Seth
By Rachel Kovaciny © 2006
He looked like an angel as he knelt at the Communion rail, shoulder-length blond hair falling forward around his slender face. I couldn't believe he had the audacity to show up in church, much less go to Communion. I didn't think even Seth had that much nerve.
Seeing him made my stomach ache. The kind of ache that warns me a stampeding panic is about to ensue. I'd hoped I'd never see him again. Why was he there? I kept singing the hymn with the rest of the congregation, but my eyes strayed toward Seth. His long, straight hair was a pale blond now; last time I'd seen him it was glossy black. The blond looked good on him, really did make him look angelic and pure.
I knew better. He might be bathed in light now, but I'd seen him in the dark too often to be fooled. If the rest of the church members actually knew Seth, they would have thrown him out of the building.
I tried not to look at Seth as he walked back down the aisle. But I sneaked the smallest peek over my hymnal as he passed and, of course, he was looking straight at me. He's always had a wicked ability to know the precise moment I'll glance his way.
He smiled at me, his lips curling gently at the corners just enough to scare me. What was that smile supposed to mean? That he was happy to see me? Surely not--we hadn't spoken in nearly two years. I don't talk to people like him anymore. And why would he be happy to see me? I'm the one person that could tell everyone in church what kind of a guy he really was. I'd been an eyewitness to his sinful life, after all.
Our congregation always has a little coffee-and-cookies get-together in the church basement after the New Year's Night service. I tried to figure a way to get my parents to leave right after the last hymn instead of sticking around for treats and chatter. I didn't want to meet up with Seth and be forced to make polite conversation. But every excuse for leaving that I conjured up felt too phony. Even my parents would never buy them. I couldn't tell them the truth either. They never knew about Seth, that we'd ever been ...whatever we'd been.
Maybe I'd be lucky--maybe Seth had no desire to talk to me either. He might be just as unwilling to resurrect the past as I was. I looked at my hymnal and tried to find which verse we were singing now. No, I was doomed--he would seek me out as soon as the service ended. His smile had told me that.
After the service I followed my folks through the coffee-and-cookies line. I don't like coffee much, but I hate apple juice and that was the only alternative. So I clutched a little white foam cup and a couple of raisin cookies and tried to find a place to hide.
To my surprise, Seth didn't come near me. I dawdled by my parents, paying no attention to their conversation with the organist. I kept looking across the room, to where Seth stood chomping on goodies and talking to his aunt and uncle. As I watched, Pastor MacLean actually joined Seth's conversation.
Somehow I'd expected Pastor MacLean to be the one person who could see through Seth's gleaming facade. Couldn't he sense the stained soul lurking below? No, they talked and laughed like old friends. Seth seemed to have launched into an animated tale of some sort, measuring some imaginary object with his hands. Just as Pastor MacLean laughed so loudly I could hear him above all the other chatting churchgoers, Seth looked toward me and our eyes locked. He grinned that wide, mischievous grin of his and added something to his tale, his eyes still holding my gaze.
I had to know what he was saying. Was he telling Pastor MacLean about the time we--he wouldn't dare. I told my parents I wanted more coffee, then worked my way over toward Seth. He wasn't anywhere near the treats table, but I figured my parents would never notice where I went. I acted casual, as if I really just wanted more coffee, so no one would suspect my true destination and wonder what I was doing talking to a guy like Seth.
I finally made it through the crowd to where Seth had been standing, but he'd disappeared. His aunt and uncle had drifted away, still talking to Pastor MacLean, and I stood in a small empty space feeling somehow let down.
"Hello there," Seth said behind me. He'd revisited the goody table and held a well-loaded plate and Styrofoam cup.
I glared at him. "What're you doing here?"
"Drinking apple juice and eating grainy fudge." His hair fell across one eye and he tossed it away with an all-too-familiar shake of his head.
"That's not what I meant," I hissed. "What's a guy like you doing in church, huh?"
"Whoa, easy there. You keep glaring at me, people' re gonna think you don't like me." He smiled again and ate another piece of fudge.
"I don't like you." I smiled as charmingly as I could manage. "Stop dodging."
"Okay. I'm here because I want to be." He said it with a straight face, but I knew he was mocking me like always.
"Like I believe that." How could he try to pull this on me? It had to be an act, of course. No way was Seth actually interested in things like God and church.
"Hey," Seth protested, "aren't you the one who spent years trying to convince me to come back to church? Or am I confusing you with someone else?"
"That was me, but I wouldn't be surprised if you get some of your cohorts mixed up once in a while. There've been enough of them."
"Do I detect a little jealousy?"
"Hardly." My right hand felt slippery around the almost-empty Styrofoam cup. I transferred the cup to my left and surreptitiously wiped the sweaty hand on my khakis.
"If you say so."
I needed to change the subject before that ache in my stomach got too intense. "What were you talking to the pastor about? I bet he wouldn't laugh so hard at your jokes if he knew you like I do." So far I'd done a pretty good job of acting nonchalant, like we were casual acquaintances remembering vague fun from high school.
Seth shrugged. "He knows. He knows a lot about me."
"He knows about us?" I had a hard time keeping my voice level so people wouldn't notice us too much.
"I didn't name names. But I've had a lot of long talks with him." Seth shook his head, the golden hair swishing lazily around his face. "I'm not the same guy I was in high school. I've changed."
I snorted. "Right." Now I knew it was an act. The thing I couldn't figure was why he was posing as a sincere repenter. Seth never did anything unless he could get something out of it.
"I have. I come to church regular now. I don't mess around with stuff like I used to."
"Now I've heard everything." I swallowed some coffee and found it almost cold.
"I'm clean. You don't have to believe it if you don't want."
I shook my head. "Guys like you don't just change overnight." Not after the stuff he'd been into. I admit I started getting into some of it too, but I saw the error of my ways and cleaned up my act before I left for college. I've always been smart like that. "What happened to you?"
Seth shrugged. "I just realized how pointless it all was."
"Whatever."
"I did! Look, you know how I always said no matter how drunk I got, I could always remember everything the next day?"
"So?"
"One morning I woke up and had no idea where I was, how I got there, or whose shirt I had on."
I pretended like he'd just told me a very amusing anecdote about some innocent high school escapade we might have shared, and laughed politely.
"You laugh, but yeah, it scared me. I guess I realized if I couldn't remember any of it, what was the point of all that so-called fun I'd had? It didn't mean anything, wasn't fun anymore. So I started looking for something that actually did mean something."
I shook my head. "The pastor might buy it, but I don't."
Seth looked ...could it be he looked sad? I'd never seen him sad before. Sarcastic, seductive, satisfied, oh sure. Never sad. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "There was a time when you'd have been glad to see me here, even believed me."
"Yeah, well, I believed in the tooth fairy once too." What did that sad look mean? That he felt sorry I didn't believe him? Or maybe even felt sorry for me? How dare he?
Seth shrugged. "Suit yourself." His eyes stayed sad, but his voice hardened a little. "Anyway, I'm sorry if I ever hurt you. If you forgive me or not, that's up to you. But I am sorry." He finished his apple juice with a quick toss of his head, as if doing a shot of tequila, then turned away.
"Whatever," I told his back.
Seth paused and turned back. "I'd hoped--" he began
.
I glared at him. "What?"
"Nothing. Sorry." He headed off toward the door.
I watched him thread his way through the clusters of church members and shook my head. Seth couldn't fool me. Some people never change.
THE END
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