Tract Three:

Fall 2005-Spring 2006

The Preacher’s Kid

Outside the airplane window, dark clouds churned. In thirty minutes, they would begin their descent. Ray carried with him memories of last night's farewell cookout. So many people had shown up to wish him well.

Leo and Coach Lightfoot’s attendance touched him. Without question, Joseph Lightfoot had altered the course of Ray’s life. Coach probably didn't even realize this, but then he was like that, unassuming but present, always doing the right thing, trying to help the students he taught.

The aircraft suddenly dropped. Ray’s stomach lurched as the middle-aged woman beside him white-knuckled her armrest. Tinny strands of Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” emanated from her headphones.

As the rain slashed across his window and the visibility closed in, the aircraft's wings struggled to stay level against strong headwinds. Across the aisle, a man in a crisp business suit threw back a jack and coke.

Ray closed his eyes and reached back to a time in his past when he questioned what he was doing. He remembered tearing across a parking lot, and thinking how did I get myself into this situation? Under his T-shirt, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, was a pack of cigarettes. And he didn’t even smoke. High School had not gotten off to a good start.

It began the first morning on the first day of his freshman year.

“Preacher’s Kid.” A pair of bushy hands sporting black leather wrist cuffs shoved him into his open metal locker. “Are you a softie, or do you have the guts to be a man?”

The voice belonged to a senior they called Bear, pumped up and burly with more facial hair than a grizzly. His reputation preceded him.

Ray wanted to turn and walk away, to let Bear toy with him and be done, but something inside of him couldn’t let go. “Just because my dad’s a pastor doesn’t mean that I’m weak.”

Bear grinned as if this was precisely the reaction he wanted. His yellow nicotine-stained teeth, crammed into a mouth too small for his body, leaned into each other like overcrowded tombstones. “We’ll see about that. But you’re gonna have to prove yourself.” He gave Ray another poke in the chest. “We meet behind the school when the fifth-period bell goes off.” Ray started to point out that school wasn’t over then but was stopped short by the look in Bear’s eyes of malevolent amusement.

The gang smoked and tore each other apart with words. They slapped one another forcefully on the shoulders and shoved tight fists into unsuspecting abdomens. They told raunchy jokes at the expense of others. Ray struggled not to let his disquietude show. Expectations escalated quickly. Bear pulled Ray before him.

“It’s your turn, Babyface.” Smoke-filled, fetid breath slammed into Ray. He reflexively stepped back, flinching. Bear laughed. “This’s the easy one. They ain’t gonna do nothing but git harder. Then we’ll see if you're a little boy or a man.”

All new initiates were required to steal a pack of cigarettes and give them to Bear. For the first time in his young life, Ray fully understood his father’s preaching about the hazards of straying from a virtuous path.

Already Ray could see the perils of this direction. A single pack of cigarettes would lead to activities other members bragged about, like breaking into and robbing stores and unoccupied homes at night. This wasn’t what he understood being a man to be. He struggled to find a way out.

On the day Bear lured him in, Ray witnessed what would happen if he refused to participate. Another freshman, a boy Ray didn’t know, balked at the initiation task.

“I’m not going to steal.” The short, solid-framed adolescent’s voice wavered, but he stood resolute. Within seconds, four of Bear’s accomplices surrounded him and hauled him over the hill. When Miguel returned with a swollen right eye, split lip, and blood on his face, he compliantly completed his assignment. He threw the stolen pack at Bear’s feet and was rewarded with a sharp shove. Ray’s turn was up. Trapped against a wall, an ultimatum faced him: prove yourself or else.

Ray knew the manager of the Hit-N-Run convenience store. Mr. Ruggles was an usher at his dad’s church and implicitly trusted him. When he crossed the threshold, and the store bell rang, Mr. Ruggles looked up and beamed. “Hey, Ray, just give me a moment. I have to finish stocking these shelves.”

Ray attempted to smile back. With the blood in his neck pulsating at the same rapid rate as his heart, he casually stepped behind the register, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, and put them under his shirt before putting the can of Sprite on the counter. He waited to pay for the drink.

When he left the store, Ray tossed the soda atop the overflowing trash and started running as fast as his legs would take him, as if he could untie the earthly bonds of his body and escape reality through this desperate act of all-out flight.

Ray raced across the road without looking. The black Civic screeched to a stop, barely missing him. The driver jumped out and put a steady hand on his shoulder. “Ray, what’s going on?”

It took an instant for him to recognize his biology teacher. Hearing the kindness in his voice and seeing the concern in his eyes, Ray lost his bearing. Coach Lightfoot caught him as he collapsed, helped him into the air-conditioned vehicle, and let him sob.

Ray couldn’t remember the last time he cried. He was taught that letting your emotions show was a sign of weakness and that vulnerability could be used against you. The words came slowly at first, then in a torrent. This time, Ray did not hold back. He told the truth of the situation. He expressed his fears and the sense of complete helplessness.

In the silence that followed came a tentative lifeline.

“There’s a way out.” Ray’s desperation quieted. Coach Lightfoot continued, “If you decide to do the right thing, I have a solution.” Ray listened intently. “Of course, the store manager must agree. It’s ultimately his decision to prosecute or not. Your life is before you, Ray. Your choices become your history.”

Though shocked at Ray’s revelation, the store manager and long-time tithe usher recognized true contrition. He was a member who lived each day trying to embody what he learned from the pews situated far below pastor Shipworth’s pulpit. The store would not press charges if Ray lived up to the agreed-upon terms. Coach Lightfoot stood by Ray’s side as he confessed and asked for forgiveness. He was given a chance to course-correct; not every adolescent had this opportunity.

As they left the store, with the returned pack of crumpled cigarettes in the trash, a receipt of sale, and the cost of the purchase in the till, Mr. Ruggles pulled Ray aside.

“If you follow through, there’s no reason for your father to know any of this happened.”

Ray nodded. He was exceedingly grateful. Almost weighing as heavily upon him as the gang membership was the wrath and resultant punishments he would incur when his father found out.

The following day, when the fifth-period bell rang, Ray, his stomach in twists, not entirely understanding how this would go down, ducked out as he had for the past four afternoons to meet up with Bear and his accomplices. Coach Lightfoot and a Tahlequah police officer walked out of the red brick building. There wasn’t time to disperse. Besides, Bear vociferously argued, other than skipping class, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

The officer spoke first. “Ray Shipworth was busted shoplifting a pack of cigarettes yesterday afternoon. He went into the store with the intent to steal. That’s a crime.”

Coach continued, “The store owner isn’t going to press charges provided Ray shows up every day after school for cross-country training in the fall, conditioning in the winter, then track and field in the spring.”

The Officer looked Bear in the eye. “Do you understand what this means?” Bear let out a grunt, a begrudging acknowledgment. “Now, for the rest of you,” the officer continued, “this is a one-time offer. If you’ve done anything like Mr. Shipworth here, swiped a pack of smokes, and you want to commit to Coach Lightfoot, I’ll personally petition for you not to be prosecuted.” He was bluffing, of course. The high schoolers could not get into trouble if the police hadn’t caught them, but he was sure none of them knew this. “Any takers?”

Miguel stepped out of the pack, still sporting a swollen eye from his ‘group lesson’ given days ago.

“Good choice.” The officer motioned him to stand next to Ray. “Any other volunteers?” No one else moved.

As Ray and Miguel walked away, flanked by Coach Lightfoot and the officer, Ray heard Bear’s voice rise into the afternoon sky, “Worthless pieces of crap, anyway. Feels good to dump that load of shit.”

Ray had never felt so relieved in all his life.

****

Bright forked lightning sparked and snapped through the coal-black clouds. The bottom had dropped out of life as Ray knew it. May had left him before he could propose, and his father disowned him. What was left for him back home? He could not fix what was broken, but he could make an impact on the world as an infantryman. There was nothing left but to commit wholeheartedly to the military. Ray resolved to be the best soldier possible. This would be his obsession; he had nothing left.

“Passengers and flight attendants, please prepare for landing.” The pilot’s voice broke through his reverie. Ray brought his seat to an upright position and braced for what was next.