They were his favorite Christian metal group, the one he modeled his own sound on. He’d stenciled JESUS ROCKS on the back. Nanny hated the message, hated the shirt, and she’d ruined his first one in the laundry by deliberately pouring bleach on it. It was another thing he kept in his school backpack, folded flat inside his social studies notebook.
Robbie ran back down the stairs, his backpack draped over his shoulder. More than once, Junior had gone to school without him and he’d had to hitch a ride. Robbie had been lucky one time back in September, getting to the crossroads just as Chip and Lara Grellier were pulling out of their yard. Chip was going to drive on around him, but Robbie jumped in front of the car, waving his arms frantically, and explained that Junior had left him behind.
He’d scrunched into the back of Chip’s Nissan, his knees around his ears, his nose almost resting in Lara Grellier’s soft brown curls. Her hair smelled like fresh grass, and he could see the line where her tan ended beneath her tank top. He felt himself contract with longing. Was this love? And could he be in love with Lara Grellier, who had broken his front tooth in a fight when they were in sixth grade, whose family always went out of their way to hurt the Schapens? Besides which, she went to a church where they believed in evolution instead of the Bible, so according to Myra, Arnie, and Pastor Nabo she was bound for hell. Maybe it was his—Robbie’s—job to save her.
When they got to school and she jumped out, he’d been imagining her breasts under his hands as his passion guided her to Jesus. Her mocking “End of the trail, milkboy” made him blush, as if she had seen his thoughts.
The next several times that Junior left without him, Robbie had sprinted to the crossroads, hoping to get there ahead of the Grelliers, but each time they had already left for town and he’d been forced to walk the long mile to the main road before getting a lift.
After that he’d tried harder to be ready ahead of Junior, since Myra thought it was good discipline for Robbie when Junior left without him. “This is what it will feel like when Jesus comes again in glory, to be left behind with the sinners. So you learn to be ready, ready for school, ready for the Lord.”
When it was his turn for early-morning milking, he imagined his workload next fall if Junior went on to college. The one good thing was, he’d get to take the pickup to school himself, no more of this hassling by Nanny and his brother. Chip would be gone, too, probably, taking his little sports car off to college, so maybe Lara would ride with him, Robbie Schapen.
“Lulu” was what her family always called her. Back when they were in grade school at Kaw Valley Eagle, he used to tease her: Lulu makes doo-doo, Lulu the boo-boo. Now he blushed with shame. No wonder she called him milkboy.
“Lulu,” he murmured into the foggy mirror.
Junior rattled the knob again. “Last call.”
Today, as he bolted out the door, Nanny shouted, “You change that shirt when you get home from school, young man. I want those Jews to see you looking like a Christian, in a real shirt. You hear me?”
“But this is a Christian band, Nanny,” Robbie called, jumping into the truck, which Junior was starting to put in gear.
“Says you.”
Junior sprayed gravel as he spun out of the yard.
“Says me, says Pastor Nabo, and says anyone who isn’t too ignorant to listen to music.”
“Yeah, when the roll is called up yonder Nanny will be miles ahead of Becoming the Anti-Christ in the line. So listen to her, knucklehead.”
“ Archetype, not anti-Christ, you ignorant ape. Anyway, why is Nanny so bent out of shape about some Jews coming to the farm?” Robbie complained. “Lawrence is full of Jews. We know lots of them from school and the market. Why do we have to put on good clothes and let a bunch of strange men fool around with Soapweed’s calf?”
“If you’d get your head
Robbie ran back down the stairs, his backpack draped over his shoulder. More than once, Junior had gone to school without him and he’d had to hitch a ride. Robbie had been lucky one time back in September, getting to the crossroads just as Chip and Lara Grellier were pulling out of their yard. Chip was going to drive on around him, but Robbie jumped in front of the car, waving his arms frantically, and explained that Junior had left him behind.
He’d scrunched into the back of Chip’s Nissan, his knees around his ears, his nose almost resting in Lara Grellier’s soft brown curls. Her hair smelled like fresh grass, and he could see the line where her tan ended beneath her tank top. He felt himself contract with longing. Was this love? And could he be in love with Lara Grellier, who had broken his front tooth in a fight when they were in sixth grade, whose family always went out of their way to hurt the Schapens? Besides which, she went to a church where they believed in evolution instead of the Bible, so according to Myra, Arnie, and Pastor Nabo she was bound for hell. Maybe it was his—Robbie’s—job to save her.
When they got to school and she jumped out, he’d been imagining her breasts under his hands as his passion guided her to Jesus. Her mocking “End of the trail, milkboy” made him blush, as if she had seen his thoughts.
The next several times that Junior left without him, Robbie had sprinted to the crossroads, hoping to get there ahead of the Grelliers, but each time they had already left for town and he’d been forced to walk the long mile to the main road before getting a lift.
After that he’d tried harder to be ready ahead of Junior, since Myra thought it was good discipline for Robbie when Junior left without him. “This is what it will feel like when Jesus comes again in glory, to be left behind with the sinners. So you learn to be ready, ready for school, ready for the Lord.”
When it was his turn for early-morning milking, he imagined his workload next fall if Junior went on to college. The one good thing was, he’d get to take the pickup to school himself, no more of this hassling by Nanny and his brother. Chip would be gone, too, probably, taking his little sports car off to college, so maybe Lara would ride with him, Robbie Schapen.
“Lulu” was what her family always called her. Back when they were in grade school at Kaw Valley Eagle, he used to tease her: Lulu makes doo-doo, Lulu the boo-boo. Now he blushed with shame. No wonder she called him milkboy.
“Lulu,” he murmured into the foggy mirror.
Junior rattled the knob again. “Last call.”
Today, as he bolted out the door, Nanny shouted, “You change that shirt when you get home from school, young man. I want those Jews to see you looking like a Christian, in a real shirt. You hear me?”
“But this is a Christian band, Nanny,” Robbie called, jumping into the truck, which Junior was starting to put in gear.
“Says you.”
Junior sprayed gravel as he spun out of the yard.
“Says me, says Pastor Nabo, and says anyone who isn’t too ignorant to listen to music.”
“Yeah, when the roll is called up yonder Nanny will be miles ahead of Becoming the Anti-Christ in the line. So listen to her, knucklehead.”
“ Archetype, not anti-Christ, you ignorant ape. Anyway, why is Nanny so bent out of shape about some Jews coming to the farm?” Robbie complained. “Lawrence is full of Jews. We know lots of them from school and the market. Why do we have to put on good clothes and let a bunch of strange men fool around with Soapweed’s calf?”
“If you’d get your head
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