Chapter 8
If driving to a remote hilltop to wonder if your musical dreams are worth resurrecting didn’t feel dramatic enough, sitting next to your best friend while they accuse you of being a witch should do the trick.
Rebekkah’s car rolled to a stop, the gravel crunching softly under the wheels as they pulled up to the familiar overlook. She turned off the ignition and sighed, taking in the view of Greater Napanee stretched out below them.
Japheth, leaning forward slightly to peer through the windshield, snorted. “Or hell.”
Rebekkah turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”
“Seriously,” Japheth said, gesturing to the town below, “it depends on who you ask.”
Undeterred, Rebekkah smiled softly, her gaze sweeping across the landscape.
“Greater Napanee was the home of Sir John A. McDonald, Canada’s first Prime Minister.
The silent film star Harry Ham was also born right here in Napanee.
Not to be confused with Harry Hamlin. And Lesley Thompson, women’s rowing Olympic gold medalist!
It’s also the hometown of Avril Lavigne.
But her debut album and record smashing single Sk8tr Boi won’t come out until 2002, so at this point she’s irrelevant. ”
Japheth turned to her, brow furrowed. “I was following you until you started speaking in tongues again. Right at the end there. Something about the future?”
Rebekkah shot him a playful glare. “What I’m saying is that it’s possible for big dreams to start right here in Greater Napanee. Why are you looking at me with your nose scrunched like that? What are you thinking?”
Japheth narrowed his eyes. “Are you a witch?”
Rebekkah blinked, taken aback. “What? That’s what you’re thinking?”
Japheth crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat as if preparing for a deep revelation. “You just prophesied something about Avril Lavigne and a debut album three years from now. Isn’t that the girl who always comes through the Saddles ‘n’ Spurs drive-through on her skateboard?”
Rebekkah nodded. “Yes.”
Japheth’s mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief. “She gets a record deal?”
“It’s just what the voices told me,” Rebekkah teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Japheth pointed at her accusingly. “Okay, and when you came to the Saddles ‘n’ Spurs drive-through last week when I was working…”
Rebekkah rolled her eyes. “And you yelled at me for holding up the line!”
“You were holding up the line!” Japheth shot back. “And you said, ‘Just because we didn’t win doesn’t mean we didn’t win that talent contest.’ And then we won. So… are… you… a witch?”
Rebekkah laughed, shaking her head. “Was Simon Peter a rock? Was Simon Iscariot a chariot?”
“I’m not sure. I always get the Simons mixed up.” Japheth leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’d given up, Rebekkah. I had wrapped up my musical dreams in a box. With packing tape. Duct tape. All kinds of…”
“Uh-huh. I get it,” Rebekkah interrupted, smirking.
Japheth held up a hand dramatically. “And put that box of dreams high on a shelf. I was done. I thought it would just gather dust, and I would serve jalapeno-infused chicken wings for the rest of my sad little life.”
“And now?” Rebekkah asked, her voice softer, and her eyes searching his.
“And now…” Japheth took a deep breath, looking out over the town. “Now I’m wondering if I should get out my step ladder. And my scissors. Climb those rickety ladder rungs. Reach way up. And unpack that box.”
Rebekkah grinned, shaking her head. “You are a meandering storyteller, but I’m with ya.”
Japheth bit his lip, glancing down at his hands. “I’m a little scared.”
Rebekkah nodded, her voice gentle. “Me too. Japheth, you are my best friend, my partner in prayer, the Milli to my Vanilli. I’m worried too. What if we meet this Ronald person and we don’t like him?”
“What if he can’t sing?” Japheth added, his brow furrowed in genuine concern.
“I’m pretty sure he can’t sing,” Rebekkah deadpanned. “He dribbled a basketball for the talent show.”
“Exactly!” Japheth threw his hands up. “How is that going to… how can that be part of what we do?”
“I don’t know,” Rebekkah admitted, her voice trailing off. “But you and I have been spinning in our heels for years. Trying desperately to be seen, to be noticed. Our music and acting careers have really stalled…”
“But you were so good in our scene study last week!” Japheth exclaimed, his face lighting up as he turned to her on the bench seat of her Oldsmobile.
“I know that. And you know that,” Rebekkah replied, her tone firm.
“But what happens in my basement won’t win us a Gemini or a Juno if no one’s there to witness it but us.
This just might be our big chance. And look at how it’s all come together–a weekly radio show on WWJD means people could hear our music, and we get to share our love for Jesus. ”
Japheth smiled softly. “Amen. But what if…”
Rebekkah shook her head, cutting him off. “What if we don’t? We already know that sad story and it has me living with my mom and you covered in Ring of Fire wing sauce for the rest of our lives. This Ronald guy is supposed to be a great drooler.”
“Dribbler,” Japheth corrected, chuckling.
“Maybe he’s got other mad skills too,” Rebekkah continued, her tone hopeful. “We have to giddy-up and let God make the path where we can’t see it. If God wants us to be a throuple, then who are we to question it?”
Japheth turned to her, eyes wide. “You think God wants us to be a throuple?”
Rebekkah’s eyes sparkled as she grinned. “It’s gotta be God’s plan.”