A Small Voice

Chapter Nine

7:50 p.m. Sunday, September15, 2001

The thousands of people gathered floated on a spiritual high as the Evangelist called for unbelievers to come to the front and embrace salvation. I looked down from my place on the stage, indifferent. Close to a hundred people came to the alter. They seemed so earnest. Many in tears. I was jealous of them. I looked out at the multitude and wondered why I could not be like them. I closed my eyes and grabbed my long, dirty blond hair wishing I wasn't so weak, wishing I would be easy for me, wishing I wasn't a monster. Rachel sat in the front row beside Jan, the wife of the Youth Minister. She looked so pure.

The Evangelist gave the cue, and we led into a song with heavy guitar and drums. Huge, colored spotlights illuminated the lyrics projected on the wall behind us, and a smoke machine hissed from the side of the stage. The worship here was a big production, like a rock concert.

In all the commotion, nostalgia came over me. I thought back to the old church, the church where I went when I was young, in the days when I had just met me Rachel. I could see the old wooden building, could almost smell its musty scent. And even though my early memories of church and religion were not on the positive side of the spectrum, I preferred it to this.

I looked down at Rachel again. She was just as stunning as the day I met her. Her hair was still long and dark, eyes still full of life. She had changed, though. She now had the strong, confident voice of a woman. Her young, wild side, the part of her that had been curious to explore the world had disappeared, as it does with most adults. I felt the world had lost some of its color for her, and she seemed to move through a more black and white landscape. This change mad me sad, depressed even. I still loved her though, maybe more than ever.

In the far back row, I could vaguely see Brittney, my guitar student. Britt was blessed with the body of a porn star. With huge tits, bleached-blonde hair, luscious, puffy lips, and a large, but firm ass, she was a girl that became the fantasy of every man, young or old. I could feel her staring at me, not participating in the service like Rachel, whose hands were raised in worship as she sang. Brittney was just staring in silence, a cold stare that made me tense, yet also excited. She was a very curious girl. Young, but her interests mature, and leaned toward the dark and unsavory alleys in life. The places angels fear to tread. I wasn't sure if I loved her, but I lusted for her. She was a intoxicating, and she could fuck me up unlike any other drug I'd consumed—and by now, I had consumed a shit-ton of drugs.

I slipped my hand into my pocket when the song was over, pushing open the small pocketknife and rubbing its sharp edge with my thumb. The hypocritical saint had become a sinner once again. The angel, now fallen, a demon; an imposter in the house of the Lord. The nostalgia I'd felt was now being replaced by something else. I needed a drink.