Free Have A Little Faith In Me by Brad Vance Page A

missing. 
    On the third night, he couldn’t take it anymore.  There was a window in the Reverend’s office that opened on the grounds, and the alarm system was turned off.  The Reverend had feared that Norman would trigger it accidentally and bring the police, and besides, in this part of Georgia, even hardened criminals knew better than to rob a church.
    It wasn’t far to Korey’s house, not that it would have mattered.  He was single-minded enough this night to walk a thousand miles.  He gathered up some pebbles and threw them at Korey’s window.
    The window opened.  “What the fuck!” Korey said.  “Where the hell have you been?”
    “Let me in, I’ll tell you all about it.”
    But when the front door opened, it wasn’t Korey at the door.  Norman looked up at the tall figure of Barrett Springfield, in his robe. 
    “So you’re the little rocker, eh?”  He shook his head, hardly believing this little dude could possibly be the raging talent his own son had told him about.  Then he saw the fierce light in the boy’s eyes, and thought, well, maybe.
    “Come on in,” he sighed.
    Korey shocked him by racing down the stairs and hugging him.  “Dude!  What happened?”
    Norman told him, leaving out the Reverend’s “black boy” reference. 
    Barrett laughed.  “And on the third day, the rock rolled away, and behold!  He is risen!”
    Norman was shocked.  He’d never heard anyone make a joke about religion before.  “Oh, lighten up, Todd Flanders,” Barrett said, making a reference Norman wouldn’t get for years.  “Come on in the kitchen, you look like you could use a peanut butter and banana sandwich, am I right?”
    As the two boys devoured their sandwiches, Barrett watched them.  “So,” he sighed. “What are you doing here tonight.”
    “I…it’s stupid,” Norman blushed.  “But.  We were listening to a record the other day.  Sly and the Family Stone.  And we didn’t get to finish.  And I just, well, if this is the last time I ever get to hear a record, a real record, I wanted to…I wanted to hear the rest of it.”
    Barrett shocked him by laughing at him.  “Well, hot damn.  That’s some heavy drama you got there, mister.  ‘The last time ever,’ like they’re gonna hang you tomorrow.  You’ve got the rest of your life, you know, and you’re how old now?”
    “Fifteen.”
    “Fifteen.  In three years you’ll be eighteen.  And then you know what?  You can do, whatever, the fuck, you want,” he said, emphasizing each beat by tapping out a little rhythm on the table.
    Norman’s eyes widened.  It hadn’t occurred to him, that one day he’d be an adult.  And then he’d be able to do anything.  If he wanted to listen to sinful music, well, he could sin till the cows come home.  But three years!  To someone at the age of fifteen, you might as well say ten thousand years.
    “So.  Let’s hear you play, little rocker.”  Barrett got up and walked out of the room, and the two boys followed him into the home studio.  Norman picked up a guitar, selected a pick from the bowl on the piano, and sat on the stool.  He tuned it by ear, then took a breath, and began to play.
    Barrett’s eyes widened as Norman adeptly played the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood,” singing in a more than passable voice. 
    When he finished and looked up at Barrett, the seasoned musician nodded.  “You know what that song is about, right?”
    “No, sir.”
    “It’s about a man having an affair.  Which I guess is what you got caught having.  An affair with the Devil, isn’t that what they told you.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He sighed.  “Well, you’ve got talent, no doubt.  But,” he got up, “I will be in a shitload of trouble if they find you here, you know.  Double shitload for being a black man, aiding and abetting a white boy getting out of his punishment.” 
    A few months ago, that would have made no sense to Norman.  Now he understood it perfectly, and a