Lisa hesitated before speaking. “My family’s Christian. I mean, kind of, at least. And my folks go to dances pretty often.”
“I know,” he said. “And there’s some kinds of dancing that are okay, I think. I mean, if it’s just bouncy music and you’re kind of swaying back and forth enjoying the beat, that’s harmless. But not the kind that’s . . .” He fumbled for a phrase. “I don’t know – sexy.” It was an awkward moment.
“So where do you guys go to church?”
“Christ Our Redeemer. We really like it.”
“Don’t know anything about it,” she shrugged.
Suddenly it was Bucky’s turn to shiver. “Do you mind if we walk while we talk? It is kind of cold out here.”
Together they walked across the quadrangle toward the basketball courts. “It’s a good church,” Bucky continued, completing the thought. “I really like it a lot. And the way they teach about God seems right to me.”
Lisa tugged on the oversized sleeves of Bucky’s coat. “But how come you think dancing’s wrong? What’s the big deal?”
“That’s a hard one to answer,” he admitted. “And it may not make much sense to you; I’m still sort of figuring it myself. But the Bible tells us not to become attached to the things of this world, especially things that might destroy our love for Jesus. And I think a good share of the kind of dancing people do is one of the things that could do that.”
“Like how?”
Bucky hesitated, trying to organize his thoughts. “Well, I think I can tell you two reasons, at least.”
She waited expectantly as they slowly walked around the perimeter of the campus.
“First of all, a lot of the music people dance to is harmful . . . to a Christian, anyway.”
“How?”
“Did you listen to the words of the song the band was playing in there?”
“No. Who does?”
They came to the fence at the far corner of the campus and turned around, retracing their steps. “You may not think you’re hearing the words, but your subconscious mind does pick them up,” Bucky said. “A lot of songs are all about promiscuity, using people, being selfish, booze, drugs . . .” He stopped. “I sound like a preacher,” he apologized.
“No, go on,” she urged. “I’m interested in what you think. And you may have a good point.”
He shook his head. “It’s hard for me to talk this way about music, because my whole life I’ve been a rock-and-roll kid. I mean, I’ve got, like, a zillion songs on my iPod, and not much of it is Mozart. But I know that at least some of it is harmful to a Christian, not only because of the words, but because of the lifestyle of the performers. Plus it’s just plain an addictive habit. You see kids with their ear plugs going all the time, even in class. They can’t stop.”
“You’re probably right about the musicians,” Lisa admitted. “I was reading in a magazine about that new all-girl group everyone likes right now. That was just on SNL last weekend. Three of them are living with guys from their stage crew and one was in the hospital from a botched abortion.”
She looked up at him. “Are you warming up a bit? You can have your coat back if you like.”
“No, that’s OK. It looks cuter on you anyway,” he grinned.
She laughed. “You’re sweet. Even if you don’t dance and are a Jesus freak.” She took his arm as they began a second loop around the far perimeter of the high school grounds. From inside the gym the sounds of yet another danceable song were audible. “You said you had two reasons. What’s the second one?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s going to be hard to explain, but it’s kind of what I already said. The kind of dancing that second song was about would probably lead to . . .” He searched for the right word, then grinned. “Familiarity. That’s what my mom would say.” He paused. “You know, kids getting in over their heads in a physical way, doing stuff they shouldn’t.”
Lisa didn’t say anything. Bucky was grateful it was dark; he was sure he was blushing a little bit.
“My parents have an old Sinatra CD they like. It’s real old-style music, kind of cool actually, with an orchestra and stuff. But he has a song where he sings: ‘Dancing is nothing but making love set to music.’ Something like that. So even a guy like that admits that dancing is a thing that can tempt us.”
She digested the last remark in silence as they passed by the tables again. “Let’s sit back down,” he said suddenly. “I’m warmer now.”
They sat. Lisa tucked her feet up and hugged her knees to her chin. She looked at him questioningly. When she spoke her voice was unsteady. “Does it really mean all that much to you? Church and stuff, I mean? And . . . doing what God wants you to do?”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah. It really does.”
She looked down at the pavement. Her usually dancing eyes were sober. The silence of the evening surrounded the two young students.
“I guess my folks think of themselves as Christians,” she said at last “but we never go to church. And it doesn’t mean anything to us . . . like your faith seems to mean to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She hesitated. “Like the way you’re able to talk about it with someone else. Weren’t you afraid what I might think? Or that I’d think you were stupid because of that dancing business?”
Bucky smiled ruefully. “Are you kidding? You have no idea!”
“But you did it anyway,” she said softly. “You stood up for something you believe in. I wish I could do that.” She was silent for a minute, then burst out, “I wish I had something to believe in that I could stand up for. I don’t even have that.”
Awkwardly, he turned to face her. “You can have, you know. It’s always your own decision. I did it; you can too.” He paused, wondering whether to say more. Something seemed to be telling him not to press the matter, so he waited without speaking further. Out in the parking lot he could hear cars beginning to pull out.
Several minutes of silence went by. Finally he stood up. “It’s ten o’clock. Your mom’ll be here in a sec.”
Lisa stood up, grasping his arm as she did so. Reaching out in the darkness, she took his hand as they quietly walked back toward the gym where students were leaving the party.
“I like you,” Lisa said suddenly, breathlessly. “Thanks for coming with me tonight.”
Bucky laughed, feeling a genuine and growing affection for her and a sudden flood of excited relief as he realized that this was definitely a dating relationship he could appropriately pursue. “Not exactly what either of us expected,” he grinned. “I’m sorry it turned into a hike in the parking lot instead of a Christmas party.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she retorted, a little of her usual spark returning. “I enjoyed what we did better anyway. Oops. There’s my mom’s car!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got to go, Bucky. Thanks again for coming with me.” She looked at him meaningfully, then reluctantly turned away.
“My coat!” Bucky suddenly remembered. “Even though it looks better on you, I gotta have it for skiing.”
Lisa laughed as she pulled off his jacket. “Here, big boy,” she smiled, holding it out as he slipped into it. Suddenly, she stood on tiptoe and gave him a schoolgirl peck on the cheek. “That’s just to freak my mom out. ‘Bye.”
Bucky blushed all the way home.
Chapter Ten: Christmas Eve
The day before Christmas was cold and clear in Hampton Beach. Most of the trees along Woodman Avenue were minus their usual foliage, and the bare branches, some decorated with lights, added to the wintery effect.
As Bucky hiked home from the supermarket toting a grocery bag, he noticed that the cardboard manger scene in his neighbors’ yard had blown over again. Setting down his load, he gingerly set the flimsy creche back on its stand, stepping back to survey the faded artwork.
Waving cheerfully to the three small children playing in the side yard, he turned into his driveway. In the Stones’ front window, large letters punctuated with tiny lights d
eclared, “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Mom’s idea.
Bucky switched the bag to his left hand and fumbled with the doorknob. “Here’s your stuff,” he called out as he entered the front hall.
Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “Were you able to find everything?”
“Yes, except I’m not sure if this is the kind of pie crust you wanted.”
She looked through the contents of the plastic bag. “Yup. That’s perfect. You’re a genius. Any change?”
“In the bottom of the bag. About thirty-five cents is all.”
“Thanks, honey.” Working swiftly, she put the items away, except for the pie crust.
“Where’s Rachel Marie?”
Mom reached up to take a can out of the cupboard. “In her room. Oh, Bucky, would you do me a favor and play something with her? A game of Sorry, maybe? She’s been pestering me for something to do.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do I have to let her win?”
“Every third game. That’s what a good big brother does. And make it look legit.”
The day passed easily, as most Christmas vacation days do. It was good to have a break from the pressures of schoolwork, Bucky decided. He was enjoying the leisure time and the chance to sleep in each morning. Even to play in a relaxed way with Rachel Marie.
That evening the Stones gathered for supper in a newly-transformed dining room. A special Christmas tablecloth and two bright red candles gave the room a festive, yet somehow sacred, atmosphere.
“Not bad,” Dad approved, as the family found their seats. “Who fixed the room up so pretty?”
“Oh, I had a little help,” Mom admitted, giving Rachel Marie a wink.
“Let’s eat!” piped up the diminutive kitchen helper. She sniffed appreciatively. “I’m totally starved!”
“First we pray,” Dad reminded her. “Bucky, would you say grace?”
Bucky was startled, but tried not to show it. Usually it was Mom who suggested grace.
“Thank you, God,” he began, “for Christmas and for sending Jesus to die on the cross for our sins. Help us to always remember and love you. And thank you for this good food. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
“Amen,” murmured Mom. The family ate the tasty holiday meal amid the flickering candlelight. Stuffed baked potatoes, whole wheat bread, Jell-O salad, and the promised Christmas pie were zestfully consumed by the soon-contented foursome.
“Don’t forget,” Mom reminded, “we have to leave for the church in twenty minutes. I don’t want to miss the handbell choir’s special number.”
“Oh, yeah,” Bucky nodded. “I better go change my clothes.”
“How about you, Phil? Are you coming with us?”
“Of course! You think I want to spend Christmas Eve here all alone staring at the wall?”
Mom beamed. “It’ll be nice to have both my men with me tonight.”
The drive over to the church was punctuated by murmurs of admiration at all the Christmas lights along the route. One home in particular was beautifully decorated with multicolored LED bulbs all along the eaves of the roof, the chimney, every window, and even the trees and bushes in the front yard. Several prelit reindeer were perched on the roof, their mechanical heads slowly bobbing in a holiday blanket of electricity.
“Look at that house,” Mom marveled. “I’d hate to have their electric bills!”
“Mommy, it’s so pretty,” Rachel Marie chirped. “Can’t we have more roof lights too?”
“Here we are,” interrupted Dad, glancing over at his wife. “Everybody out.”
Bucky sucked in his breath as he entered the church building. Tiny evergreen plants decorated each window sill of the medium-sized church, and tall white candles cast a faint light throughout the building. Large red bows fastened at the end of each pew added a muted splash of color. A tall plain pine tree hiding the drum set in the front corner next to the rostrum filled the sanctuary with a delicate fragrance. The family sat quietly, savoring the sights and sounds of Christmas.
“What does Christmas mean to us?” Pastor Jensen asked during his short devotional talk. “It means we have something to live for in this old world. One day soon we’re going to celebrate our final Christmas here on earth. Think of it: every Christmas here in Hampton Beach marks one more page turned in the history of our sin-filled planet; one year closer to heaven. And I want to invite each one of you to make sure that you’re part of God’s eternal family. Make the decision before the new year begins.”
The congregation joined him in a prayer for peace on earth and Jesus’ soon coming. Rachel Marie slipped her little hand into Bucky’s as the church family recited the Lord’s Prayer and then sang “Silent Night” without accompaniment.
Afterward, the Stone family visited with other Christians in the fellowship hall, where a table was loaded with crackers, Christmas treats, and punch.
“Hello, Phil!” The pastor shook Mr. Stone’s hand eagerly. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hello, Reverend,” Dad replied. “Oh, I mean Pastor Jensen,” he apologized.
“That’s OK,” the pastor laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve been called that more than once. How’s work?”
“Good,” Dad nodded. “I enjoyed the service this evening. Especially that little gal who sang.”
“Wasn’t she terrific?” the pastor agreed. “By the way, I want to tell you how much we’ve appreciated Bucky’s help with our youngsters these past few months. You know, he has some real leadership qualities.”
Dad took a sip of his punch. “He’s a good kid. I’m glad he’s having a positive experience here at church.”
“Well, you know we’ve got room here for his pop too.”
Bucky’s father smiled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
The pastor laid a hand on Mr. Stone’s arm. “Boy, your son’s quite a skier, too. We had a great time up there weekend before last. Bucky, is your ankle better?”
“Yeah, it was only twisted a little bit. It was fine by the next morning.”
The pastor looked relieved. “I’m glad. When you took that spill I didn’t know if you’d ever stop sliding. That was a nasty one.”
The young student laughed. “I didn’t think I would ever stop, either! What a run!”
Pastor Jensen chuckled, and then turned serious. “How’s our prayer project going?” he asked in a lowered voice.
Bucky shook his head. “Nothing much yet. We’ve talked a couple times, but that’s it. I invited Sam to come tonight but he wasn’t interested.”
The older man nodded thoughtfully. “Takes time. But the Holy Spirit has his own timetable in mind. Don’t worry; he’ll keep giving you opportunities.”
The family chatted for a few more moments before the pastor excused himself to visit with some other parishioners.
“Well, that was very nice,” Dad commented as they drove home.
“M-m-m-m-m,” agreed Mom. “I thought so, too, sweetie.”
“Look!” interjected Rachel Marie, pointing to the windshield. “Snow!”
“That’s not snow, silly,” Bucky corrected, “just a little rain.”
“No,” Dad disagreed, “I think it is snow. It’s cold enough outside.”
Bucky rolled his window down just a crack and stuck his hand out. “I guess you’re right. It’ll never stick overnight, though.”
“Probably not,” Mom said. “But what a perfect Christmas Eve.” She snuggled up to Dad and put her head on his shoulder.
Chapter Eleven: To the Slopes!
Streaks of daylight were just beginning to appear over the hills above Sacramento as Bucky and Sam traveled north on Highway 50 on their way to Lake Tahoe. Bucky shifted uncomfortably in the narrow bucket seat, trying to find a different position for his legs.
“Too bad you don’t have a ski rack on this car,” he said with a trace of irritation. “Having all this junk inside with us is really a pain.”
“Hey, just be glad my dad said we could take the car. He
didn’t want me to have it for an overnight. He hassled me for more than an hour last night.” Sam shifted down to third gear as the little Nissan headed up a steep grade.
Bucky said nothing for the next several miles, squinting through his sunglasses at the road ahead. Even at this early hour, traffic was moderately heavy, and it appeared that a good number of the travelers were on their way to the slopes.
“Are you OK?” Sam’s sudden question interrupted Bucky’s thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking, that’s all.”
“What about? You’re generally a lot more up than this.”
Bucky scowled. “Look, I got up at four this morning and so did you. How lively do you expect me to be?”
Sam shook his head. “You just seem different today.” He paused. “Want to talk about it?”
Bucky gazed out the window a moment longer before turning back to Sam. “I don’t know. I had a hard time with my dad yesterday, too. I guess that makes two of us.”
“What about?”
“Oh, some stuff he had wanted me to do Friday. In the garage. I forgot to do it, and he gave me a bunch of grief about it. Told me to get off my lazy rear end and get it done right now!”
“So?”
Bucky sighed. “So I did it and now I’m still kind of mad at the guy.”
Sam looked at him curiously. “So what happened?”
“Oh, we got into an argument over it.” Bucky pressed his lips together in a hard line, remembering. “I said some things I shouldn’t have. You know, ‘cause I was hot.”
The other boy didn’t respond for a moment. “Did you patch things up?”
“No, not really. I mean, it’s still kind of frosty between us. Which is not our usual way, ever. I feel kinda bad heading out like this without telling him I’m sorry.”
“So give the man a call. I know what it’s like to have an unfinished argument hanging over your head.”
Bucky shook his head. “It’s too early. I’ll do it when we get to the ski resort.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 7
