Ravens, Nightingales, and Bluejays

Chapter 1

"Sorry, I'm late," I whispered to my mom as I walked into the Christmas service. Heads turned in my direction as I sat walked down the aisle to sit with my family. Maybe it was just me, but it was pretty obvious I was back from the land of up-to-no-good.

"Where were you, baby?" My mom whispered, grabbing my hand to get my attention.

"Uh-" Out with a boy? But I couldn't say that to my parents. I couldn't. They'd probably kill me. "Friend's house."

"Okay, well sit." She pointed toward the seat next to Lydia, my 13-year-old sister. And I grabbed you a candle." She passes me a mini candelabra that only held one candle. It had a drip tray attached to it, and thank God because the suit I was wearing was a rental.

"Thanks," I whispered. A man came up to us then and passed us a tray with little plastic cups that held crackers and juice. They were supposed to represent the body and blood of Jesus but why anyone would want to pretend they're drinking blood, I have no idea. My dad took two, passed the tray across my mother and to my sister, who also took two, and handed one of her double-stacked cups to me. I have no idea where the tray went after that because all I could see was the blood sloshing in the cup. It oozed down the sides of the cup when I moved it and I started to get queasy. Lydia tugged at my shirt and yanked me out of my trance.

"Aren't you gonna eat it?" She asked as she passed the tray on.

"Thank you," the recipient whispered kindly. He grabbed the tray, offered a cup to his wife, which she took with a giant, uncalled for grin. They held hands, bent their heads down, and prayed together. It'd be totally fine if they hadn't drunk the blood in unison. They seemed a little cultish to me, and I couldn't believe someone could be so happy to be drinking blood. The man smiled and stood to pass the tray on to the next row. He didn't even let his wife touch it just like my dad had done. When all the trays were passed around, the pastor started sharing the story of Jesus. I mean what else do you talk about on Christmas Eve? Then everyone put the cracker in their mouths and I quickly followed, pretending like I knew what I was doing. But why had that couple chosen to drink the blood right away? Everyone raised their glasses to their mouths and drank the juice so I followed. It definitely tasted like juice and not the metallic taste that I imagined it would taste like, but it still looked like blood. And the more I thought about it being blood, the more I wanted to puke.

"Communion is meant to symbolize our spiritual connection with Jesus. If you feel you're not right with Him at this time or if you are questioning whether or not you should take it, then I invite you to decline. It's okay if you're not right with God at the moment and I invite you to come talk to me about it." Well, I wish I had known that before I'd taken it. Did I mention my pastor has a southern accent? That'd be fine if I lived in the south, but I don't so I can never understand him.

"Is it over?" I asked as everyone got up.

"Yes, honey," my mom said annoyed. "The service is done."

"Oh, right. Are we going home now?" Wow. I gave myself a mental facepalm. Don't make it so obvious that you don't wanna be here, Levi.

"Yes, in a few minutes. I want pictures of you guys in front of the tree first." We waited in line and I kept my knees moving so I wouldn't pass out. Thinking about the blood made me queasy. My sister pulled my hand toward the giant tree in the foyer and we stood together for our Christmas photos.

"Look alive there, son," my dad chuckled patting me on the back.

"Levi, honey. Smile, please," my mom told me. I tried but I was so dizzy from the blood that I'm sure it didn't look like much.

"Now, a family photo!" Our pastor said grabbing the camera from my mom. My parents came and stood behind us and our pastor took a few photos.

"Joseph, you have a beautiful family," he told my dad. "A bright young man and a beautiful little girl. I'll see you on Saturday after the holidays for the Men's Breakfast, right?"

"Of course, sir," my dad shook his hand firmly. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Levi, you are welcome to join us too if you'd like."

"Uh-" I stuttered, caught off guard.

"Of course, he'll come," my dad answered for me. He literally took the words out of y mouth, except those were not the words I would have used. "When do you start cooking?" Wait, did he just volunteer me?

"6:30 am sharp. I'll be glad to see you both," he walked away to go talk to other families and I smirked. At least I wasn't the only one roped into volunteering. After that, my mom led us out to our car.

"Are you sure you're alright, son?" My dad asked as we walked out to the car.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said practically ignoring the question, but my dad blocked my path.

"You know if there was something wrong that you could tell us, right?" No, I couldn't. You'd hate me. You'd kick me out. You'd never forgive yourself if you found out. You'd never want to see me again. I'd be homeless. I wouldn't get an education. I'd die for nothing. "You would tell me wouldn't you?"

"Of course I'd tell you," I laughed nervously, trying to lighten the mood.

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." He hugged me and my smile fell. Levi, you're a terrible liar. It's gonna come out someday. But how long could I hold off before I slipped up? How long before they found out?