There Goes Sunday School

by Alexander C. Eberhart

They laid the rules out clearly at the beginning of the week. You gotta have the boys and girls as far away from each other as physically possible after dark. They always like to use that fun little analogy about boys being blue and girls being pink. Don’t want anyone making purple on the lawn. But those rules are fine by me. It means no one even thinks about blues making blue all over the place. That’s more my speed anyway.

The only thing more important than going to church in my family is looking presentable when you do. God, apparently, is pretty judgey when it comes to your wardrobe. Heaven forbid I would attempt to wear a pair of flip-flops. You would think I proposed practicing human sacrifice in the basement.

Our church sits on the outskirts of north Atlanta, in a town called Sandy Springs. It’s mostly rich white people who all drive the same four luxury models and talk about how they miss the good ol’ days, which I can only assume is a racist euphemism.

Don’t even get me started on that time he danced to “Gangnam Style” while dressed as the Apostle Paul. It still haunts my dreams.

I’m finding it hard to believe in anything these days. Apathy is so much easier.

Ah, yes, two people who love each other enough to want to spend the rest of their lives together. How awful. Humanity is doomed. Hide the children.

“A pastor is really just the leader of a cult. He has near ultimate authority inside the walls of the church. He can say whatever he wants.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Chris waves off my warning. “Besides, if it’s junk, I’ll just spatter it with paint and call it an abstract piece.” “Hey!” I fake offense. “That’s my theoretically terrible artwork you’re talking about!”

Why do adults always seem so keen on telling each other hello through their offspring? We all know they have Facebook. Just poke each other and leave me out of it.

Just checking in on that request for a sketchbook incineration. We still on schedule for that?

“Look.” Rosy still holds onto me. “So, you like to kiss boys. Well, so do I! Who knew we had so much in common?”

“Good God, I can just imagine what Myers is doing to him.” Jackie frowns. “I mean the man is practically gay Hitler.” “That reference is highly offensive,” Tanner interjects, “and ignorant because he persecuted the gays too, so you could have just left it at regular Hitler.”