Pretty Boy does a double take before sitting down. There’s something on the seat in the pew. Something that reminds him of G-Ma and their place back home.
A cross.
He picks the small wooden cross up and then sits.
For a moment, he stares all around him. There are people looking and watching and wondering. Mostly white folks, mostly families, mostly wondering what in the world he is doing there.
I’m hidin’, folks, so help me out a little won’t you?
Then he stares at the pastor preachin’. He can’t remember if he’s ever sat in a church like this with a white pastor talking. The guy looks ordinary, a family man, a regular sort of dude. But he spots Pretty Boy and smiles at him. Pretty Boy can’t help but look back down, then stares at the cross in his hand.
Look at me now, G-Ma.
“The Bible says in Romans 6:23 ‘for the wages of sin is death,’ ” the pastor says, holding a cross himself. “And because we are all sinful that’s a death we deserve. But the cross promises us a way out. The only way out . . .”
The irony isn’t lost on Pretty Boy.
The only way out. That’s right, brother, preach it.
He wants to disregard the words and simply settle in and get by and stay unseen, but he can’t help but listen.
He’s afraid. Afraid like he’s never been before.
Afraid of being found and put in jail and locked up for a while.
The faces of 40 Ounce and Little B appear as if they’re sitting on a pew in front of him, looking back at him.
Where were you?
That’s what they’re asking.
Where were you, P.B.?
Somewhere their bodies are still bleeding, maybe still unfound. And like trash they’re going to be eventually taken away and soon forgotten about.
The pastor keeps talking and Pretty Boy can’t help but keep listening.
“When you come to the cross, you come by way of repentance. And ‘repentance’ means to change the way you live. To turn from your sins—and turn to Christ. The cross of Jesus Christ says, ‘I will save you. I will forgive you. I will give you new life.’ ”
G-Ma’s there right now. Right beside him. Holding his hand and nodding and saying, “Amen.” He knows. Somehow, someway she’s there.
It’s the same thing she’s been tellin’ them her whole life. This Jesus. This cross. These sins. This forgiveness.
“Don’t believe me?” the pastor asks. “Then believe God when He says through the apostle Paul in Romans 10:13, ‘For everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. . . .’ ”
What would that be like? Pretty Boy wonders. To be safe and to not wake up feelin’ like the worthless state he’s livin’ in. To actually not feel this lump of awful inside his heart. To not feel guilty.
You’re a good boy.
G-Ma’s words that he’s never believed.
He sees something moving from behind him and he spots the cop. There’s another coming in on the other side of the room.
Pretty Boy sinks down in the pew a bit.
They’re taking me away right now. I’m done. I’m over.
The dreams of gettin’ away and livin’ a good life. His songs. His future.
Done.
Pretty Boy grabs the cross in both hands and then closes his eyes.
A last-minute prayer. A Hail Mary throw. A deathbed call.
The guilt wrapping around and closing in on his heart.
“Please Lord—save me.”
It’s a prayer for everything. For all of it. For this place and for his place back home and for his life and for everything and all that he has.
SAVE ME.
Clutching that cross, closed eyelids, open heart, open wounds.
He’s not sure how long time passes. Maybe five seconds or a minute or more. But when he opens his eyes, the cops are gone.
Just like that.
“Thank you, Jesus,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
The pastor, as if on cue, takes the cross and holds it out in front of him for everybody to focus on.
“I challenge all of you tonight: carry this cross with you. Let it be a reminder of the gift Christ gave to us. Let it inspire you to live your life as Jesus lived.”
The pastor raises the cross now above his head.
“This is not just a symbol, not just an idea. It’s truth. And if you believe that truth, then let your actions show it.”
The music begins to play and Pretty Boy breathes in and out in the pew.
He’s not filled with disbelief or relief but instead he’s filled with a strange thing he hasn’t felt . . . well, maybe ever.
Hope . . .