Transcendent Kingdom(36)

Anne always said “God” with air quotes and an eye roll. Her father was Brazilian and her mother was American. They had met at a Buddhist meditation retreat in Bali before abandoning religion altogether and moving to Oregon to raise their two children godlessly. Anne looked at me as one might look at an alien who had dropped from the sky and needed to be taught how to assimilate into human life.

    “I don’t flagellate myself. I don’t even believe in God anymore,” I said.

“But you’re so rigid with yourself. You never skip class. You don’t drink. You won’t even try drugs.”

“That’s not because of my religion,” I said with a look that I hoped said, Drop it.

“You’re weird about sex.”

“I’m not weird about sex.”

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Lots of people are virgins.”

Anne moved over on the bed so that she was facing me. She leaned in so close to me that I could feel her breath on my lips.

“Have you ever been kissed?” she asked.





27





Basketball season started in November, but for Nana the sport was year-round. He went to basketball camp in the summers, played on his school team during the season, and spent all year long in our driveway or heading over to the outdoor courts in and around Huntsville so that he could play pickup games with the kids there. My mother and I were subjected to hours upon hours of watching basketball on television. When Nana had friends over, all of them would shout at the television loudly and unintelligibly, as though the players on the screen owed them something. Nana joined in when others were there, but when it was just him, he watched silently and with intense concentration. Sometimes, he even took notes.

It wasn’t long before college recruiters started showing up to his games. Alabama, Auburn, Vanderbilt, UNC. Nana played well regardless of who was watching. My mother and I made more of an effort to learn the rules so that we could better share in his victories, but even as we tried, we knew it didn’t matter. Nana was the triumph. It was only the beginning of his sophomore year’s season, and he had broken records statewide. All the practices and workouts and away games made it easy for Nana to worm his way out of Wednesday-night and Sunday-morning services at First Assemblies. I knew it hurt my mother to see Nana choosing ball over God, so, instead of heading to youth group, I started going to “big church.” I wanted to sit beside her, to have her feel like at least one of her children still cared about what she cared about.

    I was eight, then nine. I was bored. If I fell asleep, as I often did, my mother would pinch my arm and stage-whisper, “Pay attention.”

I don’t remember the sermons very well, but I remember the altar calls that came at the end of them every Sunday. Pastor John’s speech was always the same. To this day I can recite it from memory:

“Now, I know someone out there is sitting with a heavy heart. I know someone out there is tired of carrying a cross. And I’m telling you now, you don’t have to leave here the same as when you came in. Amen? God’s got a plan for you. Amen? All you have to do is ask Jesus into your heart. He’ll do the rest.”

Pastor John would say this, and then the worship leader would rush up to the piano and start to play.

“Is there anyone who’d like to come down to the altar today?” Pastor John would ask, the music filling up the room. “Is there anyone who’d like to give their life to Christ?”

After a few months of big church, I noticed my mother sneaking glances at me whenever Pastor John made his altar call. I knew what those glances meant, but I wasn’t ready for that long walk down to the altar, for the entire congregation to train their eyes on me, praying that Jesus take my sins away.

I still wanted my sins. I still wanted my childhood, my freedom to fall asleep in big church with little consequence. I didn’t know what would become of me once I crossed the line from sinner to saved.



* * *



—

    Nana couldn’t decide on a school. He would often talk through his pro/cons list with me while our mother was at work. He wanted to stay in the South but he didn’t want to feel like he had barely left home. He wanted to go pro eventually, but he also wanted to have a good, normal college experience.

“Maybe you should call Daddy and see what he thinks,” I said.

Nana glared at me. The Chin Chin Man had recently called to tell us that he was remarrying, and since then Nana had stopped talking to him. It hadn’t occurred to either of us that he and my mother had gotten divorced. He was, until that day, our long-distance father, her long-distance husband. Now who would he be?

On the days when he called, which were fewer and further between, my mother would pass the phone to me and I would spend my requisite two minutes making small talk about the weather and school, until the Chin Chin Man asked if I would put Nana on the line.

“He has basketball,” I would say, as Nana stared at me, furiously shaking his head. After I hung up the phone, I would wait for our mother to chastise me for lying or Nana for refusing to talk, but she never did.

She had to work the day of Nana’s game against Ridgewood High. It wasn’t a big game. Ridgewood was ranked second to last in the state, and everyone was expecting an easy win for Nana’s team.