CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Owen True – The Pray-er

 

 

WHEN MIKALA AND I GET BACK to Gramps’, he makes this big announcement.

“Owen, I think it’s time I go back to church.”

I don’t really want to go to church. All the times in the past I’d gone with Gramps and Gran, church was boring. Just a bunch of old people singing out of tune and listening to some guy talk.

I’d almost made it the whole time in exile without going, and tomorrow is the last Sunday before I leave. Only six days left of my sentence and I’m still alive. Barely. Time to get the heck out of Haywire.

“Do I have to go?”

“It would be nice.”

I hate how he didn’t say I had to, because then I couldn’t complain and nag to get out of it. But, Gramps has been really nice to me this summer, and if it makes him happy, I suppose it won’t kill me to go one time.

“You wanna go, Mikala?”

Her gaze falls to her dirty sneakers. “I don’t have no nice clothes.”

“That doesn’t matter. Right Gramps? Jesus doesn’t care about what you wear? I mean, he went around wearing a sheet all the time. What you got is better than a sheet, Mikala.”

“He’s right, dear,” Gramps says. “It matters what’s on the inside of a man...or girl, not on the outside.”

I worry for a minute that she’ll say no and I’ll have to go alone, but then she answers, “Okay, I’ll go.”

The next morning I put on my grubbiest clothes. I feel protective of Mikala and if anyone is going to judge her, well, they can judge me too.

Gramps starts his 1971, forest green Pontiac sedan. It’s the longest, bulkiest car I’ve ever seen and the only one Gramps has ever owned. My Dad keeps teasing Gramps that his car better be in his will with Dad’s name on it. It’s in mint condition, so Dad keeps saying, and Gramps treats it like it’s his baby.

Actually, it’s worth going to church just to ride in it.

We pick up Mrs. Pershishnick and it’s a little weird seeing her sit in the seat Gran used to always sit in, but I don’t dwell on it.

Mikala is in the back seat beside me, hanging on to the door handle like she never drove in a car before.

“You okay?” I whisper.

She nods. She’s wearing her faded dress, but it’s clean, and sandals on her feet. Her hair is washed and it looks like she brushed it ‘til it shined.

We have to drive over the bridge and my heart jumps as I remember Mr. Joseph and how he stood on the wrong side of the rail. Out the window I see the bottom of the ravine and it makes me feel a little sick.

At the church we pile out of the Pontiac and I’m surprised by all the people there. Not just old folks, but people my parents’ ages, teenagers and lots of little kids too. They’re wearing whatever they want to from what I can tell. Blue jeans, dresses, suit jacket, shorts—it doesn’t seem to matter. Turns out Mikala and I had worried for nothing.

A band plays some music, a guitar and bass and drum and everything. I don’t remember that from Gramps’ old church. Then another guy announces some things including Sunday School classes for kids our age. I look at Mikala and she sharply shakes her head. We’re both too shy to go off with a bunch of new kids so I tell Gramps that we’ll stay with him and Mrs. Pershishnik.

The pastor starts preaching and this is where I plan to zone out and make up my own stories in my head. Which I do. But I tune back in time to hear the pastor read this from the Bible: “...for the worker deserves his wages.”

For the worker deserves his wages. Then I hear Mr. Joseph’s voice, I don’t need no charity.

“Mikala,” I lean over and whisper in her ear. “We have to try again.”

“What?”

“The soup line. We have to try again, only this time I know what we need to do.”

 

We still have lots of soup and buns, and Gramps and Mrs. Pershishnick agreed to warm it all up for our second try, after we tell them our new strategy. Mikala and I write up more posters but this time they don’t say Free Soup. They say this:

Charlie True needs help with his big garden. Soup and buns in exchange for labor.

We replace all the old posters with new ones, and then, before we go back to Gramps’, we stop by the alley.

“Mr. Red!” I see him first. His bushy fiery head peeks out of his tent.

“Owen True.”

“Is Mr. Joseph here?” When I don’t see him at first, I feel a surge of prickly fear, scared that Mr. Joseph might have gone back to the bridge. But then he walks around the corner. I let out a relieved breath.

“Oh, good, um, I just wanted to let you know that Gramps needs help. He keeps planting this humongous garden and it’s just more than he can handle. Even with my help.” I feel myself talking too fast and pause. Speaking more slowly, I say, “He can’t pay for help in money but he has lots of food. Really good soup. Can you come?”

They don’t say anything. My eyes dart to Mikala and hers are wide with hope. Please say you’ll come.

Finally Mr. Red speaks. “We’ll think about it, how’s that?”

“We’ve done our best,” Mikala says later as we wait in Gramps’ yard. I turn on the hose and slurp from it.

“Crickets, Owen True, what more can a person do?”

I offer her the hose and she takes it. I know she’s right but I can’t help but feel anxious. I reach out to scrub Daisy’s neck and wish I were her. No worries. No disappointments. Just sleep all the time. Food and water delivered daily. Such a lucky dog.

Mikala pokes me in the side with her pointy finger. “Look!”

Two blocks away down Maple Avenue are the shapes of two men walking. One with a pony tail and droopy shoulders and the other with flaming red hair.

“They came.” Now that I can see them, I don’t know what to do with myself. I jump up and run over to where Gramps and Mrs. Pershishnick are drinking tea in the shade.

“Gramps, they’re coming. What do we do now?”

Gramps and Mrs. Pershishnick get up and take over. They know exactly how to act.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” Gramps says. They shake hands and then Gramps shows them the rows that need weeding. I do my part and weed a row along with them. I feel good. Especially seeing Mr. Joseph alive and well. He works hard and as time goes on, his shoulders straighten out and he holds his head up higher. I’m bubbling with happiness. It does feel good to do good!

Afterwards all six of us sit at the picnic table for a meal of soup and buns. And when Gramps finishes giving thanks, we say “Amen”, and this time I don’t skip out.

We chat like it’s just a normal day. And for the first time I see Mr. Joseph smile.