Finding Faith (3 page)

I’m sure the congregation wasn’t
used to piercings and my few tattoos. I could understand that.
Everyone was different, including the holy rollers. Even though I
probably looked scary as hell to them, there were still a few that
treated me like their long-lost grandson and patted me on the head.
I didn’t hate that part as much as I should’ve.

I’d never had a grandma. Don’t get
me wrong, I’m sure I had one out in the world bouncing around, but
I’d never met her. When I thought of having grandparents, I
envisioned lots of baked goods and cheek pinches—the smell of
mothballs and handmade blankets. Some kids would hate that shit.
Cheek pinches or not, having some form of family should be
appreciated. I’d appreciate it.

I spent that first day of community
service painting over the old red brick that had been destroyed.
Luckily, the space wasn’t huge and the church planned on having a
local artist paint over the beige square I’d painted as a
cover.

Once I was done with that, I mowed
the front of the church. Cutting grass wasn’t anything new for me.
My adoptive mom went nuts if the grass got too tall. She was
deathly afraid of critters and she swore they lived in tall grass.
After having my ass eaten alive while mowing, I had to agree with
her.

I pushed the old lawnmower into a
little red shed on the side of the church and cleaned up in the
bathroom. After helping everywhere they needed me, I took a seat on
the last pew and waited until I could leave. The pastor had to sign
my community service paper, confirming that I stayed for the entire
sermon. I knew it was pointless to get him to sign it so I could
leave early. Asking a preacher to lie? Only I would think of
something like that.

My eyes rolled back in my head as I
tried to stay awake through the preacher’s blabbing. The pew was
hard against my ass and back and I was getting a kink in my neck
from trying to lay my head back against the wood. I prayed silently
that it would be over soon, but the preacher continued his rant
about Peter. So much for prayer making things happen.

My lashes tickled my cheeks as my
eyes fluttered closed once more. The sermon faded to the background
and my breathing evened out. Sleep had slowly come to take me away,
and I was well on my way when someone bumped into me.

My brain rattled and my teeth
clicked. My body jarred to the side and my eyes popped open. The
sweet scent of roses filled my senses as warmth invaded my side. As
quickly as the warmth came, it went as the person who bumped into
me hustled to move away.

Soft pink and luminous light
surrounded me. It’s all I saw. Her sweater, her cheeks, and her
lips… they were all soft pink and pretty. The light haloed around
her, giving her an angelic glow. The way she stared back at me made
me want to laugh. Her big doe eyes were wide, a mixture of brown
and hazel swirling back at me. Perfect white teeth showed as her
pouty lips gapped open in what could only be interpreted as
shock.

Chocolate waves hung loosely around
her untouched face. She looked like an actual angel, or at least
the way you’d picture one. Maybe they were real. Maybe I never saw
them because they only hung out in churches. All she was missing
was her wings. She was beautiful, but in a church-girl,
skirt-too-long kind of way. Lucky for her, I wasn’t into the
wholesome, angelic girls.

The last girl I dated was far from
wholesome. Of course, that only lasted a week, but still, I could
smell virgin on this girl a mile away. I’d lost my virginal blood
when I was fourteen and since then I hadn’t really slowed down. I
didn’t sleep around so much; I just dated… a lot.

The pastor stopped preaching and
his eyes focused in on us. The entire congregation turned to face
us, but she was too busy staring at me like I was about to catch
fire to even notice. I didn’t mind having attention on me. I
actually thrived on it, but I didn’t want everyone in the church
thinking I’d corrupted the chick next to me.

I could still feel the stares on my
back when I made it outside. Damn nosey-ass holy rollers. I walked
to the side of the church and lit a cigarette. I hadn’t had one
since earlier that day and I was having a nicotine fit. The moment
I inhaled, my skin felt tingly and my blood slowed in my veins.
Relaxation. It wasn’t like smoking some of that mean green, but it
would have to do until I was no longer on holy ground.

“
That’s bad for you, you know?” A
soft voice slid across me and soothed me like a drag from my
smoke.

I dropped the cigarette to the
ground and smashed it into the freshly cut grass with my
boot.

The angel from inside stood before
me with her hands locked in front of her. All her hair was pulled
to one side and spilled over her shoulder. I wanted to run my
fingers through it and see if it was as soft as it
looked.

“
Everything that feels good is bad
for you.” I grinned down at her.

“
I have to disagree.” She smoothed
out her skirt with her hands and stepped closer. “I’ve never seen
you here before.”

“
Maybe that’s because I’ve never
been here before.” I leaned against the wall, careful not to touch
the newly painted section.

“
Makes sense, but why are you here
now?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I
pointed to the big beige square. It looked dry already, but the
smell of fresh paint was still strong.

“
Oh.” Her face dropped. “I’ve
always loved the brick on this church.” She looked away from me and
ran her fingers across the jagged brick. “When I’m older and I have
my own home, I hope it has brick just like this. Please don’t ruin
it anymore,” she asked sweetly.

I wouldn’t defend my innocence
anymore. It was pointless. No one believed me anyway. The day I was
busted, my ex-girlfriend, Jenny, had kicked me out and I had to
walk home since I’d blown a head gasket in my fixer-upper mustang
while racing my boy Leroy like a dumbass.

It wasn’t my fault I’d used the
churchyard as a cut through or that I’d stepped into some paint
that ruined my favorite shoes. Who would’ve known there were people
inside the church that late and that they’d come out at exactly
that moment to catch me beside the church, trying to wipe the paint
from my shoes?

“
It won’t happen again,” I said
stiffly.

She nodded at me and then
smiled.

“
Faith?” the pastor asked from
behind her.

I hadn’t even noticed he was there.
He was a big man, taller than me by an inch or two, and from the
way he towered over her, I assumed he knew it. His black dress
pants were perfectly creased and his tie was neatly tied. I’d never
learned how to tie a tie in all my life, but the shit looked hard.
Salt-and-pepper hair dotted the sides and back of his head, leaving
a bald spot on the top that attracted the overhead
light.

I looked back at the angel in front
of me. Her name was Faith. It was a good name for her. I didn’t
know much about the meaning of faith, but something told me she was
the epitome of the definition.

“
Yes, Daddy?” She shrank in front
of him.

And then it all made sense. The
pastor’s daughter—somehow she became ten times more appealing. I’m
not sure what it was about untouchable girls, but it was human
nature to want something you couldn’t have. The odds of me bagging
a preacher’s daughter were slim to none, but I’d never cared much
about odds.

She went into herself at the sight
of him. I didn’t think she could get any smaller, but I was wrong.
He must’ve been a hell of a strict man. The poor girl probably
didn’t have much of a life. It was obvious she’d never seen a
fashion magazine since she had no sense of style. The sad-looking
skirt said it all. She was entirely too pretty to be dressed like
an Amish chick.

“
I think it’s time you came back
in,” he said as he looked over at me and gave me fake
smile.

His low voice spoke volumes. He
didn’t want his daughter anywhere near me. I thought it was funny.
I started thinking that maybe if I flirted hard enough, he’d
release me and tell my probation officer that I did everything I
was supposed to.

She turned back to me and smiled. I
couldn’t help myself. I winked and gave her my grin I knew the
girls liked.

“
It was nice meeting you, Faith. I
hope I get to see more of you.”

If looks could kill, the funeral
home down the road would be wiping my ass and gutting me. Her
father wasn’t happy with me and I was just fine by that. I wasn’t a
huge fan of his nonstop blabbing either.

The front door of the church
slammed after he ushered her back in. I laughed softly to myself as
I lit another cigarette and relaxed. Not much later, the people
started leaving the church and going to their cars.

I didn’t bother calling my mom to
come and get me. I’d already caused her enough shit as it was. The
least I could do was let her relax for the rest of the night. So
after having the preacher sign my paper, I set off for home on
foot.

I hadn’t really had to walk
anywhere since I’d bought my old Mustang when I was sixteen.
Thankfully, my mom didn’t ask where I’d gotten the money since it
took me months of selling white gutter glitter to afford it.
Selling cocaine at sixteen had gotten me quite a bit of shit, but
nothing as good as my sixty-nine Mustang. It looked like shit but
ran like a champ. At least it did until I got stupid and blew up
the fucking thing racing it.

I was halfway down the road when my
mom pulled over and picked me up.

“
You didn’t have to walk, Jimmy. I
told you I’d be there.”

I’d always loved it when she called
me Jimmy. My name was James, but she’d taken it upon herself when I
first came to her to give me a nickname. At twelve years old, it
was a nice change, just like her home had been. Being moved from
one foster home to another meant living in some pretty shady
places. The moment I walked into her house, I felt like I was
home.

She looked over at me with tired
eyes. The new pain medicine she was on was really taking its toll
on her. Right after I was sent to her, she started having awful
pains in her legs and lower back. She went to a different doctor
every month, but no one could ever tell her what was wrong. It was
the fifth doctor that finally diagnosed her with multiple
sclerosis.

Over the years, she’d gotten worse.
Her vision was wearing down and there were some days when she had
problems moving. I was there to help her out as much as I could.
She hated the help, but she needed it.

It was almost as if we were perfect
for each other. I was an unwanted foster child who was dumped in
foster home after foster home, and she was a woman who was unable
to have kids. No one wanted me. Once she was diagnosed with MS, she
needed me. It worked.

I could still remember the first
time I’d called her mom. I got in trouble at school and the
principal called her in. I’d introduced her as my mom in his office
that day and the look of pure happiness on her face filled me with
joy. I knew in that moment that calling her Mom had effectively
erased her memory of all the bad things I’d gotten mixed up in
since I moved in with her. It stuck from that point on. She called
me Jimmy and I called her mom. We worked. We understood each
other.

“
I know, but I knew you weren’t
feeling good when I left earlier. I have two feet and I could use
the exercise.” I playfully patted at my stomach.

“
Yeah, you’re such a fatty. Who
wants a six pack when you can have eight?” She joked as she reached
over and poked my stomach. “So how was the church
thing?”

“
It was okay—lots of praying and
preaching. I painted over the graffiti and cut the grass. That’s
pretty much all they needed from me today. Luckily, I don’t have to
go back until Sunday.”

“
Good.” She smiled as she worked
the car into the driveway.

I helped her into the house and
then waited until she was comfortable on the couch. Her
black-and-gray streaked hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving a
good view of her brown eyes and clear skin. Besides a few wrinkles
and the dark circles that had developed under her eyes, you’d never
know she was almost fifty.

I pulled a throw off the back of
our scruffy plaid couch and laid it over her legs. Once she was all
set up with her remote, I went into the kitchen and cooked a small
dinner for the two of us. It was late, but I was
starving.

We spent the rest of our night
watching our favorite sitcoms in the living room. The chair I sat
in had seen better days, but it kept me from falling to sleep since
there was a spring digging into my back. Our house and furniture
wasn’t the best, but it was home and it was ours.

When I first came to live with Mom,
Ms. Janet, she had a really nice place and I enjoyed living in such
richness. There were fine furnishings and the room she’d given me
was huge and covered in all things sports. All that changed after
her husband, Mr. Charles, died. We moved into something small on
the opposite side of town.

Mom hated the new place, but I
didn’t care either way. If anything, I was more comfortable in the
bad parts of town. The kids around our new house didn’t look down
on me the way the others did. I got in more trouble in school since
more trouble was readily available, but I was happier.