Rapture Practice by Aaron Hartzler

eyes. I don’t see anything wrong with this movie, or movies in general. I don’t think God does, either. This movie made me feel good when I watched it. If it was so sinful, why would God allow me to like it so much?
    I’m angry I have to lie about the music I listen to, and the CDs I buy, and the movies I see. I want to make my own decisions about these things and not be questioned, or have to sneak around. Why does Dad have to make this a big deal? I’m not a bad kid. After all, I didn’t buy a prostitute. I only bought a CD.
    I can barely breathe as I struggle not to throw my backpack against the floor. But I don’t. My fear tempers my anger with practicality. Time to cut my losses, minimize the damage, and brace for what comes next—probably the belt. I haven’t been spanked in a while, but no matter how I cut it, this is deceit, pure and simple; there’s no getting around it. I’ve been caught. I can argue the semantics of “classic rock” versus “classical music” all night long, but it’s not going to do any good.
    “Why, Aaron?” Dad repeats himself, waiting for an answer.
    This is not a rhetorical question. He really wants to know, and stares directly into my eyes, trying to find the answer.
    “I don’t know,” I say quietly.
    For the first time tonight, I’m telling the truth. I don’t know why I like this music and this movie so much. My brain goes all mushy when Dad asks these kinds of questions—it’s like slush. I can’t marshal the words that so rarely fail me.
    How do I tell Dad that of all the movies I saw last summer with Jason,
Pretty Woman
was my favorite? That one day I want to live in Los Angeles and climb up a fire escape with flowers in my hand for somebody I’m not supposed to love?There’s a crazy guy on the street at the beginning and end of the movie who walks around saying, “Everybody’s got a dream. What’s your dream?”
    My dream is to be an actor and live in that sunny city and ride around in a limousine and make movies like
Pretty Woman
and have my dad see me in them—really see me—and not mutter “sick” and change the channel. I dream that one day my dad will watch the whole story and see that the man who searches everywhere for love finds it in the place he least expects it. I don’t know if my dream pleases God or not, but it pleases me. And doesn’t God love me? Doesn’t he want me to be happy? It feels like everything I like is always wrong.
    I don’t know how to say any of that. Instead, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
    Dad looks at me, perplexed. “Didn’t you know that if you asked me if you could buy that CD for Erin that I’d say no?” Dad asks.
    “Yes.” I speak softly, trying not to let too much slip out.
    “And yet you did it anyway. Then when I asked you about it, you lied to me because you wanted to have your way. You wanted to make your own decisions, instead of honoring your father and mother. God’s word calls that rebellion.”
    I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Here comes the snake.
    “Satan was an angel before he was a serpent, Aaron. Lucifer—the angel of light—the most powerful angel in heaven. What does the Bible say was Lucifer’s sin?”
    “Rebellion,” I say.
    As Dad works his way through the rebellion speech onemore time, I feel the scorn clawing its way up the back of my throat. I know all of this. I’ve heard it so many times I could give the speech myself.
    “Satan wants to murder you, to take your soul to hell for all eternity. You’ve trusted Jesus as your savior, so he can’t do that, but he’d love nothing more than to murder your testimony for Jesus Christ by tempting you with all the things that this sinful world has to offer: the movies, and the rock music, the sex…”
    “Dad, I don’t go to movies,” I lie, “or have sex.” This is true, but Dad doesn’t seem to hear me.
    “This is more than a lie about a CD,” Dad says. “This is about you choosing whether or not you are going