me his full attention. “Hey, thank you. You on break?”
I nod, and without further delay, I launch into what I consider to be my perfectly weird interaction with Jonah a few minutes ago. When I finish, Roland is staring at me with an amused expression.
“So,” I say while shrugging and trying to look as confused as possibl
e.
Roland grins. “He’s good.”
“That’s it?”
He laughs. “It’s well within the cultural norms. Both for his friend to have done that and for Jonah to apologize.”
I sigh and run my hand over my face. “Where’s my travel guide for this place?” I think back to the Paris one Mom and Dan bought for me last year before my French class trip to the romantic city. I could really use one for Carter University…or just this whole Jesus culture in general.
“I thought you’ve been settling in?” Roland sips his coffee, keeping his hands around the mug when he sets it down.
“I am. I just…it feels kind of like being an American and traveling to Australia or the UK. We all speak the same language, but only kind of. You know? I’m trying, I really am.”
He arches his eyebrow. “Have you tried letting go?”
I arch mine back. “I’m trying.”
“You know, Kennedy,” he says with a sigh as he leans back, “everything I’ve ever let go of has had claw marks all over it.”
My mouth slowly creeps open. “What?”
“My sponsor said that to me on day one of my sobriety.”
“Oh.” No longer trying to detangle the parable, I’m focused on his apparent admission of his adherence to the twelve steps. I’ve only heard the terms “sponsor” and “sobriety” used together in that context. “AA?” I ask, not wanting to dole out any more assumptions for a while.
Roland nods but doesn’t appear prepared to offer anything else. I make a mental note to research the steps. Then I cancel the thought. I’ve learned enough about Roland from Wikipedia.
“How long have you been in…it?”
“I’ve been sober thirteen years in March.” He looks at me pointedly while I easily connect the dots. He sobered up on the kitchen floor of his parents’ house the month I turned five—and has stayed dry ever since.
“Wow.” A brief silence falls over our table. “You didn’t call Mom till I was eight,” I remark.
He swallows hard. “I wanted to be sure I had enough time away from the alcohol to make sense. The first year I was so determined and I was flying on enthusiasm and adrenaline. Year two, it turned out, was…man, it was brutal.” He shakes his head and looks away as if he’s a soldier recounting stories from the trenches. “Anyway,” he continues after a deep breath, “once I had three years in, I was really finding my way. Dried out and flooded with Jesus.”
“Interesting word play,” I remark with a chuckle.
He doesn’t laugh. “That’s how Jesus works, Kennedy. He wants to get it so people can’t tell where you end and He begins.”
“Didn’t God destroy the world with a flood?” I reference the story of Noah from my Old Testament class. From the Bible, literally, but most recently my OT class.
Roland lifts his chin. “Sometimes…sometimes God has to take matters into his own hands. Sometimes he has to overrun the sin and destruction we can bring into our lives. Sometimes He has to wash us clean the most powerful way possible so when we come up for air, all we’re calling is His name.”
In the middle of my visual of a raging ocean storm and Roland bobbing and gasping amongst the waves, the alarm on my phone dings, indicating the end of my break.
“I’ve gotta get back to work,” I say with an admittedly shaky voice while forcing myself to my feet.
For the first time since setting foot at Carter University, I want to stay and talk with Roland. I want to hear about his flood and his resuscitation into someone that is a perfectly functioning human being. Someone who went from escaping parental responsibility to talking about the shame and regret surrounding the decision to millions of viewers across the world.
Moreover, I want the flood. Whatever it is that Eden has. Whatever keeps Bridgette smiling and Jonah honest and pure—I want that. I want to come up for air. To untie the expectations from Mom, Dan, my friends, and even the people around me. I want that air to be Him.
I want to be flooded.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hope Now
It’s Parents’ Weekend!
Do I seem excited enough? Really, I truly am thrilled to be seeing Mom and Dan for the first time since the semester started. As the weeks have gone on, our every other day chats have moved to 2-3 times a week. Between studying, working, and praying, I’m busy. Honestly, I’m starting to feel a little burned out from the thrice-weekly church services, but I’m digging my heels in. I need it, I’ve rationalized to myself.
That’s the other thing. I’ve been feeling this tug, a tug I recognize as God. It’s really been all-consuming—much the way the Bible indicates it should be—and I don’t know how to tell my mom. Sure, she goes to church (she raised me Episcopalian) but spirituality is fluid for her. Go to church on some Sundays, but make sure we hit the important holidays, and say grace before those holiday meals. Prayer is something reserved for before bed or when someone is sick. There is church life and regular life. And, by the way, feel free to pull on tenants from other spiritual traditions outside of Christianity to get through tough times. You know, pray to “Mother Nature” when you need a sunny or rainy day, and count on Karma to take care of those who’ve wronged you. These were all things I’d counted as normal before coming to CU.
I know that CU isn’t necessarily what’s “normal” when placed in the scope of the entire United States, but—as Roland so helpfully pointed out—it’s normal for here. And, while I’m not prepared to evangelize to anyone but myself, I am reading beyond class materials. I don’t need knowledge of the Bible, per se. I have a course load that helps with that. But Bridgette was overeager to lend me some books of hers that deal with prayer life and doubt. Who knew hardcore Christians admitted they doubt? Well, they don’t so far as I’ve seen—but Bridgette had the book. Maybe she figured she’d meet someone like me.
Anyway, my family will be here in a few short hours, and my roommates and I are making our room extra cute to show off to our parents. Twinkle lights, pictures of flowers and inspirational Bible quotes to decorate the wall, and we look like model students who don’t spend the ten minutes before room inspections tearing around the room like crazy people to keep us a few checkmarks above demerits in that area.
“Who did you say Jonah was with?” Eden asks as she puts the finishing touches on making her bed.
Even though my “chat” with Jonah at the coffee shop was two weeks ago, I’m just getting around to telling the girls about it.
I look up, thinking for a moment. “John and Mark… No. Matt. John and Matt.”
“Stevens and Wells, I think,” Bridgette says to Eden before turning to me. “They’re in his dorm, right?”
I nod.
“That’s them. John Stevens and Matthew Wells.”
“Weird,” Eden says, stepping back from her bed and seeming to admire it for a minute.
“Weird?” I ask. “Which part is weird? I’m guessing we’re calling two different things weird here.”
They laugh. We’ve all stopped tiptoeing around our differences. It turns out Bridgette and Eden have loads of differences between the two of them, which, admittedly, makes me feel better. Bridgette is far more socially conservative than Eden or myself, but Eden is far more likely to bang on someone’s door and tell them all about Jesus. Her passion is in evangelism and just general jubilation about the Lord. Bridgette is much quieter—the fierce kind of quiet. I don’t know where they stand theologically, though, because I’ve asked that we don’t spend our free hours in our room bantering about religion. It’s just too much for me. If they do talk about it, it’s when I’m not around.
“Do you know which one was doing the hand thing?” Bridgette asks, tapping her finger against her lip.
I shrug. “He was beefy big. Like, looked like a football player. A good four inches taller than the other two.”
“Wells,” they say in unison.
“But the other one was encouraging him,” I add.
Eden sits
at her desk. “Matt Wells—the beefy one—is a football player. He’s from Georgia, or Alabama, or something like that. CU gave him a full ride for their football team. I don’t even know if he’s a Christian. Or anything, really.”
Ah, one of the fabled athletes that attend CU without having to go through the regular application process, as described to me by Maggie several weeks ago. They don’t need to be Christian, technically. But they have to agree to uphold the same code of conduct the rest of us are subjected to.
“Silas says he really pushes everyone’s buttons, like this is all some joke to him.” She looks a little less wounded than her words would suggest.
“Doesn’t he get the same demerits we all do?” I question.
“He knows just the buttons to push,” Eden pipes in. “Sure he gets demerits, I’m guessing. But there’s no way CU is going to kick him out. He’s too valuable to the team, from what I hear. I mean, unless he starts having sex and throwing parties in his room, I’m guessing CU is stuck with him.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute…” I wave my finger in disapproval. “You guys are acting like he was the only one there. The other kid—John—was laughing, too.”
“Was Jonah?” Eden asks with a fresh wave of childlike optimism in her eyes.
“Of course he was.” I chuckle. “He laughed for, like, a second. Then he saw me looking at them and he put his head down. Then apologized later.”
“Right,” Bridgette says. “He apologized while the other two hightailed it, right?”
“Who’s this John Stevens?” I ask, groping around to make my point that God kids aren’t perfect.
Eden takes a deep breath. “He’s a PK from a few towns away.”
Preacher’s Kid.
“See?” I say with the enthusiasm of an attorney winning their case. “Even he’s not perfect.”
Bridgette laughs. “No one said anyone was perfect, Kennedy. It’s just that Matt is kind of…difficult. Silas said he and Jonah have been trying to hang out with him more to calm him down a little so he doesn’t get kicked out.”
“Why wouldn’t they want someone who does stuff like that out of their hair?” I sit on my bed, leaning back on my hands. I think of all the jock-jerks I didn’t hang out with in high school for precisely that reason.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 14
