Fall is officially upon us. The leaves have turned and are already beginning to float to the ground with the mid-October breeze. The first to land crunch under our feet as we walk the two blocks to Kirkpatrick Chapel.
“What is this thing we’re going to again?” I ask Julia, who’s slipped her arm through mine.
“It’s a benefit concert. There were only five hundred tickets sold so it should be intimate.” Julia says this with an air of romance. All five hundred of us are filing into the chapel at the same time. I haven’t been here since my first days at Rutgers. It’s probably similar to what it looked like in 1873 when it was built for Rutgers students to worship.
We walk through the double doors held open by ushers with buckets soliciting additional donations and the rose red walls engulf the chapel. White pillars stretching to high ceilings highlight the dark wood floors and the wooden pews. We file in, moving as close to the front as possible. It hits me that Kirkpatrick is the first church I’ve been in since the death of my parents. A cold air runs across my neck and I remember my grandmother’s warnings of “catching a chill.” I think I just caught one.
Within minutes of us sitting down, the lights fall and the band plays their soulful drums and harmonica-filled songs. I’m in the middle of the pew, flanked by Julia and Violet. Noble, Wes, and Sydney make up the rest of our group. More people file into the church and plead for everyone to squeeze together. We’re all standing now so the number of people in the pew no longer matters. The acoustics in the chapel are eerie, designed for an organ, but equally moving with this blues rock band.
All I can think of is my mom. She would want me to go to church. I’m not sure this counts. But I haven’t done anything she’d want, have I? I have. I came back to Rutgers. I’m studying. I just happen to be in love with Jason Leer. The one guy she specifically told me not to love. The very last piece of advice she gave me before she died.
The music and the lyrics are too much and I find myself fighting back tears. I lean over to Julia. “I’m thirsty. I’m going to find a drink.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. I’ll be back in a few. Save me a spot,” I say, and try to appear unaffected. I slide past Noble and Wes and rush out of the chapel as I hear the last of the harmonica gently sounding. I walk down the hill and rest my head on my arm, leaning against a tree that has probably been here since 1873 too, and I cry. I cry for my mother bleeding in a car, I cry for my father dying before he had a chance to say good-bye, and I cry for me on a tree, unable to tolerate a song about prayer in a chapel, so filled with hate for our heavenly father. I am so going to hell. This makes me cry even harder, which a small part of me recognizes as a good sign.
“Hey,” Noble says as he turns me around to face him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” His kindness aggravates the crying and I cover my face with my hands, too embarrassed to face him. Noble pulls my hands away and pulls me to his chest. He’s so tall my face hits square in the middle of it and I wrap my arms around his back and hold on for dear life. “Charlotte, please tell me.”
“I haven’t been to church since my parents died and…” And what, Charlotte? “And I miss my mom.”
“Charlotte, I’m sorry.” I try to keep it this side of a sob as I unleash my utter sadness right into the center of his chest. He rubs my back and never says a word. My violent sorrow eases and Noble pulls my hair from my neck and lays it on my back.
“Noble, I’m sorry. I know I am a tremendous buzz kill.” Noble keeps petting my hair as he laughs a little.
“No, no. Crying girls are fun.” He makes me laugh. No one can kill a party like I can; one more thing to feel guilty about. I try and catch my breath and calm slightly.
“Noble, what do you think we owe the dead?” Noble’s hands still and he lifts his face to the fall sky.
“What do you mean?”
“My mom didn’t want me to be with a cowboy. She told me the day she died not to fall in love with a cowboy, that it’s not safe. That it’s not what she wanted for my life,” I say, and wipe the last tears from my face. Relief courses through me at sharing my mother’s words with someone else. Noble is searching my eyes for more information. “She was specifically talking about Jason.” My heart breaks at the words released to the world. “So I’m just wondering what you think we owe the dead.” He’s silent, trying to find an answer to a question he would never have to answer if he wasn’t burdened with my friendship.
“I don’t think you owe the dead a thing. Not one thing more than you owe anyone else in this life. But Charlotte, you owe yourself to be happy.” I consider his words. “Judging from the way you’re running from churches you think you owe them a life without Jason Leer.” His words cut me and I pull back a little. Noble’s reflex pulls me to him again and I lay my head on his chest, considering the debt I’ve imposed on myself. What if it’s not a debt? What if it’s intuition? What if she’s right?
“You’re going to be an amazing boyfriend someday.”
“Someday?” he asks, not sounding insulted at all.
“When you’re ready to settle down. You’ll have to stop chasing girls.”
“Who’s chasing who?” Noble asks, and I laugh. He’s right.
“Such the victim,” I add with fake sorrow as Noble pulls me onto his back for a piggy back ride.
“Let’s go to Queens. I’ve had enough church,” he says, as he starts to carry me down the hill.
“You’re going to miss the concert.”
“I know, but I’ll miss you if I go back in,” he says, and I ride the rest of the way to Olde Queens Tavern in silence.
“What is this thing we’re going to again?” I ask Julia, who’s slipped her arm through mine.
“It’s a benefit concert. There were only five hundred tickets sold so it should be intimate.” Julia says this with an air of romance. All five hundred of us are filing into the chapel at the same time. I haven’t been here since my first days at Rutgers. It’s probably similar to what it looked like in 1873 when it was built for Rutgers students to worship.
We walk through the double doors held open by ushers with buckets soliciting additional donations and the rose red walls engulf the chapel. White pillars stretching to high ceilings highlight the dark wood floors and the wooden pews. We file in, moving as close to the front as possible. It hits me that Kirkpatrick is the first church I’ve been in since the death of my parents. A cold air runs across my neck and I remember my grandmother’s warnings of “catching a chill.” I think I just caught one.
Within minutes of us sitting down, the lights fall and the band plays their soulful drums and harmonica-filled songs. I’m in the middle of the pew, flanked by Julia and Violet. Noble, Wes, and Sydney make up the rest of our group. More people file into the church and plead for everyone to squeeze together. We’re all standing now so the number of people in the pew no longer matters. The acoustics in the chapel are eerie, designed for an organ, but equally moving with this blues rock band.
All I can think of is my mom. She would want me to go to church. I’m not sure this counts. But I haven’t done anything she’d want, have I? I have. I came back to Rutgers. I’m studying. I just happen to be in love with Jason Leer. The one guy she specifically told me not to love. The very last piece of advice she gave me before she died.
The music and the lyrics are too much and I find myself fighting back tears. I lean over to Julia. “I’m thirsty. I’m going to find a drink.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. I’ll be back in a few. Save me a spot,” I say, and try to appear unaffected. I slide past Noble and Wes and rush out of the chapel as I hear the last of the harmonica gently sounding. I walk down the hill and rest my head on my arm, leaning against a tree that has probably been here since 1873 too, and I cry. I cry for my mother bleeding in a car, I cry for my father dying before he had a chance to say good-bye, and I cry for me on a tree, unable to tolerate a song about prayer in a chapel, so filled with hate for our heavenly father. I am so going to hell. This makes me cry even harder, which a small part of me recognizes as a good sign.
“Hey,” Noble says as he turns me around to face him. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” His kindness aggravates the crying and I cover my face with my hands, too embarrassed to face him. Noble pulls my hands away and pulls me to his chest. He’s so tall my face hits square in the middle of it and I wrap my arms around his back and hold on for dear life. “Charlotte, please tell me.”
“I haven’t been to church since my parents died and…” And what, Charlotte? “And I miss my mom.”
“Charlotte, I’m sorry.” I try to keep it this side of a sob as I unleash my utter sadness right into the center of his chest. He rubs my back and never says a word. My violent sorrow eases and Noble pulls my hair from my neck and lays it on my back.
“Noble, I’m sorry. I know I am a tremendous buzz kill.” Noble keeps petting my hair as he laughs a little.
“No, no. Crying girls are fun.” He makes me laugh. No one can kill a party like I can; one more thing to feel guilty about. I try and catch my breath and calm slightly.
“Noble, what do you think we owe the dead?” Noble’s hands still and he lifts his face to the fall sky.
“What do you mean?”
“My mom didn’t want me to be with a cowboy. She told me the day she died not to fall in love with a cowboy, that it’s not safe. That it’s not what she wanted for my life,” I say, and wipe the last tears from my face. Relief courses through me at sharing my mother’s words with someone else. Noble is searching my eyes for more information. “She was specifically talking about Jason.” My heart breaks at the words released to the world. “So I’m just wondering what you think we owe the dead.” He’s silent, trying to find an answer to a question he would never have to answer if he wasn’t burdened with my friendship.
“I don’t think you owe the dead a thing. Not one thing more than you owe anyone else in this life. But Charlotte, you owe yourself to be happy.” I consider his words. “Judging from the way you’re running from churches you think you owe them a life without Jason Leer.” His words cut me and I pull back a little. Noble’s reflex pulls me to him again and I lay my head on his chest, considering the debt I’ve imposed on myself. What if it’s not a debt? What if it’s intuition? What if she’s right?
“You’re going to be an amazing boyfriend someday.”
“Someday?” he asks, not sounding insulted at all.
“When you’re ready to settle down. You’ll have to stop chasing girls.”
“Who’s chasing who?” Noble asks, and I laugh. He’s right.
“Such the victim,” I add with fake sorrow as Noble pulls me onto his back for a piggy back ride.
“Let’s go to Queens. I’ve had enough church,” he says, as he starts to carry me down the hill.
“You’re going to miss the concert.”
“I know, but I’ll miss you if I go back in,” he says, and I ride the rest of the way to Olde Queens Tavern in silence.