My brain is on a fishing expedition.
words…come on, Monica, choose carefully and speak…only…the right words…
It’s going pretty slow, this lake may be heavily tainted with fine Tennessee whiskey.
My neurons sluggishly reach the surface: “Oh, hi! Churchlady, it’s great to see you!” “Small talk question?” “Small talk answer.” “Small talk question with undercurrent: who the hell is this guy who is clearly not your husband we all know and love?” “Bullshit thinner than an Olsen twin anyone-could-see-through-it-excuse.”
Thank God, the Universe, and everything, she’s one of the nicer people I know from the strict church, and really quite a wonderful person, but this doesn’t stop me from being enormously self conscious. And still doesn’t explain why she’s here in this hotel when she lives less than a mile from here. What. Is. Going. On?!
Saved by the bellhop, Jackdude turns to me, having accepted the gift of two keycards from the spectacularly polite hotel lady smiling from behind the marble desk. I am eternally grateful to this angel sent from heaven to rescue this little harlot. I do the speediest introduction in the history of mankind, page 47: Awkward Intros for Dummies, and sweep Jackdude away down the hall with a quick goodbye to my Churchlady friend. Good grief. I find myself hoping he’s carrying something stronger than Jack Daniels.
When the door slams behind us, I explain to Jackdude that he may become the latest Tiny Town scandal. He laughs and I relax, himself being a bit of a rule bucker anyway. He’s almost excited at the idea. I had done a background search on him when me met, my stomach catapulting into my throat at the sight of about twelve recorded offenses in the legal system. My stomach settled, and then jolted with laughter as I realized his horrible offenses were one speeding ticket, and eleven… failures to wear a seat belt. Yep. Now that is steadfast determination to break the rules.
We tuck away luggage, ignoring the drawers and closets and opting for the quick-option of open suitcase on the shelf, and ride that fancy Mustang into the evening, meeting some favorite not-church friends for dinner and drinks. They love him. I love him. Everybody loves Jackdude. Not only is he very nice, but he is buying a constant river of alcohol for all. Everyone loves him, of course. Come on, who doesn’t love the guy buying all the drinks? We are having a blast together. I am convinced I’ve met my Soulmate, he is The One and I am set to Ride Into The Sunset and the credits can roll on this movie. We eat, we drink, we dance. I am in love, and it’s all too wonderful. His ice blue eyes gaze into mine as we cling together, and I just know. It’s going to work this time. The alcohol glazes over the evening and before you know it…
It’s the next morning, and I happily climb into my cute little outfit, studded jeans with a sexy black off the shoulder top, slide into my heels, and kitten down with Jackdude to the expansive breakfast area.
Let me preface this next bit with the fact that this hotel happens to have a rather large breakfast space that’s really more like a restaurant, with ample seating…and as I click clack forward, Jackdude by my side, I freeze… I see something that causes the blood to drain from my face faster than a half naked virgin after midnight in Transylvania.
Church people.
Lots of them. Like thirty or so, clustered haphazardly around shoved together tables. Suddenly my clacking heels sound like thunder as they turn to see us, sixty eyes taking in the inconceivable. Monica without her pastor husband. Monica in a clearly sexy outfit on a Sunday morning. Monica with a strange, unfamiliar man. Oh, Monica, how far you have fallen. How I wasn’t struck by lightning right there, I will never know.
There are double takes.
There are whispers. There are nudges. There are averted eyes.
Suddenly I feel terrifically slutty, busted in my Sunday morning walk of breakfast shame.
Church people congregate, roaches in a half-star motel with two working neon letters. Where the hell are they coming from?
A couple is at ground zero of this ad-hoc assembly, and I recognize them, and suddenly my cheeks are on fire. Oh, there are church adults I know here, but there are more young. Church kids from the youth group I led. Kids I taught not to do exactly what I’ve just been caught red-handed doing.
The penny drops.
It’s a wedding!
I had seen a blurb about this on Facebook, two kids from the bigger church, the one where I was fired for being the wrong gender. They are getting married this weekend (way too young, my opinion, but I think it’s an accurate one. Also a huge tendency in the church, and a great way to get stuck in a shit marriage.) and in a colossal coincidence, not only is this a church wedding, but it’s a church wedding for two kids who are extremely involved in ministry, which explains why I’m seeing so many people from all three churches at which I served in Tiny Town. And apparently, the bride, groom, wedding party, and a massive pile of guests are all staying at this hotel. What are the chances? I haven’t stayed in a hotel in Tiny Town since we were displaced during the house fire. I’m not good at left brain function, but maybe one of you engineers out there can math out the chances of me staying one night in Tiny Town and having it be not only the same hotel, but the exact same night as a major church wedding in the community.
And here I stand, in my sexy little outfit, all eyes fixed on my slut shoulders, promiscuous pants and hussy heels.
Busted.
I punt.
I straighten myself. I may be pasted with a scarlet letter, but dammit, I’m gonna shout that letter A.
Shoulders squared and head high, I walk directly to the groom, a guy who had been under my leadership in the youth group… “CONGRATULATIONS! This is my friend Jackdude.” He stumbles through a greeting, but is remarkably friendly, and I get the idea some of these people may not be judging me as harshly as I assume. Or they are, but does it really matter? Ice broken and crisis diminished, we go load our plates up with egg product, bacon you can see through, and yogurt in containers the size of a shotglass. All is well in my world again, I have achieved equilibrium.
I pick up another piece of Monica, proudly pocket it, and smile. I have won the day, and I have not given up who I am just because someone else disagrees. Ha. Take that.
I take my place next to Jackdude, he smiles at me and we eat together, hands touching intermittently under the table.
He loves me.
I love him.
We are together.
What could possibly go wrong?
Worship Leader Gone Wild 