Thinking Straight by Robin Reardon

me.
    Something magical happened after we’d been in there half an hour. There was no bell. I didn’t hear anyone call for attention. Nothing. But everyone stopped talking almost at once and said goodbye to the people they’d been yammering at, and they left. Charles, who hadn’t let me get more than a couple of feet from him the whole time, led me out the door and on to Isaiah. I wasn’t sure—in fact, I didn’t have a clue—who would be in our group, other than Charles and me, and probably Jessica and Marie, given what they’d said at breakfast.
    As it turned out, our group included about twenty kids, including Shorty. I looked right at him as he was heading for a chair across the room from me, wondering if he’d smile or what. But he looked right through me, as if he hadn’t been reduced to giggles at break this afternoon by my effrontery and his own unexpressed irreverence. Jessica and Marie were there as well, of course. And from where Charles and I stood—dead center at the very front—I had to turn and look around to see that there were three other kids in SafeZone, including Sheldon, who was by a chair about as far away from the front of the room as he could get. I figured Hank must be here as well, but he wasn’t next to Sheldon. I looked around and finally saw Hank in the row behind me and off to the side. So it would seem there was no rule about hanging with your new roomie, despite Charles’s irritating tenacity.
    Mrs. Harnett had told me she was our group leader, but even so, it surprised me somehow to see her there, sitting in a larger chair than ours (enthroned, perhaps?). At least our chairs weren’t in neat little rows. They were in a kind of semicircle, facing the throne.
    I started to sit, but Charles’s hand shot out and caught my arm. “We wait for the ladies to sit.” Jeez. Guess I’d forgotten that part of the Booklet. I looked around. There were three girls standing off to one side of the seating area, chatting. Most of the other “ladies” were seated, including Mrs. Harnett, but all the guys were standing. A couple of them were talking, but most of the guys were at some kind of casual attention in front of their chairs, hands clasped over their crotches, waiting.
    Finally Mrs. Harnett stood and clapped her hands once. The talking petered out pretty quickly, and when all the girls were sitting, Mrs. Harnett resumed her throne. And then all the guys sat at once. It was eerie.
    Charles leaned toward me. “Mrs. Harnett might stand again when she talks, but we don’t have to. Watch me for a cue when we need to stand again.”
    Sure enough, Mrs. Harnett stood. I wasn’t feeling particularly well-disposed toward Charles, but I thanked him silently anyway.
    â€œBrothers and sisters in Christ Jesus,” our fearless leader began, “we will bow our heads in a prayer of thanksgiving.”
    So we did, and—silly me—I thought it would be a moment of silent prayer. But no.
    â€œAlmighty God, Jesus our Savior, we are humble before you. We are grateful for everything you have done for us, everything you have given us. And we know that if you gave us only pleasure, only joy, we would not learn what we need to learn to be worthy of your grace. So we thank you for the challenges, for the difficulties, for the pain, for the sorrow. And we thank you for your patience, your forbearance, your limitless presence in our lives. We thank you for helping us to be worthy of the ultimate joy that exists only in you.”
    She sort of had me. I could identify with everything she’d said. And I was ready for the “amen.” But she wasn’t.
    â€œMerciful Father, open the hearts of everyone in this room. We are sinners, every one of us. Help us to see that, and help us to put behind us the things that tempt us into sin. Some are tempted by things that alter our consciousness, by drugs and drink