500 words on a friend who got you into trouble

4.17.2007

“Where is your head covering?” my mother hissed outside the church.

I fished it out of my pocket and sighed heavily. “I don’t wanna wear it,” I complained.

“Young lady you will not be going into worship without your head covered. Put that on immediately.”

“Why do I even have to go? Why can’t I stay home?” I whined.

“That is not an option.” Her tone was stern. I pinned the head covering on glumly.


When Nathaniel saw me he said, “I thought you were going to stop wearing that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Apparently that is ‘not an option’,” I said, making scare quotes in the air.

“Couldn’t hold out, eh?” he said punching my arm.

“Hey,” I countered. “No punching. You have to leave room for the Holy Spirit.” Males and females in our church were supposed to keep a certain distance between one another to keep from being tempted.

Nathaniel laughed, sticking his finger within an inch of my nose. “What does the Holy Spirit have to say about this?” he asked.

“The Lord will smite you down assuredly,” I told him.

Nathaniel was wearing jeans, of all things. “How did you get your parents to let you wear those?” I asked.

“I told them there was no way I was going to leave the house in slacks. They would have to drag me here.” He was bragging.

“And they went for it?” I asked incredulously. Nathaniel nodded.

“Look what I brought you,” he said reaching inside his coat. He handed me a book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra.

“Wow. Nietszche. Where did you get it?” I whispered.

“In the library.” He told me. “Do you have any idea how angry our parents will get when they find out we’ve been reading Nietszche?”

I looked around cautiously. We had read Vonnegut together, but our parents hadn’t known who that was. John Irving’s Prayer For Owen Meany sounded like a good wholesome book. But Nietszche. Everyone knew that Nietszche was the one who had pronounced God dead.

I fingered the pages of the book.

“Hey,” Nathaniel said leaning in. “Wanna skip church and read it?” He asked with a cheshire grin on his face.

“I don’t know. I could get in a lot of trouble.” I said hesitantly, still fingering the pages of the book.

“Just tell them you’ve been asked to help in the nursery.”

“What if they find out?”

“It’ll be your big chance to make a statement about the oppression of religion. Tell them its the opiate of the masses.”

“I don’t think that’ll go over too well.”

Nathaniel shifted impatiently. “Come on. What are you afraid of? Its not like they can ground you. You’re not let out of the house after nine anyways.”

“Well what are you going to tell your parents?” I asked defensively.

“I told my parents that I’m going to usher. When they ask me why they didn’t see me with the collection plates, I’m going to say that, at the last minute, there were too many volunteers. I had to sit in the back row.”

“Do you think they’ll buy it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Probably. Now come on. Go talk to your parents and meet me behind the Sunday School classrooms.”

I hesitated, “Okay,” I told him. “But you better keep this in your coat.” I handed him back the book.

Nathaniel grinned. “See you soon, heathen.”


-Adelaide