The Circle

I Pray

November 1995

         The what ifs can cause torment, grief. The what might have beens can bring pain, nightmares. The if only's can destroy a person. In late November of 1995, our local Pentecostal church had their regular Thanksgiving dinner event in the basement of the small chapel standing at the end of Sheldon. The main avenue cutting through Cooley connected all three of the town roads, Center, May, and Church. Sheldon ran perpendicular to Center and May, then branched  off at the very end. One arm arced north towards the car wash and Main Street and the other curved sharply twice into an s-shape before connecting directly to Church. It was on this branch that the chapel stood. A sturdy building constructed not by a single wealthy benefactor, but by the contributions of an entire community. In those days, Cooley was still 'pure', as they say. Seven pastors had come and gone through the First Pentecostal of Fairville, none staying for more than a decade, since its opening in 1955. My grandmother, being one of the founders, had a very personal investment of time and sacrifice in the very walls. Her children were present every Sunday, morning and night, and for evening services on Wednesday until they were 18. Likewise, I found myself seated in one of the worn oak pews at a young age, already learning of the blessings and the horrors the afterlife could bestow and the loving father who stood in judgment over all.

         Similar to school, I believed church to be a necessary evil. I did not particularly enjoy spending my time there, but I knew it was required of me everyday to go to school and I knew it was required of me every Sunday to be in church. In earlier years, the tedium of song service and the nearly unbearable boredom of the children's classes in the cold basement were all that I could expect out of the two and a half hours we spent in the chapel. As time passed, the classes changed as did the attendees. This did not completely resolve the boredom inherent in many of the teachings, which were little more than morality yarns crafted to shape our young and shiftless personalities. The better few were fire and brimstone accounts of hell or the end times, meant to scare us straight (and that very fact was often made explicitly clear to us).

         Each and every Sunday, organ music poured from the small structure as it awaited the gaggle of chattering souls meeting in praise of the Lord our God. The morning sun flared off of the seemingly ageless white siding of the building, as if sternly prompting for the returning parishioners to keep their eyes on the ground as they filed slowly up the front steps and through the large oak doors. Just beyond the small vestibule where jackets were piled layers thick on racks in the winter, one was greeted by an expanse of red carpet that ran to the pulpit and over onto the higher level where the pastor stood. The walls were mainly white, broken only by an occasional assortment of dried flowers. The ceilings were off white, stained ever so slightly by the passing of a generation.



         Things got a bit more interesting by the time I hit puberty. A new pastor was introduced to the church after the former Reverend Lilly's wife had become sick. The Reverend had decided to devote the remainder of his time to his wife. The new pastor, Didka, was a younger man than Lilly and stood roughly 6 and a half feet tall, towering over his flock. He had relocated from a small pentecostal church on the state border to the south, bringing with him all ten people that attended his sermons regularly. Half were from the Swanson family. The Swanson couple were young when compared to the majority of the Fairville pentecostals and had three children, two daughters and a son. The eldest daughter, Emily, was my age, the younger Amy was two years behind, and the son Eric was still only a toddler.

         The Swansons had a reputation as good Samaritans. The churchgoers in Fairville tended toward a more reticent worship in most aspects, however the Swansons were loud and proud of their religion. During the week, they used their spare time to spread the word on the little chapel on Sheldon and before long the numbers began to grow for the first time since its opening three decades earlier. Within a year of their arrival, the once sparsely filled pews were filled 5 to a row. Some attendants were forced to stand in the back at times. One of the many new faces that appeared was that of Tina Sanders. A year or two younger than me, Tina was one of two close friends of Emily that the Swansons brought to service every Sunday. Where there were only a few bored children in the sunday classes, there were now a colorful new assortment of excited bodies.

         I still tell myself that we were only kids, but the memories of those days remain unchanged. The truth is a hard thing to bury. I spent the previous summer running from the truth and Tina Sanders. In November, I had an opportunity for redemption, a second chance. The reasons for letting that chance slip away can be traced back to the summer of that year.


         The midday sun was nearly blinding in Cooley. The great yellow ball of fire reached its peak and mockingly hung there, filling the world with more light and heat than was tolerable. I walked lazily down Center, shading my eyes with one hand and watching for Nick. Before I had made it halfway to the old schoolhouse, Nick came coasting around the corner of Sheldon and Center on his bike. He peddled slowly, lounging back on the seat and squinting heavily through the haze filling the air between us.

         “I hate this fuckin' sun”, he said, zipping past me and peddling toward the lot. He came to a dead stop just inside the fence, causing his back tire to pop into the air. He quickly propped the bike up on the kickstand and was already off to the court before I could even reach the lot.

         Nick was full of energy regardless of the sweltering temperatures. Summer was his favorite time of the year. The way he slowed down in the winter and seemed to run on limitless fuel in the summer reminded me strangely of a fly. I never saw a fly in the winter, but they would still get into the house in late autumn. They were the easiest to catch in the bathroom where the heating vent was kept close at my father's demand. You could watch them fly back and forth and even see the wings buzzing over their backs. In the summer, they were little more than a black spot speeding past your field of vision.

         The branches overhead, though somewhat sparse, kept most of the sun off of us as we played. Nick was excited about something, but I didn't ask him what that might be. After a few minutes, he broke his silence.

         “You gotta come out early tomorrow. We got Bill and his brother to come out and play football up behind Kmetz's.”

         “Shit, you know I can't. I gotta go to church.”

         Nick rolled his eyes and sunk a shot from behind the grass line.

         “Dammit man, we're gonna have Dave and Brian and a couple a' guys from over there on Dupont. And the Hide's, both of 'em.”

         Jimmy and Danny Hide were both from Connelsburg nearly 40 miles away, but came to Cooley to see their grandfather Mr. Mace almost every weekend. Until recently, the two were usually forced to stay inside during their visits. This past summer they were simply dropped off by their parents and had made the streets of Cooley their unofficial weekend home. Jimmy had once told me that his grandfather had never liked them hanging around the house all the time in any case.

         “Fuck. That sucks. I've been wantin' to pound on Dave and those boys for awhile.”

         Dave Carson was the unofficial leader of a pack of the rich boys located in the northern part of Fairville. They rarely came to Cooley. Their parents all warned them about the unruly heathens on the south side. When they did visit our side of the tracks, we always enjoyed living up to our reputation. We never outwardly fought with them, but our football or basketball games were especially rough. The Dupont crew were usually not seen again in Cooley for some time after a visit.

         “Why do you always have to go to church?” Nick was a little more than annoyed that he had to spend Sunday mornings watching television or spending time with the others. “I mean, can't you just tell her you don't want to go?”

         “If I wanna get smacked, I would, but it wouldn't help. I have to go.”

         My mother yelled much more often than my father, but the only time I knew her to become violent was when we spoke of either money or church.  The last time I had fought her about attending service, I received a not so subtle lash across the face. One of her rings had been turned inward and left a gash on my cheek that needed ten stitches. On the way to the hospital, she had sworn that the ring had gotten turned around without her knowledge.

         “You gonna go get busy with the church girls, huh?” Nick loved to prod me about Swanson and her friends. He saw me speaking to them once in the churchyard and had tucked away the little meeting for future torment purposes.

         “The geek girls!”

         “Shut up, man. I can't stand them.”

         “Ahh...you like 'em, especially that Emily. Holy Swanson!”

         “Shut up!” I threw the ball hard at Nick. He jumped to avoid it and smacked his hands together as he laughed.

         “I fuckin' hate them. They bother me.”

         The truth was that Nick and the others bothered me. By the mid 90's, the Circle had become something entirely different than what was intended, unspoken or not. Where there had once been bonds of friendship and trust, there were now only strict ties of loyalty. The law of our group had become us against them. Still only children, we may not have been able to tell the difference, but there were those of us who felt the change. We understood that there was no longer a peace among us, that somehow what we had fought to keep out of our circle had broken through, or at least something similar to it had cultivated within our ranks. People like Emily Swanson and Tina Sanders would never be welcome inside.


         I sat low in the pew during service the next morning. Didka had cleared the floor to allow Mrs. Bricker to lead song service. The singing would start with everyone sitting and end with everyone standing. I was wishing I could be playing football with Nick and the crew right at the time I noticed Tina sneaking looks back in my direction. My face involuntarily turned red and I leaned back lower in the pew. When the music ended, the children and teenagers lined up and headed down into the basement for classes. I understood the pastor's and congregation's reasoning for not allowing us to stay up top for the sermon, but I would later have difficulty determining the logic in that reasoning after hearing the lessons the adults were taught by Didka while we huddled in one of three rooms in the drafty basement. The smaller children ran with screams and shouts to the room on the far end, while those in the 9 to 12 range went to the middle room. The oldest of us, including myself and Swanson and company, were sent to the first room on the left after filing down the steps.

         I moved slowly that morning and by the time I reached the room, Emily and Tina had already arranged the seating so that one chair remained between the two of them. Only six seats surrounded the tiny table in the middle of the room. Mike, the only other male in the room, sat at one end and our appointed teacher, Mrs. Swanson, sat opposite him. Tina and Meryl, another of Emily's close friends, sat on either side of Mrs. Swanson, and Emily herself sat next to Mike.

         “Well, I'm glad you could show up Jack. We were gonna start without you.” Mrs. Swanson was always suspicious of my every action, even more so since her daughter and her friends had taken more than a passing interest in me. Without answering her, I grabbed the chair that was squeezed between Emily and Tina and carried it to the other side between Meryl and Mike, where there was still plenty of space. I caught the look Tina and Emily gave to Meryl and before I could sit the chair down, she had scooted her chair over to block me.

         “Move.”

         Meryl's eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright pink.

         “Alright. Jeesh, Mr. Grouchy.”

         I never played games or teased the girls any longer. My responses were always as simple and direct as I could make them. I could remember a time when things had been different, when I had enjoyed talking to Emily and Meryl, but Tina had come along and changed everything. I sat down and kept my eyes on the table. Only once did I look up and meet Tina's eyes staring back at me. The lesson, as always, drew out until I thought I would simply stand up and walk out. When it was finally over, I was the first out of the room. I took the basement exit to the churchyard outside and trotted up the cracked and damp steps. The sermon upstairs let out at the same time and the adults were already saying their goodbyes for the week on the steps. I was halfway to the car when Emily caught up with me.

         “Jack!”

         I didn't want to turn, but did anyway. I knew she wouldn't let up until I acknowledged her.

         “What?”

         She stopped short as I turned, giving me a wounded look that made me feel bad in spite of the act.

         “Why are you like this? Tina likes you. I think she's pretty. Don't you?”

         “No.”

         I turned again and got in the backseat of our car. Emily stood where I left her under the oak tree for a moment longer, then threw her hands up and raced back toward the church. I didn't go out after we arrived back in Cooley. I didn't play football with the gang or even run around the neighborhood with Nick. When he came to the door, I told him I got sick and had to stay inside. Emily's words rolled around in my head all day and I was unable to do much of anything other than mope about. As soon as I thought about Tina, my father's face came crashing into my head. He poked fun of me every time he saw me speaking to one of the girls at the church and it infuriated and embarrassed me to no end. Nick and the others were no help either with their jokes. This was my business and everyone seemed to know. Everyone had their eyes on me when I was near one of them, be it Emily, Tina, or Meryl. The whole ordeal was a constant source of aggravation for me and I did what any immature kid would do, I blamed the wrong person. I had marked Emily and Tina as the enemy, Tina in particular. Emily's words, so simple, had ripped into me. Alone, without anyone watching, I was forced to admit the truth. Tina Sanders was not simply pretty. Tina was everything and had turned my world upside down, my mind inside out.


         The summer and succeeding fall months were the longest I had experienced. I avoided church as much as possible, feigning sickness when I could and lying about homework that was due at other times. When the annual Thanksgiving dinner rolled around, I had settled comfortably into denial. The church basement was crowded with not only the parishioners, but their families as well. My father had come to the dinner. I kept an eye on him while he stood talking to some of the men from the church. I did not want him to catch me within five feet of the girls. Emily tagged me most of the night, making the job much more difficult. I ducked outside every so often and walked a circuit around the church to pass the time and stay as far as I could from the girls. On the last trip I made that night, Emily rounded the opposite corner and ran straight for me before I could turn around.

         “Jack! Come here for a second.” The smile on her face told me that she was going to ask something I did not want to answer. “Jack. What's up?”

         “Nothing.” Though my father was nowhere in sight, I remained withdrawn. It was my only defense against the truth I did not want falling into the hands of my father or of the Circle. “What d'you want?”

         Emily's look of disappointment only slightly dampened her smile. The girl was intent on happiness in the face of any dejection. I would not look directly at her and after a moment of silence, she took one large step sideways to face me.

         “What are you so scared of?”

         It was a simple question, but of all the queries I expected from her, this was the last. As hard as I tried, I could not find an answer. What had given her reason to believe I was frightened of something? My actions only made me a jerk and I understood that, but I could not see any fear other than that of the embarrassment if my father found out any of the truth.

         “I'm not scared of anything. And now I gotta go.”

         I started around her when she grabbed the sleeve of my shirt.

         “Tina wanted me to ask you out. Like on a date, you know?”

         I could not hide the blood rushing to my cheeks, but thankfully the night and the absence of light on this side of the church did the job for me. Every conflicted feeling and aching thought that had plagued me over the past six months was honed on the edge of one question. I wanted very much in that moment to let go the last of my resolve, the illusion I had kept up so well. But the fear, I realized all to late, was real. And in one of the most damaging acts and painfully wrong decisions of my entire life, I chose the Circle.

         “No.”

         I turned and walked away from Tina Sanders.



         There is a point of no return, a point that even when there are ways, one cannot turn from. The collision course that led me down a path I would always follow was littered with frowns and missed opportunities. Throughout the remainder of the Thanksgiving dinner, I was only met with puzzled and hurt looks from Tina and the  knowing, piercing stares of Emily. I would see little of either of them in the remaining year I spent in church. My mother had stopped fighting with me over attendance. She had picked up more hours at work and had to miss service herself quite often. In the fall, I attended rehearsals at the church for my aunt's wedding. During one rehearsal, Tina and Emily had shown up at the front doors and were kindly told to leave, but not before they noted me attempting to hide my face as I crouched low in one of the pews. I assumed they waited outside the doors as long as they could, but the rehearsal had only just started and the sun had set before we were finished. When I stepped outside the front doors later that night, I could still smell her on the wind, cycling through the little churchyard. But circumstances would not always be so forgiving and I would face her one last time. Despite the horror of my earlier decision or perhaps because of it, the last time I met with Tina Sanders would be the time that haunted me the most.


         Any birthday among the Circle in Cooley was a near town wide event. Children and teenagers from two, sometimes three neighborhoods in Fairville would join the throng of those that littered the streets of Cooley with paper party hats and spark firecrackers. Nick and I were the kings of this little adolescent paradise, chasing the streets in and around Cooley at breakneck speeds on our bikes. The shouts of various friends and friends of friends were heard only briefly as we raced into the wind and took turns nearly bent to the ground. These were the days of early September and the air was still hazy with the summer heat. The hour was late and the heat had subsided from the near unbearable levels felt at midday. The wind as we rode made the afternoon all the more comfortable. We both wore t shirts and gene shorts, Nicks shorts being much too big for him and running midway to down his shins. He was already into the baggy clothes and expensive sneakers that defined the fashion among teenagers at the time. I preferred simpler clothes that fit more comfortably and didn't hang off my thin frame. As time passed, our style of clothes would not be the only schism that would tear apart our once inseparable comradeship.

         The temperature dropped slightly and the daylight began to fade when Nick caught sight of the girls walking down Peach toward Sheldon.

         “Oohh..hwhooo. Looky who's comin for you!”

         I watched in horror over his shoulder as Emily, her younger sister Amy, and Tina made their way down Peach street. We were still traveling quite fast and were in sight of them for only a moment, but I knew they had noticed us.

         “Fuck, man. What the hell do they want?”

         Nick, of course, could not let a good opportunity pass him by.

         “I know what they want!”

         He cackled loudly and smacked his hands together. We had been riding the past few minutes with our hands at our sides. At these speeds, one didn't need to steer.  I could not hide the flush in my cheeks and it angered me even more than I had already been.

         “Shut up man. I hate them. I can't stand them. Why do they got to bother me?!”

         I placed my hands on the bars again and sped up to hurry back into town. Nick was behind me in an instant, still laughing at my predicament. I raced back to the lot and parked my bike at the entrance, then stood in the middle of Center and watched the intersection at the end of the street. Nick had turned off at Bricker road and wound his way up toward Mace's where the Hide's were playing basketball in their grandfather's driveway. Most of the party had moved either back to Martha's or up toward Mace's, so no one bothered me as I stood just outside the gate to my yard and watched. Within only a few minutes, they appeared at the intersection. I jumped the small fence and into my yard, then peeked over and focused on the intersection again. They were nowhere in sight. Had they circled around? Were they already on their way here? I decided not to take a chance. Though the day and the party was not quite over yet, it was over for me. I went back into the house for the first time since I had left after 9am that morning, walked slowly to my room, and lied down on my bed. I did not realize how exhausted I was from the party and was asleep within minutes.

         I was woken an hour later by my mother. She was saying something about someone who had come to visit for the party, but I barely heard her. With some effort, I pulled myself off the bed and rubbed my eyes clear. The daylight had faded and orange rays slid through the half closed blinds and onto the floor. I trudged down the little hallway like an executioner to the chair. I thought about taking off out through the kitchen, but instead found myself turning the corner into the master bedroom. The stone patio was just beyond the sliding glass doors on the west wall.  The girl's sat on the plastic patio chairs surrounding the little stone table that made marks on the flat riverbed stones and concrete that composed the floor and walkway. My mother stood leaning against the stone table, chatting with the two older girls. Emily continued with her conversation when I stepped out onto the stone steps, but Tina was immediately quiet. The first thing I noticed was her hair. She had changed it. I understood now the reason they had taken so long to travel from the end of the street to our house. They had made a stop in at the salon. Tina's hair was permed and made her look even more beautiful, if that was possible. My mother turned in my direction when I sat down on a wicker chair opposite the table they all gathered around.

         “Was wonderin' when you were gettin' out here. Your guests have been waiting.”
         Tina kept her eyes on me the entire time. The perfect brown centers looked very small amidst all the white, changing only when I happened to glance up and catch her gaze.

         “I was sleepin'. It's been a long day.”

         My mother rolled her eyes, but Emily intervened before she could say anything. “Did ya' get everything you wanted?” Emily, as always, felt comfortable in any situation. She was a champion for her friend, determined to make this meeting go well, despite any objections I might have. I didn't answer her, but merely shrugged and feigned exhaustion, yawning and stretching my arms. I glanced once over at Amy, watching her sister with a large smile. I understood the girl's feelings; her sister was admirable. She acted far older and more mature than anyone I knew at the time.

         “So, what are you planning on making for the bake sale, Mrs. Shriver?” Emily continued her chat with my mother, while the rest of us sat in silence. Once or twice, I noticed Tina make an attempt to break the ice, but she would always resume her quiet watch without a word. If there was a nail nearby, I could have pounded it into my head. I feel the same way even after 30 some odd years, but not for the same reasons. One of the great jokes of life is that knowledge and experience cannot be separated, they are inextricably and temporally joined for better or worse. Had I the experience and thus the knowledge I have now, I would have known how rare one is shown such attention, such love, and how fleeting are the chances at capturing true happiness. Tina may have been young, as was I, however we were old enough to know such a feeling could be genuine. I never believed her affection to be an immature infatuation, nor did I doubt the motives behind my decisions regarding her, Emily, the church, that whole part of my life. Along with Nick, I had made the Circle, but we were also prisoners to it, bound by the same pressures and prejudices that had birthed our collective. It may sound a cop-out, but I could not break the chains at that age. I did not posses the experience, and consequently the knowledge.

         The conversation on the bake sale continued for a few more minutes until my mother finally stood and looked up at the sky.  “Well, you girls better hurry on home before it gets too dark.”

         Emily smiled and walked over to me. I stood just as she reached out and hugged me. “Hope you had a good birthday.”

         Slightly embarrassed by the contact, I could only quietly tell them thank you before I walked back into the house. I glanced over my shoulder once to see Tina watching me just as she disappeared around the corner. When I was back in the house, I quickly crossed the bedroom and made for the kitchen. I was not quite as fast as my mother, who caught my arm just outside the bedroom doorway.

         “Was that so bad?”

         “I don't know.”

         She shook her head as if she was disappointed in me. “You act just like your father sometimes, you know?”

         Those words come to me now through many doors into a different life. I am no longer that kid, no longer even the man he eventually became. I am a wholly different creature, but unfortunately burdened with his mistakes, stricken at times with the pain of his memories. I mentioned once that I led two lives. As for the first, Rachel may have started it down a bad road, but I willingly walked the last stretch. I never saw Tina in person again.