What We Take Away

Chapter 4 | Zac

September 5th, 2005

"We've run out of time for today. Read the next two chapters and be prepared for class discussion on Wednesday."

I jerk awake at the sound of chairs scraping the floor. All around me, people stand to their feet. Professor Lipman has already gathered his lecture materials and left.

Damnit. I must have dozed off at some point during class. It's not entirely my fault – it's my third class this morning, and Lipman is as dry as old bread and his readings are boring as hell. Stretching my arms overhead, I blink and haul myself out of the cramped desk chair.

At mid-day, campus is alive with energy and commotion. People swarm the intersections, making it possible for bikers and skateboarders to hurry past the cars and trucks waiting impatiently for students to cross the street. I pass a group of girls clutching iced coffees in manicured hands, business majors debating the stock market, and some who walk with their heads down, just trying to get through the day. I snap my Aviators over my face and slip into the masses, becoming one with the crowd.

As I walk, my thoughts drift to pole vaulting. Of the sixty-eight athletes on the CHU Track and Field team, only nine of us are vaulters. Jesse, Chloe, and Sampson are the seniors. Kat and Irina Maslov are the juniors, and they are housemates. Kat's from an affluent Long Island family and Irina moved to the Copper Hill Valley from Russia sometime in high school. Francie Weinberg and Bradley Vansant are sophomores – Bradley's a transfer from Texas with this big, fluffy hair he keeps in a ponytail. And then there's me and Kyle, the freshmen recruits.

It's been almost one week since I started training, but I have yet to feel like I'm part of the team. Coach Dillon seemed friendly when he recruited me after districts, but now that I'm here he acts like he's got a giant pole up his ass. Jesse says that's just how Coach is, but Dad somehow always seemed to make everyone on his team feel at home...

One way or another, I will get Coach Dillon's attention.

An acrid plume of cigarette smoke billows around me as I pass the Broadbill Center and Starling Hall. Several students hang by the side of the building, their gaze fixed on something in the distance. I follow their line of sight down to a crowd gathered by the bike racks in front of Parrot Hall. A loud voice cries out over the noise of the busy street.

"For the wages of sin is death! Repent now, you corrupt generation!"

A wiry man in his mid-fifties stands along the short brick wall between the sidewalk and the bike racks. He holds a giant white sign above his head, lettered with large, red words, CHOOSE HEAVEN OR HELL WILL CHOOSE U! He lifts the sign high and begins to shout: "Repent from your fornication! Repent from your drunkenness! The kingdom of God is near!"

"There he goes," someone mumbles behind me. "Parrot Jesus is at it again."

"At least he's entertaining," his friend chuckles. "Last semester, he called me out and told me I was a 'whore' for not wearing a bra."

"That's messed up. It's because of people like him I stay away from religion in the first place."

A few brave students approach Parrot Jesus in attempt to engage in dialogue. But most choose to ignore him, pretending as though he's not there. I skirt around the crowd, eager to be on my way.

Growing up, Mom and Dad took Beth and I to church only on Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday. I vaguely remember learning catechism in Catholic preschool, but most of that knowledge has long dissolved. When Amy and I were dating, she brought me out to her church youth group a few times. Her pastor was particularly fond of warning teenagers against the perils of premarital sex – but this never stopped Amy from exploring her sexuality with me. Which is why I think religion is a self-soothing mechanism that fuels the self-righteous and helps people sleep at night.