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He only has to go to a few more of these, then he’s done.
He’s expertly tuned the pastor out, digesting a few words here and there. He nods when the guys around him do. He gets better at it each time, just sitting still and letting his mind wander.
Wednesday night sermons are much shorter than Sundays, too. No more than 30 minutes, so that they have plenty of time afterwards for small groups. He’s done much harder things for 30 minutes.
Wednesday nights are easier in some ways and harder in some others. On one hand, they’re much shorter and he doesn’t get doted on by his mother’s church friends. On the other hand, his sisters are in another group and his mom is in a women’s study across the building. Since Derek doesn’t exactly click with the guys in his age group here (that’s the nicest way he can think to put it), he doesn’t have anyone to hide behind.
He studies beige walls as the youth pastor goes on about how everyone is a terrible sinner.
He doesn’t find that a fair assessment, there’s certainly levels to evil. He’s met evil before, and he’s not a teenager in a sanctuary.
He thinks of Carl.
It’s not startling to think of him; in fact, he actually does it on purpose sometimes. It’s like pushing on an ugly bruise to see if it’ll hurt and still wincing with surprise. He tries to breathe through it.
He’s been thinking about it a lot lately, trying to look at him and Carl from the outside rather than the inside. He knows there are words for all of the things that make him sick, but does his best not to think them. Putting words on things is always tough.
The part he cannot get over is his own foolish naivety. How, how on earth could he be so gullible as to think he could be so special to warrant all of the attention from Carl. He should have known or acted sooner. All signs point to that. He knew something underneath the affection was wrong and he still stayed and obeyed and gave in. Yet the hardest part, the part that makes him genuinely sick, is those later years where he had himself convinced he wanted it. The times that he did more than he was asked, talking himself into it, he wanted this, deep down he did. It was so much easier to convince himself he wanted it than swallow the pill that he was weak enough to keep letting this happen.
What would his mother think, he wonders for the millionth time. She used to tell him, on the way to church, to hold on to this childlike faith of his as, “God says whoever becomes like children is greatest in heaven”. She had no idea that his faith was nearly nonexistent by that point, she thinks that when he bows his head beside her on Sundays, he still means it.
Oh, and he was a child once. Look where that got him.
With God, he felt like the absence of an answer from Him was answer enough.
God was more like Santa to him at this point- he had no idea how he ever could have believed in him, and it irritated him to see his peers, some who he felt were smart, be so confident in his existence.
He did have faith at one point. He used to pray, even. He prayed a lot after his dad died, he did really try. His dad taught him how to do it, so when he was gone, he prayed every night for weeks, doing his best to replicate the placement of his hands his father taught him. He begged for his dad back.
It didn’t work, obviously, but he kept trying. That’s the part that makes him angry. He kept trying for years, he’d pray after football practice, his requests becoming more desperate every day. He’d pray until his knees ached, not like that was a foreign feeling.
God, make it stop.
God, make him forget me.
God, I’ll be better. I swear, I’ll be better.
God, please.
God?
He doesn’t remember what made him give up. It’s hard to remember some things, certain times- he guesses that’s probably for the best. Anyway, he doesn’t even pray reflexively anymore, not like his churchgoing teammates gesturing above them with each score.
Why would he keep talking when no one is listening?
He looks at a poster on the wall- the Lord is my shepherd- catches a few words in passing, “and that’s why we must bring all our burdens to God.”
He shifts in the seat.
He’s not angry about it, he tells himself. Or, maybe he is, only a little bit, because some anger could be allowed. Still, it’s not the core of it. He’s not sure exactly what to call any of it, anger is just too simple of an emotion.
His small group is just down the hall once the sermon is over.
The group leader is nice enough. He seems like he genuinely believes in what he’s teaching and has no ulterior motives. It’s hard for Derek to come to that conclusion with men older than him. Derek is aware that the bar is on the floor, but he continues to set it there.
There’s only six other guys in the senior boys’ group tonight. He hates the way they have to sit in a circle every time. He hates the eyes on him whenever he talks. He’s not paying attention to Caleb when he starts leading the group, but he catches on to what they’re doing. He really hates this one.
“I’d say personally, I’m struggling with being ungrateful for everything I’ve got, a roof over my head and stuff. Like uh, earthly desires and all.” One of them says.
“That’s good that you bring that up,” Caleb starts. “I think we all, especially as guys, hate to admit struggling with earthly desires. And that doesn’t just mean things we possess, it goes with lust too. The devil will do anything to distract us from God’s plan.”
Every time he goes here, they say the same things with different words. Caleb nods every time like it’s novel and brave of them to say it. They continue around the circle, giving half-assed answers, until it’s Derek’s turn. He doesn’t say anything for a second, looking at the stain on the carpet by his feet. For once, he’s honest.
“I don’t know, I guess I’m struggling with anger.”
Caleb nods. He doesn’t have a ready response for that one. “That’s a good thing to name, Derek. Do you think there’s something underneath that, though? Who is the devil wanting you to be angry at and what does he want to distract you from?”
The devil didn’t have to make him angry. He says nothing.
“Is there anything you haven’t brought to the group before that you’d want to talk about today?”
He can feel their eyes on him, their silent judgement that says that they know who he is- short-tempered, childish, brash. They think he’s too proud to admit some other sin, something every teenaged boy has surely done before but they’re supposed to think they’re fallen for.
“I don’t know.” He finally spits out, mouth dry.
“Well, you know where to find me if you wanna talk about it.” Caleb looks around, meeting his gaze with all the other boys staring at Derek. “It takes guts to be truly honest here, guys.”
He foolishly thinks that’s it for now and looks down before Caleb starts again.
“But the deal is, God calls us to be honest, he wants us to bring those sins to light. The devil loses power when we cast him down.”
Everyone nods at that, so Derek nods too. He does his best to act like this is new information.
They all stand around in the lobby at the end of the night.
Derek is very good at this part. He puts on the easy, quiet persona and smiles when he’s smiled at. He doesn’t say much, nor does he move much. His school persona is nothing like his church persona, but he doesn’t mind this because it’s normal. None of the guys he recognizes from school or football act the way they do here anywhere else.
He makes his way to the refreshment table and he’s only trying to get some water when Caleb comes up behind him.
“It’s always good to see you here,” he says.
“It’s good to be here,” Derek lies, immediately turning around to go stand somewhere with less foot traffic. He opts for leaning on a bench near the exit where he can observe his peers.
Desiree is among a group of girls in a corner of the lobby, each of them holding pattern-covered Bibles close to their chests. He knows, from what his sisters have told him, that the girls group discussions are quite different from the boys
He wonders, is it fake for them too? Is everyone here performing faith for someone they love?
Desiree’s smart, kind, and as much as he hates to admit it, she’s coming off as a much better Christian than he is. The church holds them differently. It wants her to be gentle and devoted. She wears those well, Derek can only hope its natural and not something she had to learn to perform like him.
The church wants a very specific version of him that he’d rather die than be.
He leaves a little earlier than usual. He’s going to have to wait outside for his sister, and he’s fine with that. He chooses physical solitude over the loneliness of a crowded room. He finds a bench and stares up at the stars, or what he can see of them in a cloudy, polluted city.
He could cry if he wanted. He hasn’t done that in awhile. A tear might have escaped his eye when he got the offer letter from Northwestern, but he cannot remember the last time he shut himself in his room and wept. That was something the younger, weaker, more sensitive version of him did.
Graduation’s soon, then he’ll work during the summer, maybe help some middle schoolers learn football. Then he’s never going to church again. Seriously. Unless his mama asks.
He doubts the stars will be much brighter at Northwestern, but maybe he’ll have some room to breathe there.
He hears the door open behind him, bringing a crowd of girls’ voices and takes one last glance at the sky before snapping back to his persona.
Nobody has to know at the end of the day. Not about Carl, not about God, none of it. He’s thought about it long enough to be sure. It’s like running with a weighted vest. At first it feels like you’re dying, but eventually you just start absorbing the shock and pain. You forget what it feels like to run free. Is that strength or damage?
Regardless, he's not going to tell anyone about this. Not the Carl thing, not the God thing, not any of it. There's no version of that conversation that ends well, no person he can picture sitting across from who would hear all of it and not look at him differently after. He's thought about it enough to know. Some things you just carry, and you get good at carrying them, and eventually you get far enough away that the weight starts to feel normal.
He turns to his sister when she appears beside him and they walk home in silence under the orange tinted dark sky.