Test of Faith

—Melody Bride

Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling
—Phil 2:12

Religion is the opiate of the masses, Marx said. I half believe it watching Melody go through her religious motions.

I don’t know why she’s always dragging me off to Mass with her.

Misery loves company, I suppose.

But I’m a free agent in the universe—I just haven’t convinced Melody of that…yet.

“You’re going to burn, Jay Randall,” Melody hisses as we exit St. Angelus Church.

I can’t help it. Incense nauseates me, and all those ringing bells…

Let us stand. Let us kneel.

“Let us go,” I simply whispered in her ear. Seemed funny at the time.

“You need to get right with God, Jay—I’m not hanging out with a pagan.”

“A pagan?” I sputter.

She’s holding up her hand like stop sign.

“Enough—you need to talk to Fr. Marcel. I just don’t know what’s going to become of you.”

Really? I’m still trying to process what happened to her.

I recall a sultry vixen in a cheerleader kilt with teased out hair—oh yeah, and black lipstick and heavy eyeliner. Yeah, those were the days.

But now, Melody’s ended up as my book shepherd and literary agent—actually, my assistant, but I better not say that out loud or she’ll punch me in the shoulder—hard…and believe me, it leaves a bruise.

I throw up my hands in frustration. “Can I help it if I’m hampered by angst?”

She rolls her eyes. “Stop playing the victim, Jay, and change.”

I give her my innocent choirboy look.

“I could change, but what would be the fun in that?”

There are daggers in her eyes and already my shoulder’s throbbing with presentiment.

I admit, our relationship is bit confused and at the moment the lines are blurred.

It would help if she weren’t so incredibly beautiful.

And every time I come near her, her beauty shakes me, as if I’m seeing her for the first time.

Last week I took her to a botanical gardens and that was a mistake.

She does well in gardens with her colors and scents.

I’m drawn to her earth tones, sunsets and turning leaves—and I guess it makes me the perfect Adam to her Eve.

No worries, I get it. I need her.

But, please God, not just yet.

She grabs my arm before we can head to the parking lot and steers me around the building and up the rectory steps.

“Hey, what’s this all about?”

She’s already ringing the doorbell. “I made an appointment—Father Marcel’s expecting us.”

“Ex-expecting us to do what?” I stammer.

“To talk, Jay. He’s available to answer all your questions—to settle your mind about your so-called angst—so you can settle down and get real with God.”

This is not what I expected.

“What kind of settling down do you have in mind?” I ask dubiously.

She gets my drift. “Like I said, I won’t hang out with a pagan, so maybe we can settle what you actually do believe so I’ll know whether to stay or leave.”

And I thought the Inquisition was abolished centuries ago. The question is will I be orthodox enough for Melody, or be kicked out the door?

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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