The Trouble Is

Chapter 28: Baptisms and the Fourth of July

East doesn't park his truck and then text me to come out like most guys do to avoid the 'rents. He actually walks up to the door and knocks. He's met Mom and Skip, so I have tried to tell him that this is not necessary. However, he insists.

Doug goes ballistic with excitement when East comes around. He will take East out back and walk him through his latest religion, chattering rapid fire as East nods his head in understanding. Sometimes East can convince him to play a quick game of catch or to go out to the driveway and shoot some hoops.

This time he shows up about an hour early, saying he finished early and thought he would just come hang with Doug for a bit. He heads out back while I go wash the lake water out of my hair. I take my time washing and drying my hair. There's something about the idea of a date for the Fourth of July that makes me take just a little more time with the whole getting-ready thing. I've never had a date for the Fourth. Actually, I've never had a boyfriend before at all. There have been dates of convenience, like prom dates and Sadie Hawkins dance dates, but nothing real, nothing involving feelings.

I only change t-shirts four times, which is probably a new record for me. I finally settle on an old t-shirt I found in East's truck.It has this faded red and blue circle with a Native American at the top and says "Milwaukee Braves" at the bottom. I am pretty sure it's not been washed, since it smells like the addictive mix of sunscreen and sweat and citrus shampoo that is East. My tattered jean shorts have that faded look most girls would pay a month's worth of allowance to own. Mom worked some kind of miracle for me with a sponge, some bleach, and a sharp knife. I try to do a messy bun but end up with a bird's nest on my head, so I punt as usual to a simple ponytail.

Standing at the back door, I hear East and Doug talking. They are sitting on top of the picnic table, and Doug is holding a bowl of water.

"Will you let me baptize you?" Doug asks East.

I don't think Doug knows I'm here listening. Or maybe it doesn't matter to him. The expression on his face says that the world consists of just that little spot on the picnic table. He is looking up at East's face, eyes squinting in the sun, making little crinkles across his face like an old man's. East pulls his legs up on top of the table so that he is sitting cross-legged. He rocks back and forth a little as if he is giving this some serious contemplation before speaking. When he finally does speak, it is so soft I can barely hear it. I feel sweat trickling down my back, and I try to freeze in place so that they do not notice me.

"What would that mean?" East asks. "You know, little guy, different people think it means different things. I would need to understand what you think it means before I can decide."

Doug sits there oh-so-still for a minute or two. Then he sets the bowl on the table and pulls his legs up to mirror East's.

"I guess it would mean you are a part of us, the family," he says slowly as if he is just now defining this.

"Which family?" East asks. "The family of God? The family of humans? The family of Harry Potter fans?"

Doug laughs a little at the Harry Potter image. I take that as a small positive indicator in a sea of incredibly confusing signs. East laughs along with him. It's a real laugh, like they are long-time friends.

"No," Doug says. "Into our family. The family of me and Anne and Mom and Dad."

I can't help but think that the whole backyard soirée into religion is coming together for me now, in this moment. As I finally figure things out, East glances my way, his face a question. I nod ever so slightly, silently saying yes, go ahead; please, let him. I nod because now I know: little Doug is trying to save us all.

There are moments in time that stand apart. Sometimes we don't realize it until long after the moment has passed and we have gained some perspective. But this is not one of those moments. This one hits me square in the face as it is happening. So I stand there, immobile, with sweat breaking out all over me in the July sun. I watch as Doug's little hands lift the bowl and his lips whisper what may have been a prayer or a blessing or the alphabet. He lifts a cupped handful of water in the air as East solemnly bends his head low enough so Doug can reach it.

After the water is poured, Doug places his hand flat on East's head and speaks loud and clear. "I baptize you, my brother."