Chapter 2
Two months after meeting Kent, he invited me and my family to his church. Momma and Daddy had decided to stick with Harmony Methodist for the time being, but she still offered to drop me off that evening.
Kent had warned me that it could be kind of scary at first, but he assured me I didn’t need to worry because he’d stick to me like glue.
We made it to West Clark Apostolic Chapel a little after six that afternoon.
Kent was sitting on the steps as music boomed out behind the closed double doors.
The second he saw me, his eyes went wide, and a smile stretched across his face.
He stood up, brushing the dirt off his butt before he made his way toward us, his arm extended and aimed at me.
I reached out and took it, my stomach doing a little spin under my skin as I touched a hand that had just been pressed up against his butt.
I probably should have been grossed out by it, but I wasn’t.
Music swelled in the small chapel behind him, and inside men and women’s shouts and hollering surpassed the sound of music.
Loud chanting and shouts of ‘hallelujah’ reverberated inside the chapel walls, dripping through the crack and crevices of the old wooden building.
I glanced down at the new watch Daddy had gotten me the day we moved to West Clark. Ten ‘til five.
“Are we late? I thought you said it didn’t start until six?”
“You’re good, dude. Service doesn’t start until then, but people get here early to get their praise on.” He lifted his hands and twinkled his fingers in an elaborate take on jazz hands. “So, are you ready to see the freakshow?”
“Freakshow?”
He snickered as he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the entrance, stopping when we were at the door.
“If you haven’t been to an Apostolic church, this might be a lot for you.
Just try to prepare yourself. If you get scared, or if it’s too much, let me know and I can sneak you out when they start dancing down the aisle. ”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Dancing down the aisles?”
“Yeah, it’s … It’s hard to explain without seeing it for yourself.
When we visit my Aunt Jeanie, down in Tyler, we go to her Catholic church.
It’s a lot less energetic, and they do a lot of kneeling and standing and sitting.
” He let out an exasperated sigh and touched the back of his hand to his forehead like he was pretending he might faint.
“All that up, down, up, down is far too much exercise for my liking.”
I laughed so hard I snorted, and the corners of his lips curled up, then parted.
His pretty white teeth were big, like they could chew up the entire world if he tried.
I kind of wanted him to. For him to just chew up the whole dang universe until all that was left was him and me and that old rickety porch.
“I promise, if it’s too much, we’ll leave. I already told my dad you’ve never been to a church like this one. He says as long as we spend the time we would’ve been in service talking about God, it’s okay. We just have to be quick about it so the other kids don't catch on.”
I gave him a nod. “I’m fine.”
“You say that now. Wait until you see Mr. Bronson running the pews.”
“Running the pews?”
He waggled his eyebrows at me as if he’d just told some big joke that I should have known the meaning of.
Hanging his arm around my shoulder, he pulled me in for a side hug.
I didn’t understand the tingling sensation his touch sent down me.
Even worse, I didn’t really understand the feeling of emptiness inside of me when he pulled his arm away.
He stood up and held his hand out for me. He must have hoisted me with a little too much force, because his pull sent me reeling. I crashed against him, blushing as he chuckled into my ear. “You alright, buddy?”
“I’m good.” I pulled away and gave him a smile.
“Remember,” he said as he made his way toward the door. “If you freak out, it’s okay. Just let me know and we’ll get out of here.”
Bright red carpet lined the floors of the chapel.
It wasn’t a particularly large room, just an aisle separating two rows of pews.
At the front was a small stage with two chairs that looked like thrones, both lined with red cushions and gold trim.
A man and a lady were sitting in them, neither paying the other much attention at all.
I recognized the lady as Kent’s mom from the times she’d picked him up from school.
She’d been a kind woman with a sweet, almost baby-like voice.
When she spoke, her words were hushed and timid; a stark contrast to my own mother’s hollering.
She looked out into the crowd and our eyes met.
Waving her arm like she was hailing a taxi, she flagged us down, calling us to the front.
Kent led the way, and as he did a woman made her way out of the pew and into the aisle, digging through her purse.
When her hand emerged, she was holding two small pieces of candy.
They were those strawberry hard candies with the gooey center.
Momma never let me have a lot of candy because she hated taking me to the dentist any more that she had to, so it was a rare treat when I got to snack on strawberry bon-bons.
The woman’s hair was styled in an updo, her mountain of curls beaten into submission with hairspray.
The hair was so stiff it looked like you could break the strands in half with ease.
She wore a modest white blouse with cherry blossoms spreading up, down, and around her waist. The small neon-green purse she carried didn’t match a single thing she was wearing, but I just chalked that up to her being old and her eyesight not being what it once was.
She must have gotten dressed in the dark.
“You got yourself a new friend there, Kent?” she said, pointing at me.
Kent grabbed the little strawberry bon-bons and handed one to me before throwing his arm over my shoulder.
“I sure do. His name’s Gray Collins. He and his family moved here a few months back, from Little Rock.
His daddy bought a farm outside of town and he’s been raising sheep.
” He knocked his elbow against my arm. “Says they’re selling their hair off to the highest bidder. ”
I blushed when I realized Kent must have hung on my every word when we were at school. He remembered all of it. I remembered his favorite things too, but it was still a shock to know that he cared enough to pay attention to my ramblings.
She turned her attention to me, flashing me a smile. “Well it’s awfully nice to meet you, Gray. I’m Sister Clifton.”
“Nice to meet you, Sister,” I said. I still didn’t really understand the whole Brother-Sister thing these people kept insisting on, but I figured it was easier to roll with it than question them.
“So, Little Rock? I have a son out that way. Goes to North Point Pentecostal. Is that where your family went before you moved?” She eyed me with intensity, leaving me uncomfortable and with an overall sense of unease.
“No ma’am. We were Baptists.”
Her eyes widened and she slowly backed her way into the pew, staring at me like I was diseased. “Well, that’s … That sure is swell.” Her eyes journeyed up and down, face to feet and then back again. “Glad we got to you in time.” She took her seat and conversed with the women by her side.
I leaned over and whispered into Kent’s ear, “What the heck was that about?”
“Don’t worry about her. Don't worry about any of them, really,” he said, pointing at the other ladies in the pew beside her. The other three ladies made no effort to get out of the pew—probably because Sister Clifton’s knobby knees were blocking the way—but their gazes were all fixed on me.
The woman next to Sister Clifton waved at me. She was a heavyset Black woman. She was wearing a really pretty pink dress, but it didn’t fit in with the styles of the other ladies in the pew; a bit more modern than the uniform black skirts and soft blouses.
"That's Ms. Dottie," Kent said, smiling adoringly at her. "She's my favorite." He waved his hand and beamed brightly like he was proud to be showing me off to all the people in his life, and it made my heart flutter with some strange new feeling I couldn't name.
"Ain't she a 'Sister' too?"
He shook his head. "She's never gone by Sister Pruitt. She's always just been Ms. Dottie to me." He waved even harder, getting her attention. "Hi, Ms. Dottie! This is my new friend, Gray."
Ms. Dottie returned Kent's wave. "Any friend of Kent's is a friend of mine, baby," she said with a stunning slow Southern drawl. "We'll have to chat later."
Their perfumes merged into a terrible fog of fragrance that smelled more like bug spray than something you’d buy at the department stores downtown.
None of the women offered me their names, but that was mainly due to the happenings on stage.
They were enthralled with the piano player who was tinkering away, playing The Old Rugged Cross.
Kent led me to the front pew, taking his seat on the end and patting the empty space beside him. On stage, Kent’s father stood from his red and gold throne and walked to the podium.