Moonlight Will Prevail
By: Jason R.
From the moment I walked into the church, a feeling of dread came over me. How could I pray and worship god with this horrible secret hanging over my head? At that time, I wanted so desperately to be a good little Christian boy, and wished with every fiber of my soul that I could somehow take back that dreadful deed.
But as the service progressed and still nothing happened to me, I began to look around at the other people in the congregation. Not a single person was looking at me funny. If they noticed me at all, they smiled and waved at me. I couldn?t believe it. They didn?t know. No one knew. And that revelation rocked my senses.
As I looked at the other children I began to notice their faces, maybe for the first time. They looked how I must have looked just three days earlier. They were staring intently at the minister as he spoke of the evils of drinking and carousing, and they were eating it up.
Have you ever seen an eight-year-old child completely enraptured by a message of sobriety? Believe me, it?s not a pretty sight.
As I looked at them, a wave of confusion came over me. Were they somehow better than I was? Did my evil act segregate me from the other faithful? Was that the reason I couldn?t keep my attention on the sermon or the man speaking?
I started squirming around in my seat. Which only caused my father to smack me and command me to pay attention.
I tried to listen, I promise I did. But I noticed a boy on the opposite side of the church a few rows back from where I sat. I had never seen him at church before. I concluded this must have been their first visit.
Later on I found out they had just moved into town and were happy to find a church that taught like they believed. And what a good influence the church and its members would have on their son. Boy, were they wrong about that.
He was staring at the ceiling with this bored expression on his face. I wondered why he wasn?t behaving like the other children. Did he touch himself too? Was that the reason he wasn?t paying attention to the sermon? I didn?t know the answer but something inside of me told me I had?must find out.
The service seemed to drag on for days but finally the minister dismissed us and I told my father I had to use the restroom. But that was a lie, my eyes were on the boy as he walked out of the church to stand on the sidewalk in front of the building.
I followed him and watched as he leaned against one of the trees. He stood there, staring up at the star filled sky seemingly lost in his own little world. I studied him for a few moments. Was he as evil as I? Could this be the one person I could relate to after my brush with carnal knowledge? I hoped so, I felt like I needed some answers and needed them fast.
He was this fascinating blonde that had the most unusual eyes I had ever seen or have seen since. They were blue like mine but his held a light?a fire that burned with such intensity that I felt immediately drawn like a moth to a flame. I remember thinking if I was going to burn, I was more than happy to be burned by him.
He was shorter than I was but one year older. His body, though more muscular than my slimmer build, but he still had that layer of baby fat that anyone with half a brain could see he would grow out of it.
He was dressed in a suit, just as I was, but the way he wore it suggested he would rather be in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His tie, which would always be this way for the rest of the time I knew him, was crooked. Like he was constantly trying to rid himself of it. And his short blonde hair looked like someone had tried to comb it, but had given up half way through. I couldn?t explain it or recognize it, but it was so intense my normally shy personality flew out the window and I walked over to him and asked him his name.
I remember the way he looked at me after I asked my question. He took a long look, up and down my body for a few seconds, saying nothing. His gaze caused me to shift uncomfortably, like he was eyeing up a horse he was interested in purchasing. I was half surprised he didn?t make me open my mouth and show him my teeth. (though I would have just to have him near me) It was a judging gaze, gauging how to react to my forwardness or maybe to see what kind of miniature Christian I was. But after a few seconds, he spoke. My name's Greg.
I could tell he really wasn?t interested in speaking to me but that didn?t stop me from firing questions at him in rapid succession. When I?m nervous, I tend to speak constantly. You can?t shut me up and I babble about anything and everything that pops into my mind. And boy was I babbling.
To all my stupid questions, he would reply with the minimal amount of words required without ever asking a single question of his own. He never offered information about himself, seemingly content to half ignore me. I babbled on for a few minutes until his parents walked outside. I guess he didn?t have many friends or maybe never because they seemed to be deliriously happy that he and I were speaking. If you could call what Greg and I were doing speaking together.
His parents asked all the questions Greg should have been asking. Like my name, where I lived, who my parents were, what school I attended, and if it was any good. They kept firing questions at me until my parents walked outside. My parents, in finding out I had made a friend of a boy that attended our church, which automatically labeled Greg as a ?good boy?, quickly invited this new family over to our house for dinner.
That is how Greg and I found ourselves alone in my room the following Saturday night. He wasn?t the best talker at first. He was shy around those he didn?t know and wasn?t one to speak very often. Though later on I couldn?t shut him up when it was just the two of us. But I?m getting ahead of the story again aren?t I.
Considering ?our? religion was more than strict, and there weren?t that many ?safe? toys to play with back then, we had nothing to do. So we sat there on my bed, staring at one another for the longest time.
Even with someone as patient as Greg was, he finally got bored enough to ask me in a quiet voice what I did for fun. I had found out earlier that night that his parents had only recently found this religion. He had to give up all his toys, his friends, his video games, his TV, and other assorted activities that were so foreign to me. And he wasn?t taking the change well.
My hopes of him being like me were dashed upon hearing this. Much like a small skiff dashed on the rocks in the middle of a storm. He wasn?t sinful like me, he didn?t touch himself in bad ways late at night. He didn?t have the answers I so desperately needed. Once again a feeling of panic washed over me.
Most of the things he talked about, with regret in his voice, I only had small clues as to what they were but I knew I envied his experience. He had played sports, football, baseball, and soccer in his last school before the ?conversion?. I felt so sorry for him. The look on his face is one I will always remember, when he confided in me in a quiet voice. I?m not allowed to play sports anymore because of this fucking religion.