Ain’t That a Shame

I slumped down into the pew, suddenly feeling sorry for myself. I had helped organize a crew of kids and had given of my own precious time and efforts, yet no one except Carol and that bossy Susie had spoken to me. That troublesome person who had paid so much attention to me a couple of days ago now seemed to be quite enamored with my young blond neighbor. Why did that matter anyway? Silently, I sulked up at the ceiling, not noticing I was no longer alone in the pew. Somethin’ botherin’ ya?” “Ah, no.” I thought fast. “I guess I was just wishing my family weren’t going to the early service on Christmas Eve.” “Why don’t ya go ta the midnight service if ya want ta?” “I never drive out alone that late at night. It’s can be dangerous for a girl to drive out alone late at night, even around here.” “Ya want I should take ya?” “Did you say, ‘Would you like to go to the late service with me?’” “Somethin’ like that,” he grinned. “Were you planning to go?” “Nope. But I’ll take ya, if you want me ta.” I sat up straight. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to go out of your way for me.” “Yer bein’ stupid again, ain’t ya?” “Why do you use such terrible grammar?” “Why not?” “Because you’re too intelligent to waste your life away pretending to be stupid. Bad grammar makes you sound dumb. At least I’m trying to make the best of the gifts God gave me. You should too.” “Shit! What bought that on? Look, if ya don’t want ta go ta the late service, just say so, and cut the crap.” “I’m thinking about it. And don’t swear in church.” I sat and stewed at the ceiling for about two minutes. He didn’t move, and I didn’t look at him. “Okay, I’d like to go to the late service with you,” I grumbled. “But no holding my hand, okay? I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.” “Oh, heaven forbid. He looked up at the church ceiling too, gesturing toward it, palms up, as if he were imploring the heavens to agree with his opinion of females. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll pretend like I don’t know ya.” “I didn’t ask you to do that. Just act like a gentleman. Is that too much for me to ask? You do understand what I mean by ‘act like a gentleman,’ don’t you?” “I’ll pick ya up at 10:30,” he snarled. “I’ll come out to your car,” I said, bossily, trying to mask my uncertainty about the whole idea. No wonder I had never been any good at Chess. When would I learn to think things out when I was unsure of the next move? My parents were bewildered when I told them that I was not going with them to the family Christmas Eve service, but with Pete French to the midnight service instead. Both of them eyed me suspiciously. When Dad said he was disappointed that I wasn’t going with the rest of the family, I told him I would certainly go them if he really wanted me to, but Pastor French had asked me to be friendly to Pete. Since I had always wanted to go to the later service, I thought I’d accomplish two things at one time. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you’re doing this.” Mom complained. “Wasn’t going shopping with that boy enough? I thought you acted a bit strange after you got home. Have you forgotten all the terrible things you’ve told us about Pete in the past? Are you sure he’s not after you? He could be dangerous, for all you know, Sandy.” “Oh, Marie,” Dad piped in. “I think you may be going a bit too far now.” “Well, she has to get dressed at the same time as everyone else, even if she isn’t going with us. I want to take a photograph of the four kids dressed in their church Christmas clothing in front of our tree to use on next year’s Christmas cards.” “Sure, Mom, I’ll be happy to do that.” “And you must promise to come home right after the service,” Dad said firmly. I had my picture taken with the rest of the kids, and while my family was at church, I finished wrapping their gifts. I distributed them under the tree among the early gifts we had already gotten from friends and neighbors. I expected that my parents would scatter the bulk of the packages under the tree when the other kids had gone off to bed, and I was still out. Pete picked me up at the driveway at the appointed time. Had he gotten his hair trimmed? It was still too long for my taste, and it had been greased into place with too much Vaseline, but it looked slightly better that night for some reason, and I noticed that he wore a white shirt and black tie under his coat. “I ain’t myself tonight, if that’s what yer look means. Excuse me, but I am a stranger and a gentleman, like you said ya wanted me to be.” His irregular, partially corrected speech pattern amused me, but, unsure of my footing, I refrained from commenting. We drove in silence to the church, where we were lucky to find a parking space. It surprised me to see how many people were out at midnight. Although both of us almost tiptoed in, settling quickly down into a back pew, Betty Marsh spotted us together and gaped at us with a look of...what was it? Consternation? The service was beautiful in every way. When Pete didn’t pick up a hymnal, I offered to share mine, at an appropriate distance. Most of the time he barely moved his lips, but I belted out the familiar carols with joyous gusto. Although we sat in the back of the church, I distinctly felt that Pastor French was aware of the two of us there, together. I saw him smile our way once. As soon as the last amen was sung, Pete whispered, “Let’s get outta here now, okay?” I hastily followed him out, whispering “Merry Christmas” to Betty. He opened the car door and I slid into his convertible. I was thankful that the car’s flame-covered top was up, because it was cold. He got in behind the wheel and said, “Well, did I act okay?” “Yes, thank you.” With his right hand he patted the part of the car’s bench that was closest to him.” “Common, move over. You’ll be warmer over here.” I eyed him distrustfully. “Sandy, I ain’t gonna bite ya.” I moved toward him, about three inches. He pulled the car out and we headed in a direction that would take us further away from my house. “Where are you taking me?” My voice rose in alarm. “I promised my parents I’d be home right after the service.” “Calm down, will ya? I have somethin’ fer ya.” That’s when he gave me that red rhinestone heart ring and told me I was making a big deal out of nothing. Nothing? What would my friends think if they were to see me wearing it? What would my parents think? He couldn’t have chosen a worse gift. And I had nothing to offer him in return. I was in deep trouble. And the evening wasn’t over yet. “You knew it would fit, didn’t you?” I asked him, staring at the heart on my finger and trying to make up for my ungratefulness. He looked into my eyes searchingly, seemed satisfied, and restarted the engine of his car. This time he drove directly to my house. He turned on his car radio to WKBW, which was playing Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight.” Although it wasn’t a Christmas carol, it seemed somehow appropriate to me. As we approached my driveway, I asked him to turn off the radio. It was time for me to warn him about King, the killer guard dog. “You can just drop me off, like you have done before. If you see me to the door, our huge German shepherd, King, will attack you. He’s extremely protective of me.” “Naw, I’m not gonna let ya go ta yer door alone in the dark. Not at this hour. It ain’t right. Not fer a gentleman like me.” “I’m warning you, Pete, King will try to kill you. He has attacked people before. When he bit our mailman once…” He interrupted me with a “Shut up, baby” and a grin. “No arguments. A lady has ta do what a gentleman asks. I’m goin’ ta walk you to your door, and you ain’t gonna stop me.” “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Pete opened the car door for me and walked me to the side door. As I began to open it, King bounded towards us, barking at full bark, aiming straight for Pete’s leg.