R’s next door neighbor Susan is a good girl. Susan is a legal secretary who goes out to her car every morning clutching her laptop in its case, wearing a smart blazer and tailored slacks.
The colors are usually conservative dress code-worthy shades of blue, slate, or tan. If she feels rebellious, she opts for pin stripes or a herringbone pattern.
Susan does everything expected of a proper young lady and R is certain that when Susan reaches her downtown office, she stands on the street and tosses her hat in the air like Mary Tyler Moore, shouting, “What a blessed day to be alive!”
R isn’t fond of Susan but she knows that being civil to a neighbor is essential. One day R might need a cup of sugar or a character witness.
When R leaves for work in the morning, she clutches her Hello Kitty tote bag full of popcorn instead of a laptop or briefcase. She wears jeans and the regulation royal blue polo shirt provided by her employer. It boasts the Widget Wonders logo on the breast pocket, a grinning brown fox with the phrase “Forever Clever.”
R imagines that Susan’s cubicle is decorated with sunflower stickers and pictures of her brown cocker spaniel in its pink rhinestone studded collar. She probably also has little wooden signs with trite sayings on them, perhaps “Hang In There,” or “Reach for the Stars,” and a prominently displayed Employee of the Month certificate.
R steps off her porch to pick up the newspaper which has landed in her front yard again when Susan sees her.
“Good morning, R!”
“Good morning, Susan,” R grimaces behind the wall of a friendly smile.
Susan leans over the picket fence and says, “Hey, my church is having a party this weekend and you’re welcome to stop by and have some punch and cookies. There will be a cornhole tournament as well.”
“Sounds like a good time,” R lies. “I’ll see if I can make it.”
Peasant’s Corner Christian Fellowship is just a few blocks from R’s house.
A disturbingly blatant neon sign sits on the front lawn bearing a blinking red cross and the words “Do YOU Know Who Your SAVIOR Is?”
No, I don’t, but I’m quite sure I won’t meet him here.
On the evening of the party, R walks into the church with great trepidation and sees a sign in the vestibule pointing to the basement that reads “Welcome Friends.”
She plods down the stairs and sees Susan at the front of the tile-floored room, sitting behind a folding table, handing out name tags and pamphlets.
“R, I’m so happy you decided to come!” Susan gushes. “Just write your name on this and stick it on your shirt there.”
R draws a big letter “R” under the words “Hello, my name is.” Susan hands her a pamphlet with a picture of the outside of the church on the front and the words:
Peasant’s Corner Christian Fellowship Welcomes You
She opens it up and the left side is printed with an About Us section explaining the history of the church. The middle panel is a collage of photos from Christmas pageants, picnics, shindigs and something called Graduate Sunday.
On the right side, there is A Message from Our Pastor. The first sentence reads, “Are you looking for a spiritual home?” R closes the pamphlet. It’s obvious that the congregation is trying to drum up business.
A woman with long gray hair and cat-eye glasses approaches her.
“Welcome to Peasant’s Corner, R,” she says. “I’m Maggie Primrose, the hymn leader. How did you find out about us?”
“My neighbor Susan over there. She invited me. She said there’d be punch.” R tries to lighten the mood.
Maggie Primrose has precious little sense of humor.
“Well, now that we’ve got you in the door, I hope you’ll take advantage of all we have to offer.” She purses her lips and walks away.
R stands near the cookie table for a while, lingering like a crumb on the floor, knowing she’ll be stepped on sooner or later. There are too many black patent leather pumps and brown penny loafers prancing around for that not to happen.
A young man in khakis and a green and white striped t-shirt walks toward her, hand outstretched.
He says, “Hi, I’m Tristan, the youth pastor,” and then leans in close to R, whispering in her ear. “Hey, let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got some weed.”
It has to be a test of some sort. R looks at him quizzically. If she agrees, the church
people will surely make an example of her, calling her out as a heathen. The congregation will form a circle around her and, led by Maggie Primrose, sing a fervent hymn for the salvation of R, the godless witch.“Come on,” Tristan hisses into her ear. “It’ll be fun. You know you want to.” His head reminds her of a snake.
“OK,” R says, waiting for Maggie to sneak up and hit her over the head with a bible.
As Tristan leads her out the door, Susan sees them leaving. “Have a good night, R. I hope we’ll see you again!”
R and Tristan walk around the block. Tristan blathers on and on about his church, God, and salvation. Obviously, there will be no weed. His absolute certainty about the whole God thing makes R’s skin crawl.
“It’s getting late. I think I’ll take a raincheck on that weed,” R interrupts.
Tristan chuckles knowingly and gives R a hug. “You betcha,” he says. “I hope I’ll be seeing you around.”
Fat chance. As R trods home, she thinks about God, salvation, weed, and the musty smell of the church basement. The evening’s experience has reiterated R’s notion that church people cannot be trusted.
As she imagines they are judging her, she judges them.
Read more of R’s adventures by Joann Evan:
