A Sunday in L.A., 1981

“I have a confession to make,” Norby said with a sloppy grin, and Michael had to wonder if he was already high at this hour. “We don’t go to church much when you’re not around, Jimbo.”
         
James smiled good-naturedly. “I know.” He didn’t say that was okay with him- but he knew.
         
“So we’re doing this for you, our guest.” Norby yanked on his tie at that moment for emphasis. “Where you wanna’ go? What’s your favorite flavor church? L.A.’s got ‘em all, man. Catholic, Protestant, New Age, Jehovah’s Witness, Mormon, even those funny little Amish with the-“
         
“Episcopalian or Baptist will be fine,” James interrupted. Was he hiding a smile? “Just like always- since we were kids.”
         
“Hm. Yeah.” Norby shuffled out of the kitchen, muttering something about a lost shoe. Or at least that’s what Michael thought he heard- even he didn’t know, and he was used to having to interpret Norb’s mumbles. He smiled painfully at James as they waited, sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table.
         
James had ditched the big hair of the seventies for a sleeker look- smaller hair, clean-shaven. He had reading glasses in a case next to his Bible. In his suit, he looked like a preacher. Michael thought that he, by comparison, probably looked like some kind of weird hippie preacher. His auburn hair, tinged blonde by hours of surfing beneath the California sun, was easily three times James’s length. He had a beard. His suit was an odd dark green color and out of style; he hadn’t worn it in years. And he felt funny just sitting here, with a Bible in front of him to keep him from even thinking about making sweet, unsanctified love to his girlfriend Mary Beth, who was as “lost” as he was or worse…
         
“Are Episcopalians and Baptists even that close?” he asked James.
         
His older brother smiled, looking relieved. At last, a conversation that would at least put one of them in his comfort zone. “Not really. Mom and Dad always made it seem like they were, though, didn’t they?” Yes, life and all its mysteries and beliefs were simpler then. Their Texan mother and English father seemed to have wisdom beyond denominations.
         
“So which one are we?” Michael asked.
         
The smile left James’s eyes, though not his mouth. He tried to tease. “You should think about getting saved before worrying about which “flavor” of Christian you are, bro.”
         
Michael sighed. “I know. …Yeah, James, I know.”