Scott Cheshire - High as the Horses' Bridles

Havi says, “Jesus.”

“Don’t cuss,” says Issy, looking away to the girl.

Then Issy looks at Brother Laudermilk, who now glances back toward the boys, flattens his left lapel. Issy half waves, and says, “Thas Josiah’s father. You see Josiah around?”

Havi says, “Nah, I bet he’s in the pisser.”

Issy says, “Looks like he’s waiting for Josiah.”

“C’mon, les’ go, b’.”

“Hey, thas Josiah,” says Issy. “Just look it.”

The door closes behind the boy as he leaves the bathroom, blowing his nose into a stiff paper towel.

Issy waves him over.

Josiah looks at the two boys. His father is chatting with the large man, and with the father of the girl in the yellow dress, and the girl, too. On the way to the restroom, Josiah and father passed a lunch table stacked with heros. He showed his father, and asked for one, please. But his father said, No, wait for lunch. Food weighs you down. A spirit hungry for God is never satisfied. Concentrate on your sermon, son.

Josiah throws away the paper towel and heads over to where the boys are standing, but then hesitates. Should he talk to them? Talk to Havi? He realizes he hasn’t really talked to anyone his age all day. He walks over.

Issy says, “Wassup, what you doing?”

Havi acts like he doesn’t see Josiah.

Josiah nods his head, his father still busy talking. “I don’t know. I’m supposed to be somewhere. I have something to do.” Figures he better not mention his sermon because every time he gives one at church, Havi makes fun of him after. Issy never does, though. Josiah used to think it was because of their parents, that he had two parents and they both went to church. Except then Havi’s father started going to church, too, like his mother, and still he acts like a jerk. Issy’s father’s hardly ever around. His mom was, but not so much anymore. He’s practically living at Havi’s. One time, at church, when Issy’s mother was there, she pushed Issy’s head against a wall. Josiah was on his way to the restroom, saw it, and didn’t know what to do. Issy’s mom looked so mad, and she tried to keep her voice low as she smacked at Issy’s head. Josiah went over and took Issy’s hand. He had lied and said, My father wants to see you.

“You so weird, Josiah,” Havi says, shaking his head.

“Shut up, Havi,” says Issy.

“Why? He your boyfriend now? Yo, we should go get Shastas. Josiah, hey, you got fifty cents?” Havi pats at his pockets, like he swears he’s got money somewhere.

Josiah shakes his head, no. “I like Royal Crown anyway.”

“Your boyfriend doesn’t even like Shasta. You know that girl, Josiah?” Havi likes talking at girls. He learned it from his older brother Carlo. Issy’s more shy, and the girls like that about him, they like that he doesn’t know he’s handsome. Havi knows Issy’s good-looking, but he’ll never say it. Havi’s in charge anyway.

Josiah says, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know nothing, man.” Havi sucks at his teeth. “She’s looking at me.” Havi with his small chest pushed out, always ready, pre-confrontation. He learned this from his big brother, too, all five feet and five inches of bulldog Carlo. He checks himself in the silver backsplash of the water fountain.

Josiah surprises himself, and says, “Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you go talk to her?”

Havi straightens up. “Say what?”

“Yeah,” snaps Issy, laughing, a little bit anxious. “Thas a nice one!” He puts up his hand for a high five. Josiah looks at the hand, and then he looks at his own. Then he presses his hand against Issy’s. He realizes he’s never seen them outside of church before.

Havi says, “You two stupid.” His face goes a little pale. “Why don’t you go talk to her? Tell her how smart you are? Faggot.”

Josiah wants to tell Havi to stop it already, teasing him hard for over a year. It’s not like they were best friends ever, but Havi used to leave him alone. Until last summer, when Havi started dressing like his brother and wearing a thick gold necklace. The new clothes make him act like the biggest jerk Josiah’s ever met. But sometimes the teasing is better than not talking with anyone at all.

Issy says, “I told you to leave him alone. Nobody’s going to talk to her.”

It’s not like Josiah’s timid, not at all. Sometimes he has a problem of saying too much. And face it, he knows it, he is more comfortable around adults. Other kids usually make him nervous. But who doesn’t want friends? And Issy has always been good. Look how he’s looking at the girl. Issy is in love. Josiah sees it, and it makes him smile. He draws a long breath and says: “Yeah, she’s not for you anyway.” He’s nodding at Issy.

“Excuse me?” Havi scratches at his ear, puffs up.

Issy puts up his hand for another high five. “Havi got schooled,” he sings.

Havi sucks at his teeth again. “Please.” He flicks Josiah’s ear.

Josiah flinches.

“You gonna tell your daddy?”

Josiah turns and looks at his father, who is still talking with the others.

“Huh?” says Havi. “You looking for your mommy, too?”

Maybe his father has forgotten he’s here. He looks back at Havi, and suddenly wants to punch him in the face. He’s never hit anyone before, and definitely not with a punch in the face. How would it feel? Would it hurt his hand? He thinks about this morning, in the kitchen, when his parents were yelling again. His father had said this time it was different. The Holy Spirit had spoken directly to him. Josiah walked into the kitchen, and he asked how it sounded. His father said, almost yelling, Would you please leave the room while your mother and I … Josiah wondered, Why tell Mom? Not me? I’m the one giving a sermon … He didn’t like it when his father raised his voice to his mother. Josiah’s mind was racing. Did the Holy Spirit say, Not Josiah? Anybody but him? Can the Spirit talk to anyone it wants?

In 1975, Josiah was only seven. Too young to remember, really, but here his father was talking about 1975 again. About Armageddon. His father talked so much about Armageddon. Josiah knew the scriptures, what the End was supposed to look like. Fire in the sky, like a war. His father said it would happen maybe in 1980, maybe now. But he couldn’t be sure, only that we have to stay faithful. Look for signs. He heard his father say there was a rumor an announcement would be made. Today. When Josiah thinks of Armageddon, it makes him feel older, and bigger, stronger like his father.

Havi says, “You just gonna stand there?”

He steps up to Havi — right up. Makes a fist.

“Oh, shoot,” says Havi. “Look it, stepping up like he’s gonna go ballistic. Please.”

Josiah says a quick prayer and asks for the Lord God’s blessing. And then, surprisingly, he relaxes his fist, but lifts his foot up above Havi’s sneaker. Because he wants to hurt Havi. He wants to smash Havi’s toes with the hard heel of his own dress shoe.

Issy shakes his head: Don’t do it.

But they can’t tune the voice out forever, and Kizowski is coming on strong. His father crooks a finger — Get over here. We have to get backstage.

The amplified voice speaks out: “You pretend to know the mind of God? The hour? The day? There will come God’s great war, Armageddon !” And this word is like a wooden chair thrown against a concrete wall.

Issy says, “We should get back to our seats.”

The voice surges through the halls like rushing dark water: “That Last Day will come like a thief in the night! Hear the psalmist! Who is there knowing the strength of His anger? His fury? You think His anger is like our Mount St. Helens?” A long pause … then, percussive, his lips closer to the mic, touching mesh: “Bah! A bee sting! A headache! For our God has come to prove to you that His fear will be before your faces.” A laugh, expelling his breath: “The Lord God has shaped every mountain with His hands, and the heavens themselves. Little lady Helen is no different!”