© Copyright 2007 by Joe Swope

For Zack Nonaduro, going to church sucked. His parents never missed a Sunday and they made sure he never missed one either. The problem was Ernest Moror never missed one either.

As he sat in his family’s customary pew, he watched the other church goers file in. Like clockwork, he saw Ernest and his parents trudge past him on their way to the front pews. Ernest, as always, acted like an idiot and waved to Zack. It wasn’t like Ernest was retarded. Zack knew he was smart. He had made Ernest give him homework many times. Being smart made his dorkiness that much worse. It was like he chose Forest Gump as his hero.

Zack ignored the goofy wave and stared at the cross above the altar. Maybe if he stared straight at it, it would save him from further embarrassment.

If Ernest’s family was here, that meant the other dutiful families would be also, including the Silvia Candidus family. She would be in between her parents looking hot as ever. Zack hoped she didn’t see Ernest try to talk to him. He wracked his brain to find a cool way to turn around to see her, to at least make eye contact. Everything he thought of was too obvious. So, Zack was to endure his weekly hour of torture, trying to ignore Ernest’s attempt to get his attention while knowing Sylvia was three rows behind him watching it all.

She was friendly to him. They hung out with the same people, but she just didn’t like him like he wanted her to. He couldn’t blame her. A lot of guys, older and cooler than he, wanted her. She had her pick of any of them.

On one glorious Sunday when the sermon got too boring, he excused himself to use the bathroom at the back of the church. Right as he was about to turn the knob to waste a few minutes in a less boring place than the pew, Sylvia popped out of the bathroom. Zack was startled by coming face to face with her, but he recovered quickly. For at least ten minutes, they whispered jokes and rolled eyes together in the back of the church.

Zack imagined countless plans that would recreate that magical meeting. None of them were natural enough. Sylvia wasn’t dumb and worse than being ignored would be having her believe he liked her as much as he did.

This was going to be a long one. Zack could feel it. The whole choir was standing by the piano, there were a lot of candles, and he even smelled incense. Yes, this was going to be a full blown service and he was going to be in this pew for a while.

What made him seethe with frustration was that his parents loved everything about church, dressing up, singing, shaking hands, and even the occasional Sunday brunch with Ernest’s parents which prolonged the whole freakin’ thing.

Zack knew Ernest liked it all too. Sundays were the only time he ever got to hang out with someone cool, namely Zack. When the four parents chatted outside of church, Zack was forced to talk to Ernest.

It wasn’t like Zack wasn’t religious. When he prayed, he prayed hard. It was just that he couldn’t pray for an hour straight. Once you thank God, say you’re sorry, and ask for what you want, that’s pretty much it. A few minutes. Sometimes he felt guilty about not being into church, but then he figured, God probably knew how boring Sunday mornings were.

It was the boredom of the church pew or a school desk that allowed his mind to create fantasies. Always he was the hero. Looking up at the cross, he imagined the pain and fear Jesus must have felt. Why didn’t anyone try to stop it or rescue him? Zack imagined himself sneaking through a crowd thousands of years before.

His rough spun cloak easily held a sword, no two. Two swords were so much cooler, spinning and swirling like a ninja. Each detail of the fight scene was played in his mind. He would yell, the soldiers in their bronze armor and goofy skirts would advance on him. Then, he would whip out two shiny swords. He’d block one attack, spin and duck under to stab another. On and on, he’d advance up the rocky hill. In some versions of the fantasy, a few disciples would start to fight. Most times, it was Zack alone, blocking, slicing and making his way to the crucified Jesus.

In a dramatic end he would help Jesus get down. The wounds would heal and Zack would be rewarded for doing what anyone could have done.

Time to kneel. The sounds of hundreds of people unfolding the little wooden benches under the pews brought Zack out of his zone. He hoped Sylvia didn’t notice he was a few seconds late in getting down. She’d think he was a dork.

The drone of the prayers brought Zack to his biology class. Sylvia was in the class, but she was not in his lab group. Zack, of course, was grouped with Ernest and a few other geeks. It was good for his grade, but he’d gladly trade the easy A for a chance to make Sylvia laugh.

It wasn’t just that the three geeks he had to work with liked science, it was that they were loud about it, often exclaiming that the assignment was cool. Zack was well aware of the high school rule, nerd by association. When Sylvia saw him near laughing nerds, she would assume he was one of them.



If she could just see him do something cool. Like if one of the gas lines would leak. The students would panic and cause a spark. An explosion would happen as thirty kids were rushing out of the door. Zack, however, would be dashing across the room in the other direction. It would be too perfect to have the too-hot Sylvia trip, hurt herself and not make it out. But, in his fantasy, anything could happen. The resulting fire, would block Zack and Silvia from any who looked back. The spreading fire would cause the whole school to evacuate. As the hundreds of students watched the flames burst from a window, Zack would emerge. With his forehead covered with soot and carrying an unconscious Sylvia, he would stagger to the arriving ambulance and decline treatment.

The choir starting hymn number five brought Zack out of his reverie. As always, Zack stood mute next to his singing parents. A quick glance to his right showed Ernest across the aisle singing away. Zack dared not risk a look to see if Sylvia was singing. She probably knew he liked her. He didn’t want to seem pathetic.

Sometime after the hymn, the minister instructed the congregation to greet each other in the spirit of the Lord. Zack mentally winced. He knew what was coming. Sure enough, with a huge smile on his face Ernest bounded across the church waving as he approached. Thoughts of what Sylvia was thinking rushed in. With a quick glance to make sure his parents didn’t see, Zack turned away from the approaching dork and meandered to Sylvia’s row.

When she saw him coming, she stepped behind her dad to talk to him. Zack felt his heart rise with nerves. He hoped nothing else would rise. He had no way of covering it, if it did.

“Hey, how are you?” Despite the fact she greeted him with cheerfulness, Zack knew it was a dead end.

“Fine, well… bored but fine.”

Zack hoped he kept a goofy smile off his face as she giggled. Just as he was starting to tame the butterfly circus in his gut, the din of polite conversation was dying down. People were returning to their pews.

“See ya.” She said as she turned and gave him a view of the best part of her. How, her parents let her go to church wearing that Zack will never know, nor will he ever stop being thankful.

Zack almost floated over his parent’s lap as he sidestepped his way to his place beside them. Maybe he was being ridiculous in his fear of her. He made up his mind to be more bold in school. He’d seek her out and act like it was completely natural that they were friends.

It didn’t take long for the drone of the minister to drive Zack back to his imagination. Again, he was drawn to the crowd of cowards who watched their supposed God get tortured. He fast forwarded to the drama of drawing his swords. This time they were strapped to his back. By drawing them, he held a steel X above his head. The sun streamed though and made a shadow on the soldiers who approached. Zack, offered no mercy. They went beyond their job and enjoyed the torment.

Sure they were soldiers obeying their orders. But, they could have said no. They could have cared for someone else.

“You don’t know what you have done.” Zack said on a dusty road as fearful peasants looked on. “But you will soon know.” In his mind’s eye, his speech was somber and powerful.

A soldier snuck behind him with a spear. Quickly, Zack rolled to his left. He came up swinging and took out the man’s legs. Soldiers rushed him. With a mix of martial arts, special effects and a sword that never missed, Zack darted in and out. He was always one step ahead. Bearded men in brown robes did nothing as Zack fought ever closer.

He saw that the cross had not yet been raised. The helpless God lay face down. There was a beam tied across his shoulders like an anchor.

Zack fought closer. He could see the desperation on the faces of women he had read about countless times. With tenderness, he reassured them. The soldiers came from nowhere, an inexhaustible supply.

Zack brought out moves that only a master samurai would know. He did not stop, each of his moves flowed into the next.

With a triumphant roar, he threw his two swords at the remaining two guards. With perfect accuracy, each sword hit its mark and pierced the chest plates. The guards went down in perfect symmetry.

What had been a bringer of death, changed to a compassionate believer. In Zack’s mind he knelt next to a tortured Jesus. With strength that belonged in a movie, Zack easily snapped the ropes that held him to the log.

Normally Zack’s fantasies ended when everyone was beaten or he had the girl. This time, his mind kept going. He gently rolled Jesus over so his face was not in the dirt. In a fantasy, everything worked, so Zack had a gourd full of water to offer.

His imagination couldn’t construct a face for Jesus. Zack didn’t even try. His mind was on autopilot.

“Let me help you.” Zack offered with tenderness.

“Why would you start now?” Upon hearing the cold rebuke, Zack was stunned. He looked up to see the battered and bloody face of Ernest.

“Zack, honey. Snap out of it.” Zack was brought back to church by his mom standing over him. She had her coat on and her purse in her hand.

“Were going to the Moror’s for brunch. And this time, try to be nice to Ernest. You never know when you’ll get a second chance.”




HEY! let me know if you have a comment for Joe Swope!


lizdelayne@hotmail.com

Author's Note: Joe has published his stories Puppet’s Soul in Spinetingler Magazine, A Different Hell in Descending Darkness Magazine, A Different Hell (a different version) in Spinetingler Magazine, , Pancreas and Syrup in The Harrow Magazine, and Cursive Three in Spinetingler Magazine.





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