darker greys What am I doing? Everything is grey. Go buy the new Rufus Wainwright album on Tuesday. It's amazing. Track 1 and 7 in particular. I hope I'll be alright...

In honor of my scared feelings, here's part 2 of my story New Era... (Part one is further down the page)


“Lunch?” I barely have time to think, and the word comes out of me.
“Great! My house is only a block away!”
Before I fully comprehend what’s happening he’s pulling me down the street and amazingly I’m following him without argument, either verbal or physical. We come upon a house next door to the odd looking plant-building that I had seen on my way into town. Neither of us has said a words in the 2 minutes or so that the walk took.
Jim’s house is completely typical of a town this size. It is painted white and has a screen door on the front. The front door is open behind the screen door and there are black shutters built next to each window. Jim opens the gate at the front of his yard and motions me through it. I’ve come this far, and I’m scared to death of what might happen if I tried to back out now, so I walk past him and then wait for him to open the screen door.
“No, go on in,” He says jovially, as if he had anticipated my unspoken question, “Door’s unlocked.”
I walk up the front steps and open the door and find myself in a small parlor with décor straight out of the early 60s. The conservative plainness of the setting makes it somehow more unnerving than if rats and dead flies had been all over the floor.
Before I know it, Jim is guiding me through the living room and into a kitchen. The kitchen is painted a blinding white, and the outside light coming in through the two windows is enough to fully light the room. Everything in the kitchen looks like an antique, down to the icebox and gas powered stove. There’s an 8 by 10 drawing of Jesus on the while. In the picture, Jesus has his hands together and his eyes shut and his head turned skyward. The picture holds my attention in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible until Jim breaks the monotony.
“Wife and daughter’ll be home any minute. We always eat as a family,” He proudly recites as though he’s said this same sentence thousands of times. “You’ll like my wife and daughter. They’re good decent folk.”
I haven’t said a word to Jim since apologizing so that he’d take his hand off my wrist and I realize that there’s no way I can make it through this without conversation. I consider my options and decide to dive headfirst.
“So you’re the preacher at that church, huh?” I ask him, trying not to sound like I’m forcing conversation.
He looks at me strangely, “No, I’m no preacher. What gave you that idea?”
“Well you… came running… out of the church and you had a bible, so…” I trail off, stymied.
“Oh, so you gotta be a preacher to carry and read from a bible, do you?” his eyes flash dangerously again, “You think good honest folk like me and m’family don’t read the good book? Well let me tell you something, son, we read from this book every day at every meal and before bedtime, and we enjoy it. We’ve read it cover to cover more times than I can count and it just keeps getting’ better every time we open it.”
“No… of course, I’m sure it’s great,” I tell him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… I just assumed since you came out of the church that you were the minister.”
He softens somewhat, “Well it sounds like an honest mistake, son. Nope, truth is I just take care of the building. Love my work. God’s work is good work,” again he says this last line like he’s rehearsed it.
He looks at me expectantly, “Wouldn’t you agree, son?”
“Yes, sir,” I agree, nodding, “It certainly is.”
“Well good, I sure am glad to hear that from you!” he says, actually slapping his knee, “Now where’s my wife and daughter? They shoulda’ been here 3 minutes ago.”
As he says this, I hear the front screen door open and two distinct female voices coming from the living room. As they get closer, I realize that both of them sound very familiar. As this realization occurs to me, Beth from the Internet kiosk, and the cashier, Carol, from the general store come into the room. As soon as they see me, their conversation abruptly stops.
They look at me for an uncomfortably long time until Jim says, “Awww, don’t worry about this boy. He’s asked forgiveness.”
Beth and Carol look relieved, which frightens me, and Beth sits down at the table while Carol begins to busy herself in the icebox. Beth is staring at me intently, and I’m becoming more uncomfortable then when it was just Jim and I. Once again I decide to break the silence.
“So, uh, I know you’re Beth, and you’re Jim,“ I start, “But I’m not sure I know your name, ma’am.”
The cashier turns around with a smile, “Ooh, such manners. I can’t remember the last time anyone called me ma’am,” she actually seems to be blushing, “My name’s Carol, honey. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”
“His name’s Jon,” says Beth, smiling at me in a very disarming way.
“That’s right,” I confirm, feeling like an idiot.
“Well we’re the Johnson’s,” says Jim decisively, and for some reason the two women laugh at this, “Jim, Carol, and Beth Johnson. Nice to make your acquaintance, Jon… I’m sorry, what was it?”
“VanOss, and likewise, sir. Very nice to meet you.”
Jim cranes his neck and stares off into space, “Hmmm, VanOss, huh? What is that German?”
“It’s Dutch, sir,” I tell him, wondering why he’s asking.
Jim’s eyes narrow and in my peripheral vision I can see that Carol has stopped preparing food. Only Beth is still smiling at me. I look around at them and raise my eyebrows as if to ask what was wrong.
Carol breaks the silence, “We don’t smoke marijuana in this house, Jon,” she informs me piously, “And we would appreciate if you wouldn’t either.”
I don’t even have any pot with me so I say, “No, of course not. I wouldn’t think of it. I’m only half Dutch anyway.”
Jim and Carol both relax without a word and Carol goes back to her cooking. Only Beth looks different, and if I’m not mistaken she has a flirtatious glint in her eyes. She keeps staring at me and smiling and me and Jim finally seems to notice. He gives me a dirty look and then turns to his daughter and stares at her until she puts her head down. Then Jim takes his miniature bible out of his pocket, which I find strange because I noticed a full sized one on the living room table on my way into the kitchen.
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit,” he begins, “I hope you enjoy the Beattitudes.”
“Immensely,” I stammer.

The Dessert Prayer and the Rocking Horse

It takes roughly a half an hour for Jim to finish both his reading of and his ruminations on The Beattitudes, and I’m feeling exhausted. Carol finally brings the food over to the table, bringing us each a separate plate. Each of us gets a ham and cheese sandwich cut diagonally and some potato chips on the side. She also sets a vase with flowers in the middle of the table for no apparent reason.
“Jon, what would you like to drink, honey?” Carol asks me, smiling sweetly, and then, not able to contain herself, “Oooh, I just love the Beattitudes, especially when Jim reads them.”
“They are very good,” I tell her, thinking I should ask for my soda that she threw away, “And I’ll have water, please.”
“Ice?”
“Please.”
“I always have water too,” Beth says turning to me and smiling, making me uncomfortable.
“Well it keeps you hydrated,” I come up with, “And I’ve never had a cavity thanks to fluoridation.”
“We like our water natural, son,” Jim looks at me as if to challenge my statement, “No additives or chemicals. We keep our bodies and souls free from the devil’s inventions. May sound old fashioned to a Dutch boy like you, but that’s what we like.”
I don’t feel like going into how I’ve never even been to the Netherlands and that I’m also Scottish and Norwegian, so I simply nod, acquiescing. He nods back at me as if we’d reached some sort of silent agreement, and then picks up his sandwich and takes a huge bite of it. He chews and then smile, satisfied.
“Carol,” begins Jim, “Your ham and cheese sandwiches get better every time you make them.”
I take a bite, “They’re very good, ma’am.”
Carol is positively beaming for and we eat in what I consider to be a blessed silence for the duration of the meal and upon its completion, she brings out chocolate chip cookies. I take 2 and put them on my plate, and as I’m setting them down, I notice that once again the entire family is staring at me. Jim and Carol look angry and Beth looks worried. I look back at them completely confused.
“Jon,” says Jim, “You didn’t wait for the dessert prayer.”
“Oh, I’m very sorry,” I reply, “Should I put the cookies back?”
At this, Carol visibly shudders and Jim puts his hand on her shoulder in a consoling fashion, never taking his eyes off of me. Beth still looks worried, but has also placed her hand on Carol’s other shoulder. It takes me a moment to realize that her other hand which is under the table seems to be rubbing my leg, though I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or accidentally.
“What’s done is done,” Carol says to me looking like she’s trying to hold back tears, “I just knew something like this would happen. The meal starts out so well, something had to ruin it.”
“I am so sorry,” I tell Carol, “I’m sorry I didn’t know the customs of your meals. I should have waited.”
“What’s done is done,” Carol whispers.
Jim looks at me and shakes his head as if to say you should have known better and I just look back at him, not knowing what to say. Beth’s hand is definitely on my thigh now, this time lightly squeezing and I casually turn towards her and see that she has a mischievous look on her face. I surreptitiously take my hand off the table and bring it down to where hers is squeezing and gently remove it from my leg. Beth noticeably stiffens in her seat, but says nothing and Jim is too busy comforting Carol to notice. Beth looks at me, hurt. My hand is still holding hers, and I squeeze it reassuringly and her expression becomes placid.
The next thing I know, Jim’s hand has found mine and I turn to him, startled. He bows his head and shuts his eyes and then I notice that everyone has joined hands, and my eyes wander to the picture of Jesus on the wall.
“Lord, bless the remainder of our meal to our bodies. We glorify thee above all else. In thy name, Amen,” recites Jim, letting go of my hand, reaching for a cookie and turning to me, “You may as well eat what you already took, there.”
Meekly, I pick up my cookie and take a bite, “It’s delicious,” I tell Carol, but she doesn’t answer me, or even look at me for that matter and I’m surprised to find myself feeling very guilty. Again, I look over at the picture of Jesus, but he’s not giving me any advice.
“So what brings you to New Era?” Beth breaks the silence, and I’m surprised that no one had asked me that earlier.
“Well I was driving with nowhere to go and I saw the sign and it seemed appropriate, so I turned off the expressway and here I am,” I say, watching them watch me with rapt attention, “I was thirsty and I thought the Internet Kiosk had a café in it so that’s why I went in there first.”
I decide not to bring up my trip to the general store for fear of further upsetting Carol who still doesn’t look like she’s recovered from the cookie incident. She stares down at her lap breathing heavily. Jim and Beth, however, are still watching me closely, and seem very interested in what I’m telling them.
“I grew up in a town a little bigger than this, and I thought this might bring back some memories,” I continue, “Of course you three are the only people I’ve met, let alone seen since I got here. Doesn’t anyone else live here?”
The silence after this question begins to become an uncomfortably long one until Beth asks, “How long are you planning to stay?”
“Well I don’t have to go back to work until Monday, but there’s nowhere to stay and I don’t really think there’s much to do here,” Even as I say this I realize my mistake.
“Well you’ll just stay here then,” exclaims Jim, and Beth’s face brightens up, “We can show you our way of life and maybe learn you a thing or two. In fact, you can help me out with some stuff at the church this afternoon.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother to you guys,” I say, cursing myself for getting in this situation, “And I’m really not looking for a new way of life.”
“Maybe you are and you just don’t know it,” Carol speaks for the first time in a long time, “And we won’t take no for an answer, will we Jim?”
“Absolutely not,” Jim says, “Now come along back to church with me and we’ll get to good honest work.”
Just as I’m about to stand up, Beth gives my leg another squeeze and it catches me off guard and I end up jerking my knee up and hitting the table. Jim and Carol look at me strangely. I don’t even dare to glance over at Beth. I continue standing up and decide to not even say anything about it, hoping they’ll just think I’m strange, and the irony of that puts a smile on my face and when I finally do glance over at Beth she sees me smiling and her smile widens.
“You comin’ or aren’t ya’?” Jim queries as he walks out of the room and I have no choice but to follow him.
As we walk out the door I notice that their mailbox seems to have been recently painted white, and whoever had done it didn’t use primer because I can tell it used to be red. As Jim walks ahead of me I also can’t help but notice that his pants are much too short on him. Certainly both these things are attributable to the obvious weirdness of these people and I don’t give it too much thought.
Jim leads me back towards the church and just as we’re at the door he stops, turns around, and asks “What’s your favorite book of the bible, son?”
“Exodus,” I say randomly, aside from thinking Exodus is the coolest sounding name of the books of the bible.
Jim nods at this and apparently decides not to follow up his thought. We enter the church into a musty narthex area. The church is very small and the sanctuary is immediately in front of us. It doesn’t look like it would hold more than 50 people if that. The carpet is red shag and there is nothing in the front other than a pulpit and an upright piano. I have to give it to Jim that the place seems spotless, although I can’t imagine it takes him very long to clean, and furthermore have no idea what he expects me to help him with.
Lost in these thoughts I don’t notice Jim going to his knees until I turn and he’s no longer standing next to me. I look down and he’s kneeling next to me, his small bible out and in the semi-darkness I see his lips moving while he reads to himself. I squint closer and see that he’s opened his bible to a passage in Exodus and I’m hoping that he doesn’t ask me what my favorite verse is.
“You stretched out your right hand and the earth swallowed them,” Jim says looking up at me, “I love the story of Moses leading the people away from the Pharaoh.”
I smile at him indulgently then say, “So what exactly are we going to do this afternoon?”
He gives me an odd look like I should already know the answer to this question and gets to his feet. He leads me over to a small door I hadn’t noticed upon first entering the church. Jim opens the door and I can make out a set of stairs leading upwards.
“Go on up,” Jim urges me, “You’ll know what to do when you get up there.”
He smiles at me expectantly and I have no choice but to begin my ascent. After I’m halfway up the stairs, Jim closes the door below me, startling me. I keep going up and get to another door at the top of the stairs. I’m hesitant to open it but do so anyway, the hinges squeaking in protest, like a sound effect from a B horror movie.
The room that the door leads to is long and rectangular with institutional white walls and is completely empty save for a rocking horse that lays on its side. There are two windows that allow light into the room and immediately upon entering I notice what appear to be brownish stains on the carpet. Are these what Jim wants me to take care of? If so, there are certainly no cleaning materials in the room and I have no idea what would be so obvious up here for me to do.
I look around, considering my options. The windows are big enough for me to get through and I approach one, looking at the ground beneath. To my dismay, Jim is outside raking although there are no leaves anywhere to be seen and this is summer. There are no other doors to the room and nothing in the room except for the aforementioned rocking horse.
I pick up said rocking horse and place it in a standing position. The horse and I look at each other and not knowing what else to do I sit down on it, promptly breaking the springs and cracking the plastic of the horse’s body. I recoil in horror at what I’ve just done and realize that this may be much worse than taking a cookie before the dessert prayer.
Cautiously approaching the window, I can see that Jim is no longer raking leaves below me. I try to raise the window and realize it has been painted shut. Lightly hitting the frame yields no results and I decide to give it a hard shot. I pull my arm back and throw it forward with what I hope will be enough force to jar the paint loose from the frame.
To my horror, the force of my blow causes the wood to crack and one of the glass panes to shatter. I step back and shudder. Things are not getting better and I don’t want to see Jim’s reaction when he comes up here.
Enough is enough, I decide, and begin walking down the stairs towards the door at the bottom. Just as I’m placing my hand on the knob, the door swings open and I’m face to face with Jim. I jump and grunt at the surprise of seeing him. He does the same. We look at each other for a few seconds.
“Get everything figured out up there? Jim asks me.
“All set, I think,” I say to him, “How about you?”
“Everything looks to be in order,” he tells me, “I’ll just go upstairs and check out your work.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Jim,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t hear the panic creeping into my voice, “I did a good job and you can take that to the bank.”
Jim looks at me angrily, “Don’t keep money in banks, son. Don’t you know nothing’?”
I shake my head, dumb-founded at this latest oddity of Jim’s, “No, I have a checking account.”
Jim shakes his head, “You have so much to learn. So much.”
With that, he turns and walks towards the exit of the church. I follow him, not knowing what else to do. As we make our way towards the door I become aware of a faint odor, somewhat sweet, but unpleasant at the same time. Cleaning solution of some sort, maybe. Knowing better than to mention this to Jim, I keep my mouth shut and follow him out into the sunny afternoon.
Jim and I make our way back towards the town, and the silence between us begins to get uncomfortable. I weigh my options, thinking that every conversation thus far has led to dead, angry ends. The only thing I can think to talk about is music and so I bravely open my mouth.
“So, what kind of music do you like, Jim?” I ask, bracing myself for the worst, but to my surprise, Jim’s face softens as he turns towards me.
“Well, you’re a music fella, huh?” He starts, “I love music myself. Used to own all of Jim Nabors’ records back in the day. Course, don’t have much use for them now.”
“I saw an ad on television for a CD of Andy Griffith singing hymns,” I tell Jim, getting nervous. I don’t know a thing about Jim Nabors’ or Andy Griffith’s music and I have a feeling that Jim may want to discuss it. His eyes are growing wistful, but at least they don’t look angry.
“Oh, Jim Nabors had such a beautiful voice. Just beautiful,” says Jim, and if I’m not mistaken his eyes now appear to be welling up with tears, “God blessed that man with so much. But then he had to ruin everything with fame and fortune and sin.”
I wasn’t aware that Jim Nabors was much of a sinner, and I silently question the validity Jim’s knowledge. One thing I will not do is ask him about it. But Jim appears to be on a role now.
“And Andy Griffith was even worse,” Jim’s tears have been replaced by anger, “Oh his television show was nice enough, but glorifying the town drunk was too much for me.”
“So how old are you, Jim?” I try to change the subject, “55, 56?”
Jim smiles, “Don’t flatter me, son. I’m 65 years old and grateful for every day the lord has given me.”
“So am I,” I tell him, knowing I’m lying.
As I say this, I realize that we’ve reached the internet café that’s not really a café. Jim opens and holds the door for me and I walk in before him. Once inside, I see that the one computer in the place has a can of soda sitting on it. I turn around to look back at Jim and he smiles at me, “Compliments of Carol.”
“Please tell her thanks, Jim,” I tell him, and then bet it all, “I’ll just grab it and be on my way.”
“What’s your hurry?” he asks to my dismay, “We thought you’d let us put you up for the night.”
No way, I am thinking. These people are crazy, I am thinking. If I stay, then I’ll be crazy too, I am thinking. Their daughter is attractive, I am thinking. There is no way I can stay given my current situation, I am thinking. Their daughter is attractive, I am thinking. Their daughter smiled mischievously at lunch, I am thinking. I shouldn’t stay, I am thinking.
“Well thanks, Jim, I guess that will be fine,” I am saying before I even know it. Then I am kicking myself mentally.
Jim beams, “Wonderful,” he claps his hands together, “And if you thought lunch was good, just wait until you see what Carol can do with dinner.”
“Sound great,” I reply, as enthusiastically as possible.
Jim exits the premises and I find myself alone in a room with a computer and Diet Coke. The computer looks ancient and the Diet Coke has an expiration date of almost a year ago. I’ve had enough expired Diet Coke to know I don’t want another one. I glance around to see if I can find a door for a bathroom where I can flush this, but the only door in the place says “Employee’s Only” and I’m thinking that this isn’t the best time to break that rule.
“Beth?” I call out, wondering where she’s been lately.
Almost immediately she comes out of the forbidden door looking better than I remembered. She says nothing, only stares at me in that disarming way. I find myself lost for words for a moment until finally I see she’s looking at the soda in my hand.
“Umm, this expired like almost a year ago,” I begin, trying to gauge her reaction but she’s stone faced, so I keep stuttering “And, uh, I’ve had expired Diet Coke before and, uh, I really don’t like it.”
My voice trails off and she’s still standing there mute. She lifts her eyes to meet mine and I’m amazed that I hadn’t noticed how attractive she is and how she looks nothing like Jim and Carol and how I begin to kind of want her in spite of myself and the weird situation.
“Well I’ll drink it then,” Beth finally says, making me jump, “They never let me have soda.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Who do you think?” she asks rhetorically.
“Why don’t they let you drink soda?” I must sound incredulous, but since Beth seems as old as I am, I can’t understand her parents controlling her on that level anymore.
“Caffeine is evil,” she replies, sounding like she almost believes what she’s just said but not quite. “I haven’t had any caffeine since we were all in…”
Beth stops abruptly and looks panicked but recovers quickly. She begins again, “Since I was young and we lived somewhere else.”
“Well you can help yourself if you want it,” I tell her, “But I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
Her eyes light up visibly. They’re blue and match my own and I’m finding her more and more attractive and I think I’m blushing and it makes me nervous. At least I didn’t approach her, I’m thinking. I can’t approach girls, but I can talk to them if I have an in. She’s already opened the soda and is drinking it fast, seeming to enjoy every bit of it.
“So, it was hot out today, no?” I say, kicking myself for that stupid opener.
She stops drinking, “Brutal.”
Now I’m patting myself on the back, “Well, at least I picked the right shirt for it.”
I’m wearing black and she’s wearing white. She giggles at this and I’m pretty sure my blush is getting deeper, but I laugh with her in spite of this and she looks at me and then down at her shirt and then back at me. I’m wishing I was wearing my black David Bowie shirt. It’s much cooler than this plain one.
“That’s funny,” Beth says, and then starts blushing herself.
I consider my options. I can stay here and flirt with Beth or I can walk out the door and get in my car right now and get out of this town and never look back and go home and try to pick up the pieces of my old life and work on being happy even though I have no prospects there and my job doesn’t pay me enough and I can’t seem to… I decide to stay.

To be Continued...

End.

  ¶ 7:42 PM