Free Trailer Trashed: My Dubious Efforts Toward Upward Mobility by Hollis Gillespie Page A

distracting him
with the sound of air escaping from another can of opened beer, and
it sometimes worked. Other times, though, he would go on and on,
hyperpronouncing the "d" in "God" so the word sounded like it had
two syllables: Ga-duh!
    But maybe some of the Bible stuff got through to us. Personally,
I can't say it really manifested itself any further than the fact that, as
a child, I was terrified little devils would claw through the underside
of my coffin after I died, grab my dead heathen ass, and perform cunnilingus on me for all of eternity. I realize now that hardly paints a
picture of hell, but as I got older my fears became less fun and more sophisticated, and I began to dread the day Rapture happened and my
good sister would get sucked up to heaven and leave me alone with
the pagan flotsam that comprised the rest of our family.

    Because try as I might-and truthfully, I didn't try that hard-I
was never as good as Kim. She seemed to have been born with an
abundance of intelligence and integrity, and maybe we're all born with
this, I don't know, and maybe it's a matter of simply keeping it intact,
as if that were so simple. Whatever it is, Kim had it and I didn't. Don't
get me wrong, I never agonized about this beyond the thought that,
if there were to be the big prophesized divide one day between good
and evil, Kim would be on one side of it and I'd be on the other, and
I'd miss her.
    So, you know, over the years-and it's really hard for me to admit
this-I've actually, I swear this is true, taken steps to become a better
person. Not tons of steps. Like I don't give handouts to junkies who
knock on my door, and I still flip off the crack addict who pretends
to collect donations for the deaf at the intersection near my house,
and I'm still completely open to the idea of copious premarital sex,
but I've willingly gone to church a few times over the past few yearsseriously, I did-though I had to discontinue that when my favorite
pastor left to open a coffeehouse in Decatur named The Gathering
Grounds.
    I thought about going with Kim to hers, but she lives eight hours
away, and I met her pastor when I attended a church play in which my
niece played a part, and he looked like he would pronounce "God"
with two syllables. Plus, the only Bible I own was given to me by Grant, who had inscribed across the front, in big letters outlined in
red-and-yellow oil paint, "Nothin' Harder Than a Preacher's Dick"and Kim's congregation doesn't look to be the kind to appreciate that
kind of humor.

    Kim herself, though, doesn't judge. When we were kids, I was
the runt of the family, and she was bigger than me even though I was
older than her. My other siblings treated me like a kid-shaped kickball, and Kim could have easily followed suit. Instead she kept to herself and read, or played cards with her stuffed monkey, or interacted
with her other imaginary acquaintances, which I'm sure were kinder
than her siblings, including me. Usually after I'd sustained a losing
battle of some kind, I'd drag my crying, scratched, and pummeled
hide to sit outside Kim's bedroom. I'd listen to her talk to her stuffed
animals, sweetly teaching them what our mother taught us, like how
to double down on a 10 when the dealer is showing a 6, among other
nuggets of wisdom.
    These days I still think about the divide between good and bad
that I thought separated us, and I've come a long way since sitting,
defeated, outside my little sister's door just to hear her voice. For one,
I realize I switched to her side not because I always thought I was a
bad person and needed to change, but because she always thought I
was a good person and never asked me to.

    MY FRIEND DOUG LEFT TOWN BEFORE WE EVEN got to see if his second
exorcism was effective.
    "My first exorcism had failed miserably," he said, dejectedly stating
that the demon was still in him. I looked closely at him as I always did
when Doug talked about his demon. I