Sundays were brutal. He had to wonder, why was the day God designated for rest the most gut busting day of the week for men and women of the cloth? His field education assignment at Matawan Presbyterian Church required that he participate in the Sunday morning worship services and lead the senior high fellowship group.
Regardless of what party might have brought him home at what wee hour of the morning, he arose at 6:30 a.m., showered, dressed, staggered over to Mackay Center for breakfast, forced down eggs and bacon despite his stomach threatening to send it right back up, drove for an hour to the church in time for the 9 a.m. service, then another at 11 a.m., visited a member’s home for lunch which usually entailed conversing with the wife while the husband and children sat awkwardly silent as if waiting for some bell that would release them, grabbed an hour for a nap, prepared for the evening’s Senior High Fellowship Group and then led them starting at six. He enjoyed these kids. He was way more comfortable spending time with them than with the adults. The program started with dinner prepared by one of the moms, then was half play and half discussion. They played softball and kickball, went bowling, ice skating, and to the movies. They sat crosslegged on the floor in a circle and carried on animated discussions about everything from school dress code to why is church so boring. Jerry allowed it to go wherever, no matter how off topic. He was more interested in keeping them involved. Fellowship ended between nine and ten, then he drove home and collapsed into bed around 11:30 p.m.
***
Jerry glued himself to his desk chair committed to completing an essay on Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard.
Sam barged into Jerry’s room choking on smoke and carrying a bong.
“Oh, man, you gotta listen to this guy. He is hysterical. Steve Martin. Listen to this guy.”
He grabbed Jerry by the upper arm, pulled him up off his chair and into Sam’s room. Then he pulled a record out from a jacket on which was a photograph of a man with a serious expression wearing a balloon hat and a fake arrow through his head.
“Well exxccuuuuuuuuuuusse me!” finished one bit, which sent Jerry into a fit of laughter. Maybe he was getting a contact high. This guy was funny.
“C’mon, some backgammon. You gotta take a break,” said Sam.
“Well, OK.”
“Hey, I’m starving. Let’s grab some gyros first.”
Jerry climbed into Sam’s beat up BMW and they raced down to Nassau Street where there was a corner dive that sold Greek food. For a couple of bucks, Jerry obtained the juiciest, messiest, but oh-so-tastiest pocket bread stuffed with roast lamb, onions, tomatoes and a garlic yogurt sauce.
Then they returned for some backgammon.
He collapsed into bed around 1 a.m. Back to the chair tomorrow, he promised himself.
***
Sam burst into Jerry’s room. The Beegees’ “You Should Be Dancin’” spilled in with him, blaring from Alex’s room. Alex’s eyes were blood red. A more urban close cut beard had replaced his country mustache.
“Jerry, you gotta do this, man. There’s this disco class at the Y. Sarah and Deborah signed up.”
“Let me think about it.”
Jerry launched out of his chair into a long walk leaving an exegesis of 1 Thessalonians 5:11-14 behind.
***
Jerry attended a kegger Halloween dance dressed as a Franciscan priest replete with robe and rope sash. Sam went as John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Sarah and Deborah dressed up as witches with tight unitards, capes and kohled eyes. Jerry gaped at their serpentine dancing. He lurched into their circle while Stevie Wonder’s “I Wish” from Songs in the Key of Life pulsed. And then it was a slow song. Jerry caught the spark in Sarah’s eye. He took her hand and placed his other around her waist. They swayed as one. He felt her breasts against his chest. His cheek settled into her warm hair.
The song ended. Sarah didn’t move.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
Pause.
“Thanks,” said Jerry and backed away.
He zoomed out into another long walk through the streets of Princeton.