Rapture Practice (9 page)

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s supposed to remind me not to do anything impure with girls.”

Jason wipes his eyes, and nods. “Well… that’s cool, man. I mean, I guess that’s a good thing.”

Conversations about sex always take this weird turn with Jason. He’s had sex, but he wasn’t supposed to, and somehow feels he has to encourage me not to do it before I’m married, either. Technically, he’s doing the right thing—the thing my parents would want him to do. The rules at the Bible college and my Christian high school are the same: If it comes out that you’ve been having sex, you get kicked out. Every once in a while somebody gets kicked out for getting pregnant, or getting someone pregnant. The message is always made clear: God will forgive these individuals if they repent, but they can
never be virgins again. There’s a great sadness around the loss of virginity, the loss of a potential intimacy with one’s future spouse. As Dad says, “If you disobey God’s plan by not waiting for marriage, you’ll never know the special joys of only having been intimate with one other person.”

The funny thing is, when I look at Jason, I want to be just like him. I don’t feel like it’s a sad thing that he’s not a virgin. I don’t think he does, either. I feel like he’s part of a cool club I’m not supposed to want to join. Of course, I’ve never even had the opportunity to join it. I’ve hardly even come close. I kissed a girl who was working in the camp kitchen while we were at Timberlake last summer, but only once, and that was the week that my parents showed up to take me home.

I left camp last summer in a hurry. Right before the last two weeks, my parents arrived unannounced. They were
concerned
. I’d been too hard to get in touch with, and there were rumors I was running around with some college students of questionable integrity. I hadn’t saved a cent of the money I’d been earning, and they’d heard about the magnetic earrings Jason and I had worn back to camp one weekend.

They didn’t ask me if I wanted to leave; they simply announced they were taking me home. So I packed my stuff and climbed into the car. It wasn’t up for discussion—just like the ring they gave me last week.

The ring itself doesn’t bother me. It’s not like I’m getting lots of offers to rush out and have sex. Even if I was, I’m not certain I would want to. Still, there’s an annoying thought that buzzes my ears like a mosquito each time I glance down
at my left ring finger. Whether or not I will wait to have sex until I am married was never up for discussion.

There’s something I’ve heard countless times at church and my Christian school since I was a little boy: “God says it. I believe it. That settles it.” I know my feelings about issues like this don’t change the truth of God’s word—or Mom and Dad’s opinion about what’s best for me. I feel like I have no power, no control. I look around the cafeteria and realize none of these Bible college students is supposed to have sex before marriage, either. We’re all saving ourselves, and cheerful about it. As I look around the room, I can’t shake the feeling that I have no power over some very basic things. It feels like ankle-deep mud sucking at my sneakers. I’d probably agree I’m not ready to have sex yet, but it sure would be nice to be asked if I was.

After we’re done eating in the cafeteria, Jason and I check movie times and drive to a theater across town from the Bible college. There’s a mall with a theater nearby, but we skip it. Jason isn’t supposed to go to movies, either, during the semester, and we don’t want to risk running into anybody we know headed to Banana Republic while we’re at the ticket window.

Jason and I went to at least one movie every weekend last summer, and sometimes we’d see two or three. I’ve seen several more with him since we’ve been back from camp. I tell Mom and Dad we’re “going to the mall” or “hanging out at the college” and then we go to the theater. Each time I sneak
around to see a movie, I feel less guilty about it. Mom would say this is because I’ve seared my conscience.

“Aaron, once you quench God’s Holy Spirit by ignoring his still, small voice in your heart, it becomes easier and easier to ignore him and to sin in the future,” she told me once. “It’s like the scar tissue from a burn forms around your heart. Once you build up that layer of dead skin with no nerve endings, you can’t feel the heat, and you’ll hurt yourself again and again and not feel a thing.”

As we drive to the theater, I know there’s no way we’ll get caught tonight, but I’m still a little scared. It makes me think about a sermon Dad preaches called “Teaching Children the Fear of the Lord,” where he quotes Proverbs 9:10: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Dad says the word
fear
in the original Hebrew doesn’t mean “respect.” It means a healthy terror before an all-powerful God.

As we park at the theater, I look down at my gold ring. Do I have a healthy terror of an all-powerful God? Not so much. I think I have a healthy terror of what my parents will do if they find out I’ve been sneaking around. I’ve decided God doesn’t care about my going to see a movie, but I know my parents do. I’m still nervous they’ll find out somehow, but the pull of Julia Roberts is no match for the knot of nerves in my stomach. She’s been my favorite actress since I saw her in
Pretty Woman
last summer. The movie tonight is a thriller, and she plays the wife of an abusive husband and fakes her own death to escape him.

Jason and I speed back to the Bible college dorm and make it right on time for curfew. He does push-ups every night before he gets into bed, and tonight he insists that I join him.

“Drop and give me fifty, Hartzler,” he barks with a grin. He’s wearing only his boxers, and his chest and arms are flushed from the set he’s just done.

“Fifty? I’ll be lucky if I can do ten.”

“Well, you gotta start somewhere,” he says. “C’mon.” He shoves a pile of laundry out of the way and watches my form. I surprise us both and crank out twenty before I collapse.

“Nice job, man! Let’s see.” Jason jerks his head toward the mirror where he’s flexing. I hesitate, then pull my shirt over my head. The very faintest of lines has appeared down the middle of my chest between my pecs. I’m still pretty skinny, but I can see the promise of some definition there, and smile.

“Attaboy,” says Jason. “We’ll have you all ripped up in no time. The ladies won’t be able to keep their hands off you.”

“That’s exactly what my dad is afraid of.”

Jason laughs and starts taking out his contacts. I stand at the mirror and try to imagine a girl sliding her hands across my chest and gripping my arms. What would that feel like? Would girls really want to touch me? I glance at Jason’s back reflected in the mirror. He’s bent over the sink brushing his teeth. I can see why girls would want to touch Jason’s muscles. I steal one more glance at myself. I’m no He-Man, but I look okay, I decide. I should do push-ups more often.

I slip my T-shirt back on and climb up on the top bunk while Jason settles onto the bottom. We talk for a long time
about this girl Jason is going to ask out, and my parents, and how they’d freak if they knew we’d gone to a movie tonight.

“Don’t worry, man. There’s no way they’ll find out,” he says. “Besides, what they don’t know won’t hurt ’em.”

The trouble is, they believe it
will
hurt
me
. Jason drifts off to sleep, but I’m wide awake thinking about how a Julia Roberts movie could be bad for me. It isn’t that Mom and Dad are being strict for the sake of being strict. They’re afraid I’ll see people do things in movies and I’ll decide it’s okay for me to do those things, too. To them, it’s simple: black and white. They’ve made these rules to protect me.

As I lie on Jason’s top bunk, I wish it felt that simple to me. I wish I could protect Mom and Dad from who I’ve become. Ever since that day with the radio in the laundry room, I’ve been careful to show them the son they want me to be. I’m good at teaching kids, and singing songs, and playing the piano—I even enjoy all of those things. But I also enjoy Whitney Houston, and movies with Julia Roberts.

And that’s what troubles me. I’m very good at pretending. Dad taught me how to act and I learned well. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, but how long can I keep hiding it from them? Mom and Dad might not ever find out I went to a movie tonight, but I know I won’t be able to protect my parents from who I am forever. Eventually, they will find out, no matter how careful I am.

It could happen today.

It could happen tomorrow.

It’s only a matter of time.

A few seconds after the bell rings, I spot Daphne in her cheerleading uniform and slide into the desk she’s saved for me. Not that it matters. Mr. Gregg is late to history class again.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Daphne says, raising her voice over the din of our unsupervised classroom. This is the period following lunch. Near-lethal doses of Hostess snack cakes and Coca-Cola are flowing through the veins of our classmates.

“Thrilled to be here,” I say.

Daphne is one of the few African American students in grades seven through twelve at Blue Ridge Christian School. We met on the first day of seventh grade, and over time she’s become my best friend. From my short-lived, four-game appearance as the first male on the junior high cheerleading squad in eighth grade, to her house burning down during our freshman year, Daphne and I have weathered a number of ordeals, which have run the physical and emotional gamut from ridiculous to life-threatening.

“Where were you?” she asks.

“Going over my scenes one last time.” Miss Tyler is holding auditions for the high school play this afternoon.

“Are you nervous?” Daphne asks.

“Butterflies.” I point at my stomach. “I could barely eat.”

A shriek pierces the air from the far side of the room. Daphne jerks, whipping around in her seat as if stunned by a jolt of high voltage.

“Is that
really
necessary?” she asks in the general direction of the tumult. Her question is ignored, and she turns back to me with a sigh.

“Aaron, let’s describe the class.”

Without hesitation I turn toward the mob scene in front of us and assume the dulcet tones of a pro-golf color commentator:

“Welcome to Mr. Gregg’s fifth-period U.S. history class, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Aaron Hartzler and this is Daphne Walker. If you’re just joining us now, we’ll try to catch you up on the action already in progress. Dan Krantz seems to be experiencing a full demonic possession as he stands on his chair singing Jerry Lee Lewis’s ‘Great Balls of Fire’ in a special vocal style that can best be described as Helen Keller with a kidney stone.”

Daphne laughs and continues narrating where I leave off.

“Rick Street is passing a copy of his father’s
Playboy
magazine around the room in a Trapper Keeper folder as Stephanie Gutierrez practices a new cheer she’s just made up with the words of the Preamble to the United States Constitution.”

We continue to crack each other up by quietly summarizing what is going on around us until our teacher arrives. Later, when Mr. Gregg asks Stephanie to name the country he is pointing to on the map, she responds, “Texas.” Daphne turns to me and raises her eyebrows while I gently knock my forehead against my notebook.

This is why we’re best friends. There is an understanding between us. We
get it
. There’s a strange comfort in knowing another person bears witness to the absurd moments going on around you—the ones no one else seems to question. Every time Daphne catches my eye, a silent acknowledgment passes between us, and I know I’m not alone.

When the bell rings, we gather our books.

“Staying for the game tonight?” she asks.

I nod. “I’m not sure the clarinet is really necessary in a pep band, but for a game against Tri-City, it’s the best seat in the house.”

I don’t really care about basketball that much, but the Crusaders of Tri-City Christian School are our biggest rivals. Last season we lost to them on our home court when our best player was ejected from the game for goosing the ref over a bad call.

“Yes, who knows what drama may erupt on the court tonight?” Daphne says. “Meet me in the gym after school and we’ll go get some food before the game.”