Kinflicks (7 page)

“How
does Brother Buck know? He knows because he's been there hissef. He knows because he's thought corrupt thoughts. Because he's broken heavenly trainin' and lived a pre-verse life hissef, friends, usin' ever chanct he got to provoke tinglin' sensations in his mortal flesh. Yes, Brother Buck has lived a lustful life full of sin!

“When he played pro ball, he went to all the fancy places where wicked women sold theirselves up to vile corruption. The temptations were many and wondrous to behold for a country boy from Alabama, and Brother Buck failed the test, friends. Yes, he did. He tried ‘em all.” I looked over at Joe Bob and discovered that a thin line of saliva was drooling out the corner of his mouth as he munched his Juicy Fruit. His eyes were gleaming.

“But do you
know
what happened to Brother Buck with his wretched ways, friends? He ran into the goal post one night on a football field in Baltimore, Maryland. Yes, he did. And he landed up in Baltimore hospital. Yes, friends, ah lay with mah entire head wrapped up in bandages for one solid month, alone there in mah private darkness, unable to speak, unable to see. And that solitude, brothers and sisters, that lonely month there in the dark on mah back in bed all alone, was the turning point in mah pre-verse and sinful life!

“Ah want to tell you what happened to me as ah lay there, not knowin' if ah'd ever see again, much less play ball.” We were all hanging on the edges of our bleachers waiting for the punch line.
“Jesus
came to me! Yes, he did! He come to me and He says, ‘Brother Buck, don't you fret none, son. We're gonna clean out the temple of your soul, buddy, that body of yours whose pleasures you set so much store by. The
devil
has been lyin' in wait for you, brother, behind them rhinestone pasties. But ah got plans for you on
mah
team, fella!'

“And that's why ah'm here tonight, friends, Brother Buck right here in — ah — here with all you fine people tonight in — uh — this lovely town of — uh -.” He turned around quickly to the clerical-collared men on the stage behind him. Then he turned back around and said casually, “Here in Hullsport, Tennessee. Yes, ah'm here to let you all in on a li'l ole secret.”

Joe Bob and I strained forward in our seats, since all the world loves a secret. As we did so, our thighs rubbed together. I hastily moved my legs to one side — and bumped into the thighs of the strange boy next to me. I appeared to have no choice but to allow my left thigh to nestle up against Joe Bob's muscled right one. We sat rigid, pretending not to notice, as Brother Buck told us his secret in a voice that boomed to the rafters:
“You don't have to die, friends!”

He paused until the echo faded, then continued in a shout: “That body you're abusin', buddy, with your liquor and your lusts, that
body,”
he roared, then instantly dropped his voice almost to a whisper so that the audience strained forward as one to hear him, “is the sanctuary of your soul.” He stopped, sweat glistening on his forehead beneath his light brown crew cut.
“Your soul!”
he shouted again, so that everyone sat back, startled. “The Bible says, ‘Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God? Ye are not your own.”'

By now Joe Bob's and my thighs were pressed together tightly and were generating hot secrets within our respective soul sanctuaries.

Suddenly Brother Buck burst into the feverish pitch of revival preaching. It was like a thunderstorm finally breaking after hours of black clouds amassing. “Ah came here to save
souls
! Ah came here to share with you mah joy in the
Lord
! Yes, Jesus!” Brother Buck could have been quoting stock prices now and none of us would have noticed.

“‘The Lord is mah
Shepherd
! Ah shall not want!' Yes! The Lord says, He says in that last awful day of reckonin', brothers, on that day when your lungs fill up with blood, yes, and you can't call out to no one to come hep you! On that day, friends, when the film of death draws acrost your eyes and you can't
see
the loved ones around you! Yes! On that
day,
friends, when your ears are roarin' with the sound of your own organs collapsin' inside you! Yes! On that
day,
oh dear God that
day,
when your teeth won't stop chatterin' from fear, and your bones turn to jelly and your legs collapse underneath you! Oh,
friends!
That day when your precious body is crumblin' into dust and swirlin' away! Yes! ‘Behold!' Isaiah says. ‘Behold the Lord maketh the earth empty.' Yes! ‘And wastes it, and turns it upside down, and scatters abroad the inhabitants thereof!' Oh yes, sweet Jesus! ‘The land shall be utterly
spoiled,'
Isaiah says, ‘for the earth is
defiled
under the inhabitants thereof!' Yes, praise God!”

The emotional climate in the auditorium was rising now, particularly in the immediate vicinity of Joe Bob and me. Our thighs were positively aglow. People in the audience were starting to shout back at Brother Buck: “Yes, Jesus!” “Praise God!”

“Think about it,” he invited us, suddenly quiet. He was playing us as though we were hooked fish, giving us emotional slack now in order to reel us in more quickly later. “You've broken trainin' all your life. Your body's a stinkin' sewer of ever vile corruption you can name. Your team has lost the game because you're all just reekin' with sin. You're slouchin' toward the dressin' room thinkin' bout the hot shower that's gonna feel so great on your bruised body. But as you walk into the locker room, friends, you hear your teammates weepin' and howlin' with anguish.

“What's waitin' for you there in your dressin' room, friends? Do you know? Let's listen to the Bible and see,” he suggested, holding up a black book as though fading back to pass it into the audience. Flipping through it nonchalantly, he stopped and read slowly, “‘Behold,' Isaiah says, ‘the Lord will come with fire, and his chariots like a whirlwind, to render his anger with fury, and his rebuke with flames of fire.'”

His tempo and pitch were picking up again. “‘The people shall be as the burnings of lime, as thorns cut up shall they be burnt in the fire,' says Isaiah. Oh dear God! ‘Ah will tread them in mine anger!' Yes! ‘Ah will trample them in mah fury!' Yes! ‘Their blood shall be sprinkled upon mah garments, and ah will stain all my raiment!' Oh sweet Jesus! ‘They shall go forth, friends, yes, and they shall look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against me,' says the Lord. ‘Their
worm
shall not die, neither shall their
fire
be quenched!' No! ‘And they shall be an
abhorrin'
unto all flesh!' Oh woe!
Woe!
Listen to this from Corinthians, brothers and sisters, ah beg of you! ‘Be not deceived: neither fornicators, no, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves, shall inherit the kingdom of God!
The body is not for fornication but for the Lord!' Yes, praise Jesus! ‘Know ye not
that your bodies are the members of Christ?'
Know ye
not? ‘Shall I then take the members of Christ and make them the members of an harlot?
God forbid,'
says Corinthians! Rather, ‘Flee fornication!'”

Joe Bob and I were unable to sit still. Blood was throbbing in my thigh along the area where it contacted Joe Bob's. The entire audience was squirming. If Brother Buck had told us all to go burn down the Major's munitions factory, we probably would have.

Sweat was dripping from Brother Buck's face as though he had been standing under a shower. “On that horrible last day, friends, when the losin' team is howlin' in the locker room, what about the winnin' team? What happens to them, do you think? ‘We need not fear,' says the Psalm, ‘though the earth be moved, and though the hills be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof rage and swell,' friends; ‘though the mountains shake at the tempest. We need not fear.'
We need not fear!”
he announced, his face expressing delighted astonishment through its layer of sweat. “‘Be not afraid of them that kill the body and after that have no more that they can do!'

“And so Brother Buck pleads with you tonight, folks: Turn your back on the corruption of this vile and hateful world, and purify yourself to be worthy of the next. Yes! It's not too late to swap teams if you start followin' trainin' tonight. ‘Flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kingdom, neither doth corruption inherit incorruption. But when the corruptible shall have put on incorruption, the mortal shall have put on immortality.'

“Do it tonight, friends. Brother Buck begs you. He pleads with you from the depths of his heart. Put on incorruption. Put it on tonight. ‘Cause then only shall be brought to pass the sayin' that is written, ‘Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?'”

In an exhausted voice, Brother Buck invited everyone who intended to lead a new life as a teammate of Christ to come forward. “Do it tonight, brothers and sisters,” he intoned as Joe Bob and I walked automaton-like toward the stage. “Give up your wicked ways and inherit eternity. Shed dishonor and put on glow-ry.” If he had invited us to come sip his bathwater, as medieval messianic figures did, Joe Bob and I would have gone forward as obediently. We joined about two hundred people at the foot of the stage.

“Take the hand of the person on either side of you, brothers and sisters,” he panted, loosening his string tie as though it were a noose. Joe and I obediently clutched hands, and at that point the dove descended. We stood there, Joe Bob and I, our clasped hands sweating and trembling.

“Let us pray,” Brother Buck instructed. “Father, our Coach, hep us, Father, to run Thy plays as Thou wouldst have them run. Knowing, Lord, that Christ Jesus Thy quarterback is there beside us with ever yard we gain, callin' those plays and runnin' that interference. Hep us, Lord, to understand that winnin' ball games depends on followin' trainin'. Hep us not to abuse our minds and bodies with those worldly temptations that are off-limits to the teammates of Christ…” Joe Bob was stroking my palm with his fingertip. Shivering sensations were running up my arm like an electric current and were grounding out somewhere below the navy stretch straw belt of my Villager shirtwaist.

“…and hep us, Celestial Coach, to understand that the water boys of life are ever bit as precious in Thy sight as the All-American guards. And when that final gun goes off, Lord, mayst Thou welcome us to the locker room of the home team with a slap on the back and a hearty, ‘Well done, my good and faithful tailback.'”

“A-man,” Brother Buck added as an afterthought. “A-man,” echoed the rest of us.

“All right, you can drop hands now,” Brother Buck said sotto voce to the group up front. Regretfully, Joe Bob and I peeled apart our sticky palms. “Now what ah hope,” Brother Buck said into the microphone, “is that some of the young people in this group down front here — and any of the rest of you kids in the audience who didn't bother to come down because you've already received the Lord as your Savior — those fine kids, ah hope, will form the nucleus of a Brother Buck Teen Team for Jesus, right here in — ah — Hullsport, Tennessee. There are groups all
over
the South, and ah think you'll find that they're the comin' thing in our high schools. Soo…that's all for tonight, friends. And God love you!' He waved to the audience, who stood up with much rumbling of folding chairs.

Several dozen of us remained down front — Hullsport's saving remnant. Most were Joe Bob's fellow football players and their girl friends. Joe Bob squared his massive shoulders and walked boldly over to Brother Buck, who was squatting on the edge of the stage talking to prospective Teen Team members.

Joe Bob introduced himself and pointed to me saying, “And this here's my friend Virginia. I'm — uh — the captain of the Hullsport Pirates.” He looked at the floor with modesty and minced his Juicy Fruit with his front teeth.

Brother Buck said thoughtfully, “Just a minute now. Joe Bob Sparks, you said? Why, yes, ah do believe ah've heard of you, son.” Joe Bob glowed. “You've had a good season so far, as I recall.”

“Six and 0,” Joe Bob confirmed.

By the time I dragged him away, he had signed us both up for the Teen Team for Jesus, Hullsport branch.

The next night at the Family Drive-In Joe Bob and I were watching a movie called
Girls in Chains,
to which no one under eighteen was supposed to have been admitted. It involved a gang of female motorcyclists who roared around cutting the safety chains off the cycles of their male counterparts and then hiding the cycles in clever places, like in the trunk of a police cruiser.

Joe Bob took his right hand off the steering wheel, which he'd been gripping tightly. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached down and groped for my hand, which lay panting, palm up, on the seat next to him. After all, Brother Buck himself had told us to join hands. We knitted our fingers together, both studying the screen intently and trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was happening. His huge hand with its stove-in knuckles enfolded my small skilled flag-twirling hand like a pod around a pea.

This was my first experience with the concept that I have now, after extensive experimentation, formulated into a postulate:

It is possible to generate an orgasm at any spot on the human body. Our hands, thus interlocked, took on lives of their own. They trembled and shuddered for the rest of the movie, as Joe Bob and I, though pretending to watch the antics of the girls and their safety chains, made our captive hands the focus of our entire existence.

The movie over, neither of us knew how to disengage ourselves in a nonrejecting fashion, although by now both palms were slimy with stale sweat. Joe Bob shifted into reverse, using our clasped hands as a unit. On the way home I asked, “Do you ever think about stuff like what Brother Buck was saying last night?”