A Very Ricky Sunday Page 3

Sunny walks over, still licking her fork. “If I weren’t so full already, I’d probably finish that whole pie by myself. I thought it was good. But, I understand why you said it tasted a little off. It had little flecks of mint in it or some kind of herb. But I like unusual flavor combinations so it was all right with me. Ricky, what’s the matter? You look strange.”

  With a stern expression, Ricky walks over to his grammaw’s dessert and starts poking through the crust with his finger. Then, he giggles. I stand next to him, and whisper, “What is it?”

  “Just weed,” he laughs.

  “In the pie? So I ate marijuana?” I yell.

  “You had two little ole bites. Ain’t going to do nothing to ya.”

  “What about Sunny?” I ask.

  “I think she’ll be okay. You know they say you never get high your first time anyway,” he explains. “Besides, it’s just weed!”

  “Get this pie out of here,” I command. Ricky uses his hand like a bulldozer and shovels a large scoop into his mouth. In response to the disapproving look I give him, Ricky answers with a full mouth, “This is the best way to make sure no one else gets it.”

  Sunny has taken a seat in the first pew, near the pulpit. David is standing around waiting for me, “Was something wrong with the food?” David asks.

  I admit, “Sunny ate a huge slice of pot pie.”

  “Oooh. There’s pot pie here? Is it beef or chicken? I’m trying to cut back on red meat. I feel like I’m starting to get a little thick in the middle.”

  “No,” I say, “You’re not getting thick in the middle. Your body is off the charts. Pot pie. As in pot… in a pie.”

  It takes David a moment to get my meaning, His eyes grow wide. “You mean the food was drugged? It was one of those left wing nuts, wasn’t it? Retaliating because they don’t like our church’s stance on prayer in school! I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  “Yeah, sweetie, it was a left-wing nut that brought the pie. Me! Ricky’s grammaw made it, and I didn’t know it was laced with pot. I mean, why the hell would it be? Should we tell Sunny?”

  David shakes his head, “No, she’ll panic and demand an ambulance come get her. She’ll miss her award and all. We’ll play it by ear. Maybe she won’t feel anything. I don’t know the biomechanics of how marijuana works, but what can we do now? Anyhow, Reverend Todd is getting started. We better just go find a seat.”

  We scoot in beside Ricky, who is finishing up the plate of peach pot pie. I pinch his arm lightly. “Put that down,” I say quietly.

  Without dropping the volume of his voice, Ricky adds, “Weed calms my nerves.”

  Heads turn. A lady with an auburn beehive glares at me, as if I’m guilty of “chiefing,” as Ricky sometimes calls his unlawful hobby. David and I slink down in our seats. Ricky keeps eating, unconcerned and itch-free.

  The preacher starts talking about how he was a professional wrestler before the lord called him to share the Good Book. That’s bound to be an interesting story, but I can’t give him my complete focus; David’s slacks show the outline of his sculpted thighs. My hand floats over his leg and rests on his knee. He grins but gently pushes my hand off. His embarrassment thrills me. I put my hand up higher on his thigh. He blushes. Still looking toward the preacher, he fights off my advances.

  The preaches chants on, getting louder as he moves in closer to the redemption part of his autobiography. It’s enough to re-direct my attention from David’s muscled limbs back to the pulpit. Reverend Todd’s voice gains a hypnotic rhythm. He starts swaying as he speaks. This must be the band’s cue to start up. They play along to the cadence of his voice, growing louder as he does, picking up tempo as the preacher shouts that he gave up body slams for the body of Christ. This must scaring Ricky to death.

  Eye lids heavy and a dopey half-smile on his face, Ricky is full on mellow. He looks more like a patron of a reggae club than a holiness church. He’s high as Everest and nodding along to the sermon like it’s “One Love” playing on the radio.

  Patting his dewy forehead with a handkerchief, the preacher slows his speech to announce, “We have a very special young person here today, who has shared her love for Jesus Christ and the word of God with everyone in this church and on out into the community at large. You see so many young people more concerned with their makeup and Ipods than charity. Caring more about making out and using the drugs; the marijuana and the crystal meth; the crack cocaine, than you see focusing on closeness with Christ. But we have a young lady here who is a shining example to all of us of God’s commands to give, love, forgive and serve. Sunny, step on up here with me. We got something we want to give you to thank you for being a role model.”

  Sunny skips up to the preacher, smiling bigger than usual. The band plays softly. I can’t help but notice that Sunny’s big blue eyes are ringed with a red haze. That’s not good. A framed piece of paper is held out to her along with a microphone, I guess for an acceptance speech. She leans into the mike, “Being here with all the good people of the church and my friends back there in the last row has put me in spirit to celebrate the Lord tonight. I feel different tonight.” David and I exchange “uh-oh” glances. Sunny continues, “I feel the holy ghost tonight!” The drums start pounding, the guitar starts strumming, the bass starts thumping. Faster. Faster. The old ladies on the front row jump to their feet, swaying their arms and shouting “Hallelujah.”

  Sunny starts spinning like a whirling dervish. Everyone is clapping and shouting. Some are jumping straight in the air like Zulu warriors. A man with a Coors baseball cap is his knees crying, wailing, “Thank you, God. Thank you!”

  The preacher puts his hand on top of Sunny’s head and screams, “Thank you for blessing this girl with the Holy Ghost, Lord. We ask that we all feel your presence tonight.”

  I can’t help it. I chuckle. I cover my mouth with my hand to try to keep it in, but the harder I try to contain it, the more by body is quaking with laughter. I look up to see if David is offended by my giggling. The second he sees me laughing, tears rolling out of my eyes, snot dripping from my nostrils, he starts laughing, too. “Stop,” he laughs. But neither one of us can.

  Sunny is shaking on the ground like an epileptic, speaking in “tongues.” It sounds like jibberish to me. “Halllaaa. Bebo my my my my . Shilila Hoka. Glory. Glory.” This makes the other rows of people flop around on the church carpet. One old man in suspenders does a back flip. Wow. Maybe he does have some kind of spirit or supernatural power that has turned him into an Olympic gymnast.

  “It’s done got me, too!” Ricky shouts abruptly. “Somebody do something! I got the Holy Ghost in me!” Ricky runs to the front of church.

  “We….should stop him.” I say through painful laughter. I’m hanging on David, paralyzed by the humor of the situation.

  “I know!” squeaks David, “But I can’t stop laughing. If you stop laughing, I’ll stop!”

  “Oh,God. I can’t! David, are we going to hell for laughing at these people?”

  “Yes,” he declares, starting another round of chuckles between us.

  The reverend lays his hands on Ricky who is dancing like James Brown next to Sunny. He’s shouting, “I’m possessed! It’s like the damned Exorcist!” Thank goodness everyone is lost in their own shouting and clapping and can’t hear him. Then, Ricky starts speaking in “tongues” like Sunny. “Sheshoe Sheshoe Tootise Roll,” he shouts,” Hannah Montananananana. It has me! It has me!”

  When Ricky hisses, “House of Sssssslytherin…..” David and I fall to the floor laughing. I’m so glad I came to church today!

  The preacher takes my red-faced laughter for tears and drags me up to the front of the church with all the rolling, weeping congregation. David grabs my other arm as I’m being led away. “You don’t have to…” he says, suddenly very serious.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, still laughing to myself. I’m kind of curious to see what’s going to happen next. David follows behind us, protectively.

  W
e step up to the podium and the preacher starts talking his ancient jibberish and shaking my shoulders. I can hear David laughing behind me. He whispers, “Sorry about this.” Reverend Todd then shouts, “Jesus enter!” He pushes me down; I’m so weak from laughing that I fall right over. Everyone thinks the spirit has me, and they are cheering and praising God. I hate to disappoint them so when Ricky moonwalks over and pulls me to my feet, I dance with him. I dance the craziest, arm-flailingest, wild woman dance I can conjure. I must look like a drunken marionette. Everyone is yipping and spinning in delight at my salvation.

  I spin past David, making lunatic noises. “So wrong for this. I’ll pray for you,” he laughs.

  We all slowly simmer down for the closing prayers and bulletin announcements. As we start exiting down the hall, I see my brother putting the lens cap on his video camera. “Did you just film that whole thing?” I ask.

  “The whole thing. Every golden moment. I was going to put it on the internet, but I could be persuaded to erase it for $75,” he grins.

  “Blackmail. Really? In a church?” I point out. Kip shrugs, proudly. “Do you accept Pay Pal?”

  “Well, I think the ghost done left. Now, I’m just real hungry. Anyone want to come to Grammaw’s house for brownies?” Ricky asks, flinging sweat from his hair.

  “Oooohh. Me! Me!” Sunny volunteers. But David tells her they have to go home.

  David walks up to me with his eyebrows raised and an amused smile. “You. I have a few questions for you later.”

  “I have just one question for you,” I say sincerely, “Can we do this again next Sunday?”