The Green Rising

Chapter Seven

Saturday morning, I tumbled out of bed cocooned in the stench of Friday night’s frat parties. My head ached and eyes burned as I reached for a glass of water to soothe the rawness in my throat. Placing two ibuprofens onto my tongue, I nearly choked as the time—9:15—caught my eye. I’d overslept. I said a few curse words then scrambled to my closet in search of an outfit for church.

Once showered and dressed, with makeup slapped on and hair dripping water down my blue angora sweater, I drove away with few minutes to spare. Timed stoplights, not my friend today, guided me into the parking lot five minutes late.

Mad Max was pacing the sidewalk in front of the church’s entrance, his freshly-shaven face pinked from the wait outside. Khakis and a navy button-down replaced the typical lunatic attire he wore on campus. He could almost pass for handsome as he stood with a briefcase in one hand and his emerald robe in the other. Catching a glimpse of me, his relief curled into the brisk air as he exhaled.

“I’d begun to think you weren’t going to show, Lily. Like so many of the others,” he said as he opened the door and guided me inside while he slipped into his robe.

“Please accept my apologies. I overslept and was stopped by every stoplight on the way.”

“That’s very understandable. I’m glad you made it when you did—a few more minutes and you wouldn’t have gotten in,” he said as we walked through a long corridor. “I see you’re majoring in Social Work. How do you like it?

My pulse quickened as the memories of our conversation at Dunn Meadow came back to me. I hadn’t given him any information about me besides my name. “I’ve been working as a caseworker for the past two summers and really liked the work. Social Work seemed like a logical major for me. I won’t ever be wealthy, but I’ll make a difference.” I tried to mask my unease.

“From everything I’ve heard about you, you’ll make a fine social worker someday. They can be very influential,” he said as we walked into the worship hall.

Long, rectangular tables surrounded by folding chairs were situated in a way that better suited bingo games at the American Legion than a church. The only smack of religion in the room was something that I think was meant to be an altar. It was a table with a portable podium in the center. The table was lined with ivy, and potted plants cluttered up the top. People wearing various shades of green littered the walkway, while five plain-clothed people sat at a table to the left of the altar. People at individual tables were color coordinated, with the darker shades being more proximal to the exit. They made great sentries for a captive audience.

We weaved our way to the front as a number of members greeted Max and congratulated him on a new recruit. Strangely, none of them welcomed me as we passed through the crowd. It was as though I was invisible to them, nonexistent.

A woman wearing mint green and two wearing the green of shamrocks came to the tables and sat next to their recruits as Mad Max and I took our seats. A man in a hunter green robe with gold tassels draped around his neck motioned for Max to join him. “This’ll be just a moment,” he whispered as he rose to fulfill the man’s request.

I scanned the room for any familiar faces, but only strangers stared back at me. The room was full of people in their late teens and twenties, with a few thirty-somethings sprinkled in for good measure. A few children were in the mix, but no one that I’d label as elderly.

Ferns and ficus trees grew in pots along the walls as landscape paintings hung above them. I tried to shake the Bingo-game mindset and remember that I was in a church. Or at least something that the people outnumbering me called a church.