Mercy: Chapter 5

The hardest thing in life to know is which bridge to cross and which to burn.
- David Russell

Not many people knew Kenzie was in a band. In fact, not even every one of her friends knew about it. And there was something to be said about that. Sure, she had been a part of the band for five years, but so what? That didn’t really mean anything in the grand scheme of things, did it?

On her way up to Rick’s door, Kenzie cringed. More often than not, one or both of the boys were smoking - cigarettes and more. She knew that now, the band was less about the music and more about a pipe dream. Nothing was ever going to come of this. And Kenzie had known that for a long time. Rick and Jock weren’t good for her. Not that long ago, Alex had stood up in front of everybody and given them the verbal smack down. This was her time to stand up for herself, and give up something that God had been asking for since Kenzie could recall.

“Guys,” she called, walking down to the basement. In the summer months they practiced out of Rick’s garage, but it was cold now, and they complained it would ruin their instruments.

“You’re late,” Jock returned, sounding put off.

“Never gonna get a deal that way, sweet face,” Rick bristled. “Now. What do you have for us this time?”

Kenzie drew herself up. “I’m quitting.” She said it seriously, and her voice didn’t shake like she feared it might.

Jock and Rick looked at each other. They started to cackle.

“Yeah right!” Rick exclaimed. “When we’re this close to a deal? Get up to that mic, bitch.”

He said the foul name easily, as if it was what she went by, and for the first time, Kenzie’s stomach clenched hearing it. Now that she was obeying God on this, it was clear how much crap she had not only put up with, but actually gotten used to. She remembered being younger, fourteen and fifteen, and thinking it was cool, because they were swearing - and that seemed like something a real band would do.

Kenzie thought of Micah. He was one of the only people who came to support her over the years. He watched her play shows in coffee houses and other places. Kenzie knew that even Micah - who was admittedly more laid back than the rest of her friends - would have punched Rick in the mouth if he heard her being degraded that way.

Standing there, Kenzie wondered why it had taken her this long to realize how crappy it was to be a part of this band. She felt sick, having devoted five years of her life to something that ultimately stole from her.

Turning, she started to leave. She knew there was nothing she could say to convince them of what she was going to do. As an afterthought, she went to both of them, and took the music she’d written off their stands. Then, she left, hearing their protests behind her back.

“How can you just ditch us? You’ll regret it, bitch! We’re so close to a deal you’ll regret it!”

Kenzie didn’t turn around. She knew she wouldn’t regret it.

Once home, Kenzie took all her sheets of music and threw them in the fireplace to burn. She knew what God had asked her to do, and she wasn’t ever the kind of person to go halfway on anything. She wanted any remnant of her band gone.

Without looking back, Kenzie got in the car, and drove to the corner store, picking up boxes of hair color. She would still be herself, but the dyed black hair had been coerced out of her by the guys when she was fifteen.

Her mother had been furious, but Kenzie hadn’t relented. She’d kept the unnatural gothic black hair ever since. She almost couldn’t remember her natural color, though she knew she’d been blonde as a child.

Kenzie spent the next several hours trying to restore some normalcy to her hair. It took work, but eventually she had a more natural auburn color. She had purposely done all the coloring in her band clothes, staining the black fabric with peroxide and making them useless.

She changed clothes - opting for her favorite pair of ripped blue jeans, and a long underwear shirt, beneath a faded light blue tee shirt with Rainbow Brite on the front. As a finishing touch, she wore her rainbow striped toe socks and her princess crown - proud of herself for doing the right thing.

Looking at her watch, Kenzie got into the car again and drove to church, hoping she wasn’t too late.

--

When Kenzie arrived several minutes later, Julia saw her and waved.

Kenzie smiled back thinking how cool it was that God would hook her up so quickly with something to fill her music passion. Just yesterday, Julia had approached her and said there was an open spot on the worship team if she wanted to take it.

That was all the confirmation she’d needed, and Kenzie had gone ahead and quit.

She knew instinctively that the worship team was going to be very different from her garage band, but she never had been a creature of habit.

Kenzie walked up confidently and introduced herself. She was warmly received and asked to sing a little so they would get an idea of her voice. Quickly, she got used to not being the only vocalist, and embraced the team mentality, liking the idea that their success didn’t rest on any one person, or even in the group. Because they weren’t about success. They were about worshipping.

Ironically, this was something Kenzie was fairly private about. Usually, on Sundays she couldn’t even be spotted during worship because she would tuck herself away somewhere, and worship God by herself. Sometimes, she went in a dark room off to the side. Sometimes, she secluded herself in the women’s restroom.

No one knew that during worship most Sundays, Kenzie never sang. Not because she was being disrespectful, but because it was such a personal experience that most times it was all she could do to raise her hands and listen to the words. Most Sundays, she wept.

But now, Kenzie was ready to sing. She was tired of using her voice for the stupid band, and not even being able to open her mouth when it came time to praise God. When she opened her mouth, and felt her voice slide effortlessly over the notes of all the familiar songs, it was gentler. She had no need for the performance rasp she always used. She didn’t need to worry about abusing her voice screaming out angry lyrics that she herself had penned.

Instead, she sang with her real voice, barely recognizing herself. Instead of belting, she contentedly fell into a harmony line and closed her eyes.

--

Afterward, she and Julia went out. Though Julia was a college student, she had finished her finals already and was home on break, even before the high school kids were done. Kenzie’s two jobs were both done by afternoon, so she had her nights free.

They decided on a local restaurant that was open twenty-four hours. It served breakfast no matter what time it was - day or night. Kenzie ordered pancakes, and asked for peanut butter to slather across them. She topped off her creation with maple syrup, until it ran down the sides of her pancakes, and surrounded them like a moat.

Julia got a large muffin, which she peeled the wrapper off and ate slowly. She ate it plain, and drank water and diet soda, while Kenzie indulged in her pancake revelry, which came with eggs and toast. Kenzie drank an incredibly large glass of non-diet soda, and enjoyed herself thoroughly.

“So, looks like somebody gave you a makeover…” Julia pointed out, confused. In all the years she’d known Kenzie, she had never seen her without her black hair.

“I figured it was time for a change,” Kenzie shrugged, speaking around a messy bite of pancakes and eggs.

Julia’s eyes widened. “You did this?” She was incredulous, and didn’t try to hide it. “I thought your whole persona was wrapped up in this rebel thing.”

“My persona?” Kenzie repeated, not sure if she should be insulted. “What are you talking about?”

“You know… Like, you’re trying to show us all something by it.”

Kenzie shook her head slightly. “Whether I was wearing black and chains, or Rainbow Brite, I was being me. It’s never about costumes.”

Julia raised her eyebrows and pointed to the crown perched happily on Kenzie’s head.

“I wore that because I’m feeling proud of myself,” she said seriously.

Sighing, Julia ripped off another chunk of muffin and took a bite of it. “What were you proud of yourself for? Coming back from the dark side?” she quipped, only half-kidding.

“Something like that,” Kenzie allowed, not even flinching at the remark. She knew Julia’s game, and how convinced she always was that she was right. Kenzie never saw the point in engaging with Julia unless Julia was wrong.

Kenzie also knew that Julia knew nothing about her band. She intended to keep it that way. To keep this struggle - this victory - a private one. Maybe she would share it with Micah, later, but only if he asked about it.

“So, how did you like worship practice?” Julia wondered.

“It was cool.” Kenzie returned simply.

“You sounded really good,” Julia complimented, sounding shocked.

“Thanks,” Kenzie laughed, a little self-conscious.

Julia shook her head. “No, seriously. You sound…like you’ve got some kind of anointing coming out of you or something.”

Kenzie guffawed. She couldn’t help it. “Yeah, right. Jule, I seriously doubt that!”

“Seriously,” Julia pressed. “Where have you and that voice been all this time?”

“I don’t know…” she shrugged. “So… Are you coming to Mikhail and Maria’s for the party?” Kenzie asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Yeah, probably. It’s a big deal, so I think everybody will try and come.” Julia took the lemon from the side of her glass and squeezed it into the water, finally dropping it in.

“Can I ask you something?” Kenzie waited for Julia to nod, and continued. “What was the deal with you and Elise the other night?”

“Oh, that…” Julia said dismissively. “That girl gloms on to anyone she’s near. Kylie, me…”

“Maybe she looks up to you,” Kenzie said, trying to keep her tone matter of fact. “And anyway, how did that turn into a screaming match?”

“She’s a drama queen. I just said she should go to her own mother with problems instead of enlisting Kylie to deal with them.” Julia shrugged. “Then Belle went off on me, about how I was out of line. As if I was saying that I wanted Elise to go back and get mistreated, when all I meant was that Kylie deserved a break.”

“Since when were you so loyal to Kylie?” Kenzie wondered, knowing the two never really had been friends.

Julia looked at a loss. “I mean…we never were friends, I guess. It just doesn’t seem right that she should sacrifice her life at twenty-four to be a mother and a wife when she doesn’t have to be.”

“Were you gonna apologize?” Kenzie questioned.

“Apologize?”

“To Elise?” Kenzie clarified.

“Why would I apologize to Elise?” Julia wondered bitterly.

Kenzie put down her fork and looked across the table. “It was a pretty cold thing to say, Jule, don’t you think? Especially considering her life right now?”

“I wasn’t saying it to be mean. I don’t see why I should apologize for something I don’t regret.”

“Look I don’t want to get into it with you. Just at least think about it. Whether you meant to or not, you hurt her. And from the looks of things you hurt Belle, too. Even if it’s only by being so mean to her friend.”

“I’m not wrong,” Julia maintained, a look of conviction darkening her pretty features.

“We’ll see,” Kenzie returned, keeping her tone of voice passive, though she already was praying for God to come and change Julia’s mind.

--

Josh spent more time on the phone than he should have trying to locate Jared’s number. First, he had called Belle, who didn’t have Jared’s number, but knew that Alex had it. So he called Alex next.

When he heard someone who sounded like Alex pick up, Josh started in. “Hey, is this Alex?”

“Yes it is. Who’s this?” she couldn’t conceal her tiredness, and checked the caller ID. She saw the last name Meyer and connected it with nothing familiar.

“This is Josh. “

“Hey, Josh. What’s up?” she asked, perking up only slightly, and solely for his benefit.

“Do you have Jared’s number?” he asked, pen and paper poised to write. He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Yeah. Do you want it?” she asked. She knew he did. Why else would he be calling?

“Mm-hm,” he said distractedly.

She recited the number from memory, despite the fact that she hadn’t used it in several weeks, and that she had it stored in her cell phone. People didn’t usually go to the trouble of memorizing numbers if they could just put them in their phone and push a button, but Alex couldn’t shake the habit of memorizing numbers - in case she ever needed one and she didn’t have her phone nearby.

“Thanks so much, Alex.”

Josh’s voice was so sincere that it brought a smile to her face in spite of her ever-dark mood.

“No problem. Bug him for me, would you? Tell him hi for me.”

“I will.” Josh returned. He hung up briefly, and then called up Jared.

“Who is this?” Jared asked, before he even said hello. He pulled the phone back and stared again at the unfamiliar number.

“It’s Josh. Don’t hang up!” he said urgently.

Jared’s eyes narrowed on his end of the call. The annoyance was back. This kid just didn’t know when to stop. “Why not?” he asked, anger tingeing his voice.

“I wanted to know if we could do something, maybe…” Josh trailed off, knowing how unlikely it would be for Jared to agree to do anything with him. “It was fun playing video games at Micah’s the other night, so I thought you might want to come over.”

“Look. I’m not your new friend.” Jared said forcefully. “We’re not gonna roll alongside each other like the gimp twins just so you won’t feel like you stick out like a sore thumb to all your buddies.”

“I don’t need to be friends with you to feel like I’ll fit in,” Josh maintained. “I want to be friends with you because I think you might want somebody to talk to about your situation.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “I don’t have a situation. And I don’t need some little insecure wannabe at my side every minute of the day.”

“I’m not asking for that. I just wanted to know if you want to come over to my house and hang out. Actually, all I really wanted was to talk to you.”

“About what, Pokemon?” Jared scoffed.

“Pikachu is pretty cool, you know?” Josh kidded, trying to lighten the mood.

“Right, and so is Big Bird…” the older spat.

Josh was silent, laughing. He wondered if Jared was always this much of a hoot to talk to.

“You had to watch Big Bird growing up,” Josh defended, once he was sure he wouldn’t laugh out loud.

“Wrong. I watched a cartoon about cops and robbers,” Jared divulged, feeling stunned after the fact that he had let that little piece of information slip.

Silence fell momentarily between them. Jared broke it first.

“So, are you really calling for me? This isn’t some ploy to stroke your ego by helping the guy who can’t get past his injury, is it?”

“Well, the ego stroke is a nice benefit,” Josh teased. “No, I really am calling for you. Seems like you need someone to relate to.”

“So you want me to relate to a twelve year old?” Jared ribbed sarcastically.

“Fourteen.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Fourteen. Do you even know that I’m like, six years older than you?”

“Honestly, I don’t care.”

“Well, I can’t even believe I’m having this conversation.” Jared complained. “Why don’t you call your own friends and talk to them?”

“Because I’d rather talk to you.” Josh reasoned. “What do you do when you’re not being cynical?” he wondered good-naturedly.

“I work behind a desk. Answer phones and stuff. Handle appointments.”

“Like a secretary.” Josh deduced.

Jared made a face. “It’s for a good place,” he defended.

“I never said it wasn’t. You know what I wanna be is a psychologist. When I was younger I wanted to play in the major leagues for baseball, but when I realized that wasn’t realistic, I figured helping people wouldn’t be a bad career option.”

“Pretty ambitious…” Jared ventured. “But I think if anyone could pull it off, you probably would be the one.”

“It takes, like, eight years of college or something.” Josh paused. “It’s a good thing I’m ahead.”

Jared laughed. “I guess so.”

“What do you wanna be?” Josh asked seriously.

“I wanna be normal.” It was out of Jared’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“You are,” Josh told him. His voice held all the certainty of an adult, and all the innocence of a child. “So, what do you wanna be?”

Jared exhaled. “Maybe something in finances…”

“You want to be something in finances?” Josh quipped.

“Yeah, like a banker or something…” Jared smiled.

“You like money, huh?”

“Yep.”

“If I come to you in a few years for a loan to pay off my schooling, will you give one to me?” Josh tried.

“Sure. You seem like a man of your word.” Jared allowed, knowing his assessment was true.

“All right. Well, I have to get off the phone. It was nice talking to you, Jared.”

“See ya,” Jared returned, before hanging up.

He shook his head momentarily, unsure of how Josh, a kid Jared was once loathe to get to know had suddenly become the highlight of his day…

--

Ryan looked around, wondering how he’d ever ended up agreeing to go over to Chris’s and help him cook for the party going on later on in the week. Ryan knew he was the farthest thing from a chef. But he also knew he was bored, and boredom only led to trouble these days.

So after church, he rode with Chris over to his place, and learned the ins and outs of barbecuing and how to make all kinds of dishes from the South, that Ryan didn’t even know existed.

Chris cooked unlike any other man Ryan knew. For starters, he wore an apron. Not a decorative one, but it was still an apron. Plain, white, and severe looking. Both his sleeves were pushed up to the elbows and he wore a serious expression when he talked about just the right combination of ingredients for his secret barbecue sauce.

Ryan realized, somewhat belatedly, that he had come ill-prepared. He was dressed in his Sunday best, which while it wasn’t formal, wasn’t something he wanted to spill on, or get stained. He made due with an extra dish towel, draping it around himself, and thinking himself more manly and ingenious for fashioning his own apron - a “mapron” - as he called it. The man’s apron.

“Isn’t this thing supposed to be at Mikhail’s?” Ryan asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” Chris returned, adding some kind of seasoning to his secret barbecue sauce. “So?”

“So isn’t he Russian?” Ryan wondered. “He’s not gonna eat barbecue.”

“Maybe not, but I sure am.” Chris nodded for emphasis, patting his stomach. “Besides, a lot of us are originally from the South.”

Leaning over, Ryan snagged a pathetic, limp looking piece of chicken from the baking sheet, burning his fingers but not caring. Ignoring Chris and his careful and exacting technique, Ryan set the piece of chicken on the edge of the bowl, and let it fall in, adding a long effeminate scream, as the poultry met its demise.

“You gonna eat that piece?” Chris asked, slightly amused.

Ryan shook his head. “Nope, but I’ll dig it out if you wanna cook it.” Glancing around the kitchen he found a set of tongs and went to work rescuing the wing from the dish.

“You are somethin’ else,” Chris rolled his eyes. “You ever cook before?”

By now, Ryan had managed to get a hold of the piece that had taken a dip in the sauce and held it up expectantly. “Nope. Only thing I cook is maybe eggs, and that’s only if I’m feeling adventurous.”

“Why’d you tell me you’d help me then?” a smile had spread now, revealing the deep dimples in Chris’s cheeks.

“I was bored.” Ryan shrugged.

“You ever make pumpkin pie?” Chris tried, hoping he had. He needed somebody to help him get all this food prepared.

“I can make cookies,” Ryan offered. He didn’t add that he could only make chocolate chip cookies, and that was only because there was almost always a recipe on the back of the bag of chocolate chips.

Chris tossed the canned pumpkin in Ryan’s direction. “Make your cookies and add that. We gotta keep it traditional.” he warned, though his eyes were sparkling.

“And there’s nothing more traditional than putting pumpkin in the chocolate chip cookies,” Ryan said sarcastically.

“That’s right,” Chris returned.

“Is anybody else coming to help?” Ryan wondered, as he raided the kitchen for ingredients.

“Maybe. You’re the only one who really volunteered, but people will probably come by.”

“Why are you making chicken wings so far ahead of time?”

“Are you ever quiet?” Chris joked, his voice slipping up a few octaves as he asked the question. “I’m makin’ it ahead of time, ‘cause I got a life. I got homework to do, and papers to write and a job to do, and this is my only day off.”

“And you’re the only one cooking.” Ryan maintained seriously.

“No, I’m not the only one cooking. Maria’s cooking. But I’m gonna do my part. There’s gonna be a lot of us there,” he reasoned.

So for the rest of the afternoon, the two of them cooked away. Ryan took so long preparing his cookies that Chris got all of his chicken cooked by the time Ryan’s first batch of cookies went in the oven. The first batch burned, and filled the kitchen with so much smoke, that they spent the rest of the time cooking and baking with the windows open, freezing, but, as Ryan pointed out, at least they weren’t suffocating from the stench.

When they had finished, the two had created quite a collection of food to bring over, and Chris was satisfied.

They cleaned up, and as no one else ended up showing to help with the festivities, the two turned on the television and watched the movies that repeated themselves shamelessly every Christmas season.

Ryan, as the Lord would have it, found himself happy and content. He hadn’t flinched when he filled the kitchen with smoke, and he hadn’t bailed when the work got too arduous. He had stuck it out, and had several dozen cookies to show for it. He felt pride at having done something new, and a sense of accomplishment about volunteering himself to help someone else. Ryan knew he hadn’t felt either pride, or accomplishment in some years, but it didn’t matter. He was feeling them now, and he wanted to feel them again.

Glancing across the room at Chris’ who was snoring, Ryan felt sure that Chris wouldn’t let too much time pass before he gave him another opportunity to feel proud of himself.