37. Changing like the Moon

I manage to mingle with the churchgoers when the music begins playing and they start filing out. I feel better after getting some air and sun and then having some coffee to try to revive my senses. I don’t even like coffee, but I need something to jolt me back to sanity. I don’t know where all that craziness came from, but don’t have time to figure it out.

Soon, as I’m biding my time looking around in the crowd, I hear a voice call out my name.

“Hey, you made it,” Ray says.

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t that awesome. He’s a great speaker, huh?”

“Yeah, he was good.”

“See me up there? I’ve been playing with them for a while. It’s fun. Sometimes we even do concerts. Nothing that big, but still something, you know?”

“Cool.”

Ray introduces me to a few people and says hi to a bunch more as we stand in front of the coffee area.

“Hey—did you drive here?”

“No. I—I still need to get my license.”

Ray laughs. “How’d you get here?”

“My mom.”

“Want a ride home?”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

“No problem. You want to have lunch at my house? It’s always a big gathering, but nothing fancy.”

“Okay, sure.”

“Cool. Pastor Marsh usually comes. You gotta get to know him. He’s really a great guy.”

I nod. I decide to not tell Ray what I was hearing.

My mind sometimes plays tricks on me.

Maybe it has to do with my dad and the whole church thing and my hesitations toward God and all that.

Or maybe this is God trying to tap me on the back and say that He really does exist.

But I doubt God would do that by frightening me.

Ray tells me he’s got a few people to see; he’ll be back in a minute.

I’m not sure what to think about going to his place at lunchtime.

But it beats going back home.

Ray drives me to his house in a VW Jetta that still smells new. He jams tunes from the iPod he’s got connected to the stereo, listing a dozen groups I’ve never heard of. I feel behind in everything. I don’t know anybody, don’t have my license, don’t have money, don’t know as much as I should, don’t act the way I should.

But Ray seems oblivious to all of that. He seems eternally “up.”

This is the second time I’ve been to this monstrous house, and the second time I’ve seen it full of people. This isn’t Sunday lunch; it’s a holiday celebration. It appears that half the people at the church must have come over for lunch.

After navigating through the adults, Ray shows me his room.

It’s pretty much how I might have imagined a really sweet room to be. That and more.

A flat-screen television hangs on one wall. Of course, two different video game systems are on a shelf underneath it. Several framed posters hang on the wall. One is of the group Phoenix, with a minimalistic artistic shot that looks like an album cover. There’s lots of sports stuff, including lots of indications that his favorite team is the Denver Broncos. I see three tennis rackets, a shelf of really awesome caps, a collection of trophies on his dresser.

Do they really hand out trophies anymore?

I wouldn’t know. I’ve never really been a trophy sort of guy.

“Here—this is what I was telling you about,” Ray says as he finds the CD and hands it to me.

“They’re a local group?”

“Oh yeah. Awesome. They’re going to be huge. I played you a couple of their songs.”

We talk music for a while. I tell him about the music festivals I’ve gone to in Chicago, one of the few things that seems to be able to impress him. Soon we leave his room and head back to the kitchen.

I spend the next half hour meeting strangers and listening to adults talk with Ray. I’m never ignored—Ray always does a good job of introducing me. Everybody in the house seems to know and love him. Why not? I’d probably hate the guy out of jealousy if I didn’t like him so much myself.

We eventually take plastic plates full of a day’s worth of food outside on the deck. Now I’m able to see the incredible view below. It’s breathtaking. I follow Ray to some empty chairs and sit next to him.

“So what’s up with Joss and you?”

I almost choke on the piece of chicken I’m trying to swallow.

“Nothing.”

“Things go bad after the party?”

“No, it’s just—nothing’s going on.”

Ray nods and takes a bite of his potato salad. He eats like he’s in a hurry.

“Look, the thing with Joss is this: It’s easy to fall in love with her. I sure did. Everybody does. You have to be careful.”

“Careful about what?”

“Careful about her. The girl has got—she’s got secrets. She’s got some really deep-rooted issues. I mean, we all do, right? But not like her.”

“What sort of secrets?”

“They wouldn’t be secret if you knew about them, you know?” Ray smiles. “Secrets. Stuff about her family. I don’t know—she wouldn’t tell me. I’ve just heard things.”

“Like what?”

“Curious, huh? Just things. Things she’s been involved with dark stuff. The sort of things we shouldn’t talk about, not here.”

Ray glances around, says hi to someone passing by, keeps eating like a famished man.

“What do you mean, dark stuff?”

“Maybe another time, all right? I’m just trying to warn you.”

“People have been warning me about her ever since I first spoke to her.”

“Doesn’t surprise me. Our school’s not that big. People talk. Rumors, secrets, all that. A lot of the kids who don’t live in Solitary don’t really know what they’re talking about. But it’s just—you’re new, you don’t have a clue.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“No offense. Not like you’re clueless about life. Just about Solitary. I can see any guy coming to this place and being gaga over her. I sure was.”

“What happened?”

“Issues, man. Like major crazy issues.”

I think back to the last week, to the conversation in the car, to my last few interactions with Jocelyn.

It’s easy to believe Ray.

“Man, I’m still crazy about that girl. But she changes like the moon. Some days it seems like she’s full, you know, when she’s just alive and amazing. And other times, it’s like she’s empty. Nobody’s there. I don’t know why. Guess that’s why they have medication and doctors and all that.”

I suddenly don’t feel so hungry.

It’s strange, but I feel almost guilty talking about Jocelyn with Ray. Even if she doesn’t want to talk to me.

Ray finishes his plate and tells me he’s going to get another. I nibble on my food and listen to conversation in the background and try to picture my mother here.

It’s impossible. I can barely even picture myself here.

A minute or two later I see the pastor walking toward me.

A dread suddenly comes over me, and I have no idea why.

It’s like I’m worried that he’s going to ask me about God or my faith or my family or something else that perhaps I need confession for.

“Can I sit here?”

I nod and smile and suddenly have an urge to jump off the deck and fall several stories below.