Dream Smashers (16 page)

“Uh, that would be Evan, so put that tongue
back in your mouth. He’s off limits.” I push her playfully.

“Well, good for you.” She gives me a proud
wink. “I’m impressed.”

Evan reaches us and introduces himself to
Angel and then he leads us up the bazillion stairs into the looming
church with giant wooden doors. I inhale stale, cool air fringed
with fresh coffee and old wood.

“Where’s your family?” I ask Evan.

“They’re around somewhere. They like to sneak
in through the backdoor.”

“Good morning.” A wrinkled woman hands us a
folded flyer made of gold paper.

People stand around the lobby in groups,
eating cookies and drinking coffee and juices. They chat and laugh.
My nerves burn the lining of my stomach. Angel sticks close to my
side as though my sweater is made of double sided tape.

Evan pulls my hand. Angel grabs my other, and
we make our way as a train through the crowd of smiling, happy
people. Most are young, like twenty-somethings, with tattoos and
cool hair. Totally not the types of people I imagined at church.
Well, not the type of people who would be at Grams’ church.

Evan stops, I stop, and Angel runs into me.
“Oh, sorry,” she murmurs and then blushes. She’s out of place, or
seems to feel that way at least, and hides her eyes behind long red
curls. Something I’ve never witnessed her do in my entire life.

“This is Josh. He’s a youth leader,” Evan
says and then introduces us.

Josh, maybe only twenty, with messy brown
hair, flesh tunnels in his ears and Woody Allen glasses, holds out
his hand to shake mine. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Angel turns, day-dream like, to stare at the
stained glass windows in the next room, the chapel I presume, not
responding to anything Josh is talking about. Stuff about welcoming
us and various church groups and mentors. I don’t pay much
attention either. But that’s okay because he seems to be talking
more to Evan than us anyway.

We find an open bench in the back of the
small chapel. Three sections of benches, ten rows deep, surround
the front half of a cramped stage. Two electric guitars and one
acoustic-like guitar rest in stands on each side. A keyboard and
two microphones sit in front of two stools at the front of the
stage and a drum set fills the back portion. The dark wood walls
behind the stage encase a backlit stained glass of a cross at
sunrise. Spotlights reflect sparkles off the instruments.

I sit, sandwiched between Evan and Angel.
Evan waves at people entering. I pretend to look at the gold flyer.
Angel bites her bottom lip and stares at the ground and then the
surrounding colorful windows that tell stories of times billions of
years ago when there were angels and stuff.

A middle-aged couple scoots onto the bench in
front of us. They introduce themselves before turning around to
wait in silence for the service to begin.

Smiles. Waves. Hi-how-are-yous.
Just-fine-thank-yous. Handshakes. Hugs and sometimes kisses. All
around, filling the chapel, echoing like the buzzing in a bee
hive.

A thin, tall woman with blond hair pulled
into a bun of perfection on the back of her head, glances our
direction several times. She’s in mid-conversation with two women
surrounding her. The women embrace her and then she glides toward
us. My gaze snaps straight to the Bible nestled into the bench in
front of us, and then to the green carpet on the floor. Brush marks
from a vacuum give the illusion of two shades painted green, one
light and one dark.

Evan turns to face me. “My mom’s coming this
way.” He picks at a splinter of wood in the bench. “Remember what I
told you?”

“Yep.” I try my best to sound confident. “No
worries.”

He sucks in a chest full of air and then
blows it upward so his bangs flutter off his forehead. I laugh.

Angel pinches my leg. “What—“

“Good morning, love.” The blond woman hovers
over Evan. Thin lips stretch across white teeth. Not a trace of
make-up covers her glowing, ivory skin. Brilliant blue eyes gleam
beneath clean, blond lashes.

“Oh, hey Mom,” Evan says, jumping to his
feet. “These are my friends, Autumn and Angel.”

She reaches past Evan to hold my hand. Weird.
“Hello, Autumn. Welcome.” She takes her warm, soft hand back. “And
you, too, Angel. Both of you be sure to get a cookie before the
service starts.”

“Thanks,” we say in unison.

Evan’s mom pushes her shoulders back. “Okay
then.” She turns to Evan, winks and then walks away.

“Thanks, Mom,” Evan calls after her.

I shove Evan’s shoulder. “You totally had me
believing she was going to be some monster or something.”

His face scrunches into a confused grimace.
“Yeah, I’m baffled. Sorry, ‘bout that.” He shakes his head. “I
mean, she’s not a monster. She just isn’t friendly with my, uh…” He
blushes. “Well, you know. People I date. Girls.”

“Hello! What’s going on?” Angel asks. I fill
her in on the details of Evan’s prior warning of his mom.

One woman and four men squeeze through the
aisle to the small stage at the head of the chapel. The house
lights dim. Spotlights grow brighter. People find their seats and
the buzzing goes silent.

“Welcome,” the woman says. She wears low-rise
jeans, a crystallized belt buckle, and knee-high black boots. The
band plays. And not the type of music they play at Grams’ church,
either. Good music. Rock-like music, but with a folk-like feel to
it.

Evan nudges closer to me. His warmth rubs on
my shoulder. Angel squeezes closer to herself, stuffing her hands
beneath her legs. A screen above the stage displays lyrics, almost
like poetry, with words like Jesus and Savior and Love and Glory. I
like the instrumental, but maybe not so much the words. They feel
too mushy. The woman sings with a soulful voice traced with a piece
of sandpaper. Now, the words aren’t so bad. She should be on the
radio. She’s good.

The audience stands. Evan stands. Angel’s
eyes widen and dart around, almost horrified. We stand together.
Some people raise their hands into the air, like they are drying
out their armpits, or getting ready to catch a fly-ball or push the
ceiling with invisible force. The audience sings and sways. Evan
sways in a light breeze while the rest of the people are in the
middle of a wind storm.

I stand rigid, next to Angel, watching the
dancers and singers and prayers and the musicians rock out to
Jesus-loves-me songs.

The song ends. A new one begins, but not as
rocky. The acoustic guitar, drums, and a man’s voice performs a
slow song. A sad song, maybe. The lyrics appear on the screen.

When my world is crumbling to the ground

When I have only dreams and hopes heaped high
upon a mound

And my life is lost, blinded by the
unknown

And tossed to the famished

I can run to find hope

Or I can try to cope

With the battles thrust unto me

But I won’t give in

Or turn away

Because only you can set us free

Only you can set me free

Angel’s face turns to the ground. The music
is so loud, but I think she sniffs. Her hand moves to wipe her
face. I pretend not to notice. Moisture builds on my upper lip.

When life is gray, happiness goes away

Hopeless confounds thoughts

We seek pleasures that can only be bought

Powders, liquids, pills, they all delude

Strip the soul

Leaving it nude

Exposed, helpless, bound

Rotting the body

Please, I long to be found

I can run to find hope

Or I can try to cope

With the battles thrust onto me

But I won’t give in

Or turn away

Because only you can set us free

Only you can set me free

I feel all alone

Stumbling blind through obscure

Trapped in a great unknown

When faith is the only cure

I can run to find hope

Or I can try to cope

With the battles thrust onto me

But I won’t give in

Or turn away

Because only you can set us free

Only you can set me free

Free

Free

Your love sets us free

Tears prick my eyes, but I hold them in. A
vice squeezes my throat. The words replay in my mind. It’s as if
this song was chosen just for me, like God knew I’d be here today
and commanded the singers to perform this song I’ve never heard
before in my life and I want to hear again.

Evan’s hand hangs near mine. His finger
traces along my palm, shooting shivers up my arm and lightening my
heavy heart.

We sit. Another rock-type song begins. Angel
squeezes past me and then Evan and out the door to the lobby.

“I’ll be right back,” I say into Evan’s
ear.

***

She’s bound into a ball on the front steps of
the church, her head resting on her knees and back hunched, shaking
into sobs.

I sit next to her, unsure if I should say
anything, so I don’t. A few moments slip past, and then she rests
her head sideways so I can see her face and she can see mine.
Raccoon eyes and clown nose, she giggles heartlessly. “That was a
trip,” she says through thick voice.

“What happened?”

She wipes her nose on her hand, sits up, and
then rummages through her purse. “Do you remember when I became
known as the ‘go to’ girl?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know
exactly what she means.

“Oh please.” She snorts in a nose full of
snot. “You don’t have to play stupid with me. I know what people
think of me. It’s not true, though.” She pulls out her mini-mirror
to fix her face.

“So, uh, why do people think that you party
all the time?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it.” She wipes
the mascara from around her eyes with a tissue. “You know Justin
Daniels, right?”

“The football guy, right?”

“Yeah.” She puts the mirror down. It’s as
though fixing her make-up has turned her back into the Angel of
this morning before the weird church emotions exploded from her.
Except the whites of her eyes are all pink now. “Total prick. We
went out in, like, eighth grade. One day, he snooped around my
mom’s room while I was in the bathroom, and found my mom’s stash of
pot and stole it.” She shakes her head and exhales through her
stuffy nostrils. “It was an entire pound.”

“Oh, is that a lot?” Stupid question.

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes and then squirts a
couple drops of Visine into each of them and blinks until the drops
disappear behind her green and now brilliant white balls of vision.
“Oh, it’s only, like, three-hundred and fifty bucks. Probably some
jail time if he got caught with it. But the point is, he stole it
from my mom and then told the entire school that I gave it to him
after he fucked my brains out. As if he was the best fuck I’d ever
had. Crazy stupid.”

I never heard that part. Only that she sleeps
around and can get drugs and booze and stuff like that. “But what
about James?” I blurt before thinking.

“What about him?”

“Didn’t you get him started on crank?”

“Are you serious?” She tosses her make-up and
mirror back into the purse. “He was a tweaker when I met him.” She
shrugs. “I don’t do any of that shit. Never have. In fact, I don’t
even drink or smoke pot.”

“Is that why you were crying, because
everyone has a wrong impression of you?” I pick up a pebble and
write my name on the cement.

“Not really.” She takes a deep breath, shrugs
and looks down the quiet road. “Church and Jesus songs kind of get
to me, I guess. I wish I could be like those people in there.” Her
head nods back toward the church. “They have so much faith that
everything’s going to be okay.”

Drops of water fall from the sky, one, two
and then a bucket full. We jump from the stairs and run back into
the building where the faithful sing praises to Jesus, giving Him
their all, and causing strong girls like Angel to sob like a
baby.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“She seems nice.” Evan’s mother steps toward
Evan in the hall where he waits for the girls to come from the
restroom after the service.

“Oh, hi, Mom.” He leans against the wall and
shoves his hands in his front pockets. “Yes, she’s nice and sweet,
too.”

Mother adjusts the purse strap on her
shoulder. “Is this one in school?”

Evan sighs. “She’s a junior at Washington
High.” He knows what’s next. What church does she go to? Who are
her parents? What do they do? And he’s prepared to tell her that it
doesn’t matter. That Autumn means a lot to him and if Evan means
anything to his mother, she would trust him for once in her life.
He’s seventeen and old enough to have a girlfriend and she needs to
accept that fact.

“You know the only reason I chased those
other girls off is because they weren’t good enough for you—”

“Yes, Mom, but that’s not for you to
decide.”

“Let me finish.” She clears her throat. “As
hard as it may be for me, I’m not going to do that anymore. I want
to keep you protected and hold you close for the rest of your life,
but I can’t. You’re your own person.” She grabs his arm and pulls
his hand out of the pocket. “And all grown up.” She holds his hand
and leans against the wall next to him. “It’s about time you had a
little more freedom.”

A sadness fills Evan that almost equals the
excitement spilling from his pores. Almost. He wraps his arms
around his mother and holds her close before kissing her on the
cheek. “Thanks, Mom!”

She smiles. “I love you, honey.” And then
turns to leave.

“Love you, too, Mom!” Evan says after
her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE