Free Uncross My Heart by Austin, Andrews & Austin Page B

walking past a windmel carrying a postcard from today’s mel to Mel Blanchard, a melman. I called it mel-hell and everyone was headed there.
    I must have wandered off in thought because the people around me were stirring out of their chair rows, chatting with one another.
    I moved quickly toward Gladys, who recoiled like a drunk snake, sidewinding away from me, but I blocked the aisle between the row of folding chairs, making it virtually impossible for her to escape. She was hanging on Bryan’s arm, telling him what a good job he’d done. I echoed her sentiment at the first opportunity and he beamed.
    “Well, thank you. The Lord provides the Word, I am but a mouthpiece, and I have benefitted from you, Reverend.” He turned the compliment around, and it was that very skill and his big broad smile that would most likely make his future church the fount of everlasting funding. “What brings you here?”
    “I came to apologize to Dr. Irons.” Gladys squirmed and Bryan got even cheerier.
    “I bet there’s nothing you could ever do, Dr. Westbrooke, that Dr. Irons wouldn’t forgive.”
    “I don’t know about that,” I said with a smile, and Gladys turned the color of a candy apple. “I’m sorry, Gladys,” I said, my eyes riveted on her.
    She stammered and then, perhaps fearful I would blurt out what I was sorry about, said, “It’s fine. Apology accepted.”
    “Well, then the Lord God is King.” Bryan re-joyed-us, apropos of nothing.
    “Amen. Amen,” Gladys said.
    “Amen,” I murmured, and walked out of the meeting room, bumping smack into Dennis, whose eyes darted over my shoulder to see what mood I’d left the congregation in.
    “And she said?” His voice teased the air.
    “Amen.”
    “Ah yes, Amen.”
    “I would rather go to hell than another of Gladys’s prayer breakfasts.”
    “Then don’t kiss her again,” he said flatly.
    Suddenly, as if I’d offended God and the heavens, the earth shook slightly, then abruptly, and shifted under our feet as if the underworld had joined in, grumbling and rearranging heavy statuary.
    I heard the screams first as the dining-room plate glass broke into ten thousands shards, slid to the ground, and splattered around frightened people who tumbled out of the cafeteria and onto the commons. By now the swaying of the earth was slow and rhythmic and had thrown us to the ground, and I realized the New Madrid fault must have shifted and for a moment given Illinois empathy with California. The green grass momentarily rolled like waves beneath us as if the lawn had liquefied, making us all sod surfers.
    Bryan Bench had outstripped the rest of the prayerful, landing on all fours about thirty yards ahead of me, clutching the ground with his hands, and then rolling onto his side whimpering, “Oh, God.” His big smiley face was now petrified, his knees grass-stained, and the crotch of his shiny pants dark from dampness.
    Dennis and I crawled to the nearest student injured by flying glass and ordered others away from the building and into the center of the grounds, being careful to avoid statuary and benches in case they became marble bowling balls striking us.
    In a few minutes the earth quieted and people righted themselves.
    Bryan was now crying overtly and I was amused that, despite constant conversations with God, Bryan wasn’t interested in a face-to-face meeting.
    I noticed Gladys on the ground holding her ankle and rocking back and forth in obvious pain, and I asked if she could get up. She said she couldn’t put weight on her foot, so I sat down beside her. “I would bandage it, but all the first-aid supplies are inside and I can’t go into the buildings yet in case there’s an aftershock.”
    “I wouldn’t ask you to.” Her tone was kinder toward me.
    “I’m completely worthless to you other than to keep you company. Sorry you’re in pain.”
    “It’s all fine. Really. Don’t worry. Go help the others.”
    I was happy to take her up on that offer