Until I Break

Three

I've gone to church every Sunday since I was ten. Six years of church, rain or shine, without fail. I've walked through snow just to make the last twenty minutes.

Not because I'm religious though. Because Jam made me one week, to hear the music. It's one of those modern music churches where everyone stands. I'm pretty sure it's Methodist, but I could be wrong.

Even having my best friend try to drag me along every week to stand for an hour wouldn't have been enough to keep me there, no matter how much I loved him. So, yes, there is a girl involved.

No, not like that. She's a lot younger than me, like eight. Milly makes me want to be a teacher so I can be around younger kids all the time. She's one of those kids that makes everone smile, all the time. I just know she'll grow up to be someone real special.

I sit behind her, smiling and barely paying any attention to the one of the shorter sermons we have. She grins back, tiny hands gripping the pew.

I want kids when I grow up. Two kids, maybe both girls. Not that anyone would marry a guy like me - though if I got to wake up to my own two daughters every morning, knowing they loved me, I wouldn't have to worry about that.

Besides, maybe I don't even want to get married. After all, love is just a choice.

"Dude, listen to that celloist." Jam says. I look up. There's something weird in his voice.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Ehhhh..." He shrugs.

"Are you gonna...?"

"Yeah..."

I stand up and step out of the pew, Jam on my heels. We always sit as close to the back as possible, in case of stuff like this happening.

Outside the air hits us and I almost step back in shock. Not good, certainly not good.

"Dennis? I can't see anything." He's stooped over, clutching his stomach. Years slid down his tanned cheeks.

"Hold on, hold on." I mutter, pulling him towards the car with me.

Once we're in the car he doesn't car anymore. That's the rule, he just waits till we're in the car. Then he's fine to open up, do what's we he has to. This time he just sits and crys.

His hands cover his face. He does that too - just vets all over his hands like that in a messy kind of way. I don't do that. I try and keep composed, hold it back. That's what you're supposed to do.

We sit for two hours. When everyone came oit, not a single pair of eyes looked at us. Not even Milly's. That's cause she knows he hates it. Everyone knows he hates it.

"Let's go home." He says, pulling away his hands and wiping his tears.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I start the car and pull out.