hath made thee a sinner - larry stylinson

WHO WE ARE

Hamper, Texas was a typical small town, its roots deep in religion and tradition. It sat on the side of Rushworth Lake, where the water flowed gently during the spring and lightly iced over during the winter, which is barely present in Texas as is.

The sky was always filled with singing birds, the ground swallowed with the 936 people that inhabited the township. The landscape was boring; there were no rolling hills or great mountains, but simply plains filled with the brightest flowers Harry had ever seen.

He laid in the tall grass; flowers clenched in his hand. He was singing a soft tune, "Little town, every day like the one before. Little town full of little people ..."

Smacked in the middle was the glorious white church, people filing in one by one every Sunday morning to hear Harry's father, Pastor Thomas, give his weekly sermon. On stage, Harry would stand with the other choir members, trying not to laugh as the delinquent Louis made funny faces in the crowd next to his overbearing father, whose eyebrows were permanently furrowed in vexation.

Right around the corner, Harry's humble home stood, a traditional white picket fence in the yard, with old vines running up the side of the blue home. Harry thought the color matched Louis' eyes. He loved the color. It was his favorite.

A couple houses down and a quick right turn was Louis' home, a tan modest house with a metal fence and some old bikes laying around in the yard. The gate had a lock on it. Only house members had the key. Louis had secretly given Harry one, but he never came over without asking first anyway.

Harry was like that; a goody-two shoes, as Louis put it. He never got bad grades, was teacher's pet in high school, never tried drugs, and never disobeyed his father's wishes. Well, except when he would kiss Louis behind the old mechanic shop on Hamper Drive.

Inside his house, Louis felt the welp of his father's hand on his cheek begin to swell.

"How many times do I have to tell you, son? Keep your drugs out of this house!" his father raged. Louis had two options; he could hit his father back (which would only have him thrown on the street), or go find Harry at the church, where he always was on Wednesday afternoons.

Louis decided the latter was a better option.

Louis walked outside of the house, his hand rubbing his red cheek as he unlocked his green four-door Ford F-150, struggling to start the damn thing. When the truck finally came to life, he backed out of the driveway, whistling a tune, "Little town full of little people..." He slipped a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it as he sped down the road, dodging little kids playing in the street with their razor scooters and Nerf guns, the bullets flying over his truck and at his window. Louis only chuckled as a kid cried, "I got one!"

It was a game Genesis, Harry and he used to play as children. When a car would pass down the street, they would aim their Nerf guns at car windows and try to shoot as many bullets as they could before the car passed. Genny always won. Harry never hit a single car.

In about five minutes Louis found himself in the church parking lot, the biggest parking lot in the town, bigger than the Walmart across the street. He stepped out of the vehicle, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, and smashing it with the toe of his shoe before entering the back door.

He made his way to the main room, where a curly-haired boy sat in the front row, his head ducked down in prayer, his hands clasped together. Louis could hear his little whispers, "Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful and kindle them the fire of your love."

Louis bent his knees, sitting in front of a focused Harry. He softly tapped his shoulder, startling Harry.

"Oh, you scared me," he grazed the mark on Louis' face with his knuckles, "Oh, darling, your cheek."