Writing Exercise # 7- Jonathan D.W.

The door opened and Curt realized that he had dozed off. Someone had arrived late and although the opening door was almost inaudible, he was jolted awake. Drusilla let him sleep and gave him an amused look when she saw the startled look in his eyes. The minister, a rambling speaker whose occasional vocal fervor came off as orchestrated, was still explaining the benefits of the Christian community caring for its own. Regular church attendance was a habit for Curt but this morning for some reason, when his wife stood before him with bare breast, one hand holding her dress and the other a black brazier, asking him if he wanted to take her car or his, he said no. He was tired. He and Drusilla had stayed up late expending their sexual energy. Drusilla insisted that he take his time; explore inches of her skin that he had been neglecting. By the time she had had enough and forced him to stop his artful tease, it was already past three. Church was at eight. When he was sleep deprived he knew that he would not be able to make it through Pastor Bennett’s tedious sermons but Drusilla’s eyes were as alert and well rested as if she had slept for ten hours instead of four. The door sounded like a rusty vault when it shut. The sound was so deep that it even made the minister pause his latest point about the biblical tradition of letting the poor glean the fields. Curt shot the latecomer an angry look for letting the door close so noisily and was embarrassed to see that it was a young child. Rochelle, 6, was followed by her guardian, an elderly matron of the church who had recently taken her in. She was a bright eyed child whose laugh always made Curt think of a little actress whose laugh was so thorough that it even made her hair look like it was laughing. Rochelle went ahead of her keep and chose the aisle in front of Curt and his wife. She sat in the second seat and held her hands out for her the elderly woman’s bible, which she opened and placed her hands on top of each page as if she could read them with her palms. After Rochelle arrived the weight of sleep was lifted from Curt’s eyes. Even the minister’s sermon seemed to take on life and direction. Drusilla surprised him by sliding her hand along his inner thigh; making it warm and almost ticklish. She looked glad that he was awake. Her mind was apparently still lingering back in their bedroom where discoveries were made and promises were exploited. Curt noticed the way Rochelle turned the pages of her bible when Pastor Bennett did, even though it was mere imitation. That’s what’s troubling about religion, he thought. You learn to follow what you are taught by rote when you are young and before you know it, you’ve internalized it all. But then there was something about the way she would flick her head up immediately after she found whatever page she decided was the same as the minister’s. There was so much raw enthusiasm in that quick head toss, like she just knew something never heard before, some invaluable lesson was to be learned in that passage. Not for her; for her it’s active not passive, he concluded. She believes because what else is there to life if there is no belief? He pondered, as his wife slipped her slender foot out of her heel and wrapped it around his right leg in a way that reminded him of the snake-like way that she would sometimes move her body when she was in what he called the zone. Sometimes, when she felt like the minister was about to make a particularly poignant point, she would pull her back away from her chair and lean ever so slightly forward. He actually wanted to pay close attention to what Pastor Bennett was saying so that he could view them through her mind. What made her pay such rapt attention when most children her age either played with toys, harassed their siblings, or slept like he did? Perhaps if he put himself into her frame of mind, he could begin to see it. “Hi Curt, how’d you like the sermon?” Asked Joe, a deacon and police officer who Curt always mistook for being a security guard, despite the fact that he frequently wore his uniform to church. “It picked up at the end,” said Curt already looking around for his wife. “That’s because you were awake for that part,” Joe uttered with an inordinate laugh. Curt blushed and tried to smile. Drusilla walked up and slid her arm around Curt’s like it was a gesture of ownership. Joe, whose laughter had yet to cease petered out into a sort of sly flirtation that Curt found mystifying. Is he really doing this in front of me? He marveled. He clapped the smaller man on the back with exaggerated force and smiled at his wife as he walked away. “Are you ready sweetie,” she asked with anxiousness in her eyes. “Did you notice that Rochelle is back?” he asked as he scanned the room for her. “Yes and sister Davis is so generous to take her in.” She looked at his face and saw a different anxiety. “Are you okay sweetie?” she asked, remembering his friendship with Rochelle’s father. “Me? Yeah, I just want to tell her hi and see how she’s doing.” He took her hand and they headed casually for the door. These were people he’d known for years but their faces were indistinct to him now. There was only one face he needed to see. There was a girl wearing a yellow dress like Rochelle standing just outside of the door. There were several children, boys with short sleeved shirts, clip-on ties, and a pent-up need to unleash two and a half hours of unnatural stillness, splashing around puddles of water that were not there when they entered that morning. Rochelle stood there watching them with a similar attentiveness that she showed the minister. Drusilla was caught in a conversation with Kate, a woman her age who always invited his wife to go out with her or come over her place for a girl’s night but Drusilla had only went once. She was trying again and Curt saw his wife’s patent way of humoring someone and was pleased. He didn’t trust Kate; she struck him as the sort of woman that resented couples as close as he and Drusilla were and that was capable of doing or suggesting things that might encourage actions that would compromise that closeness. “Hi brother Forest,” Pastor Bennett said as he passed. He hoped he wouldn’t stop because he knew that Bennett saw him sleeping. “Hi Charles,” Curt said as his hand met the Pastor’s hand. “I want to thank you for helping out with the clothes drive.” He was a genuine man but his manner was much too formal for Curt. “Of course,” he said as he noticed that his wife had exited her conversation and was now looking for him to do the same. “You know God’s generosity is boundless. More people signed up for help than we have members of the church but we had enough,” he said with deep pride. Curt was already looking back out of the door to see if Rochelle was still there. He was afraid she had moved but it was just the intensity of the light shining through the door that temporarily obscured her. He looked back to the minister who was apologizing. He had remembered what had happened to Curt and his wife.