I guess Frampton could have come alive here...

I heard she found God.

I had to go and find out for myself.

We fucked a lot when we knew each other. And honestly, I don’t remember having a conversation about God with her. Never. I mean, we said grace when we were at her mother’s house, but that’s pretty normal stuff. Even for Atheists or Agnostics. You kind of do what is expected of you in someone else’s house.

Which is why when I heard the rumors swirling about that she’d gone completely to Jesus’ side, it intrigued me.

I’ve dabbled in religion from time to time since the day my mother asked me at the ripe old age of nine years old “Randy, do you want to go to church anymore?”

Like most nine year olds, I said “No,” of course, and other than an occasional wedding or funeral – or sightseeing trip – hadn’t stepped in a church since.

I took some religion classes in college. I sat down one lonely night in a hotel and tried to read the Bible, not a page turner that one. And I’d prayed a few times, but mostly for silly things like the pain stopping in my teeth or kidneys, or maybe to win the lottery to pay off my student loans and credit cards. By the way, praying didn’t help any of those things.

So, God had been around me, just not part of me. I try to believe in God. I don’t think he’s a guy up in the clouds with a long white beard and a bunch of others with wings hovering about doing good things.

No, I think if God exists He’s a spark of light. An atom. A protein. Something like that. That’s why we’re all God, really. And if I didn’t think I’d be labeled “Douchebag” I’d probably be a Rastafarian. They seem to get it closer to right than most.

Anyway, I walked into the church, not knowing what to expect. It was one of those gigantic monstrosities you see on the side of the road. Huge buildings with parking lots so big you’d think that Peter Frampton, circa 1977, was playing there every night.

It smelled funny too. Not like old ladies and dust. That’s what I remember church smelling like.

Instead, this one was filled with the smells of coffee and cinnamon buns.

“How weird,” was the only thing that stuck in my head.

There were also kids. Everywhere. Now, when I was going to church, there sure weren’t any kids around. And when we were, we were in Sunday school. Being shown pop-up books about Noah’s ark or other calamadies.

These kids were running around being kids. It was strange to see. No suits and ties. Instead, mesh shorts and awful shirts from Wal-Mart that said “baseball” or “Daddy’s boy” or even fucking Betty Boop.

At once, I wanted to get out of there. But my curiosity got the best of me. As did her eyes. When I saw here smiling at me, I knew I was in trouble. Her eyes had a power over me. I’d like to think now, so many years removed, that they wouldn’t anymore. But, most likely, they do. A good reason as any to follow the path so many take – avoidance. So much easier to not be troubled by something if you just stay away from the source of the trouble.

She came up to me like she always did. Giggling, smiling and almost skipping. It had been that way the first time we met in a bar, back in the other times, and it was the same now. I could feel my legs weaken. She had that effect on me.

“You’re going to enjoy this,” she said as she handed me a flier and led me to a seat. A band was setting up on a giant stage in this cavernous place. I guess Frampton could have come alive here.

“Sit here,” she said.

I started to say something, I don’t remember what, but she was already skipping away.

A few minutes later, the audience was filled to capacity. I had an empty seat next to me, saved just in case. But she never came back.

I watched the band take the stage. A couple of songs later, I didn’t know the words, but everyone else seemed to, a man with glasses took the stage. He was bald, shaved bald, and muscular. He was trying very hard to look younger than he was – fashionable clothes and designer glasses. But he sounded like a preacher. You can take the look away, but not the feel.

His sermon was good. Not specific enough to really mean anything, but generic enough to touch everyone – including myself. He was good.

A few more songs sang and then the hat was passed around. Envelopes came with your program. I put mine in the basket like everyone else. But mine was empty, theirs were not.

Afterwards, she found me. Still skipping around with a big grin on her face.

“What did you think?” she asked.

“Interesting,” I replied.

She shrugged and wandered off again.

I thought I should leave. Never see her again. But, I came back. Two more times.

She got my hopes up.

All I got was let down.

Again.

This time didn’t hurt as much as the first. But it still hurt.

“You live and you learn, son,” my dad said to me the other day.

He doesn’t know the half of it, being married 48 years now. Of course, I don’t know the half of it either – never been married and all. Despite my best efforts.

So, I come home tonight, turn on some classic rock and pop the top off of a beer.

“Do. Do. You. Feeeeeeel like I do?”

Not really Pete. Not really