Knowing in Part by Adrian Bryant the Christian Life Is Very Much Like
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Knowing in Part By Adrian Bryant The Christian life is very much like climbing a hill of ice... Cease going upward and you will go downward of necessity. You can never stand still. - Charles Spurgeon, preacher and theologian Dawson's aged silver Malibu cruised down the curves and around the potholes of Red Haven's crumbling highway 427. He hated the road but loved the view overlooking Moore's farm – the only flat piece of land in Thomas County – during the early sunrise. Beams of dark orange pierced the tree-line at the far end of the Moore property, creating alternating patterns of dim and illuminated patches of grass on the field close to the road. The sun had just peeked over the hills by the time he parked outside Luck's. He stepped through the tall green doors and attempted to make his way across the dimly lit interior without running into the crowded chairs and tables. He always felt like he needed a guide with a hardhat flashlight to lead him through the restaurant, as if it were a cave. The brown-yellow light fixtures that hung from the ceiling weren't worth shit and weren't supposed to, his Dad always said. "If they had real lights," he claimed, "the customers would see the family of roaches underneath the tables." Dawson's usual booth was easily the worst in the restaurant – a large swatch of off-white upholstery jutted from a leatherless canyon in its center. "Hey sugar. You're here awfully early," Lindsey shouted from across the restaurant. The only others around were three camouflaged older men at the bar (an architectural anomaly given Luck's lack of alcohol) grunting and passing the newspaper back and forth. Lindsey made her way through the empty array of tables with coffee pot and mug in hand. "Yeah, the body and the mind united against me this morning and decided sleep wasn't mine to have," Dawson said. "Aren't you usually the evening crew here?" Lindsey slammed the mug on the table loud enough to cause Dawson to jump. She was a skilled server, but gracefulness wasn't her strong suit. "Rachel's kid started school this year," Lindsey said. "She normally took mornings, but she wanted to be home with him after school, so I let her swap with me. It ain't the smartest decision I ever made but it seemed like she needed it." She poured coffee into his mug. The low light of the useless bulbs and burgeoning sunrise made the mahogany tables look ebony, matching the coffee that streamed from the pot. Lindsey filled his mug to the brim and sat across from him. "So, preacher man was in here last night," she said. "Is that right?" "Yep. Seems to think you dropped off the Earth. Says you ain't answered your phone, your Facebook, nothing." Lindsey's bold, welcoming green eyes stared at Dawson. "I don't have a lot to say to him, I guess." Dawson gently lifted the mug to his lips for a tiny slurp. "Well trust me, he's got a lot to say to you." She leaned back and put her strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail. "Hell, I think he thought I was you, the way he droned on and on. He ain't been able to manage the church without you, is worrying the Devil's got you on the wrong path. I doubt I ever got to go back to a church after the forty sermons he gave last night." "Sounds accurate." Dawson took another quick sip and set the mug down with a sigh. "I don't know how to talk to him. I like Ricky a lot, he's a good guy. I just don't wanna have that conversation with him. I like my whole dropping off the Earth system." Lindsey laughed. "Shit, you gotta talk to him sometime. I was happy to serve today, but I ain't spending the rest of my Luck's tenure passing love notes from him to you." Her freckly cheeks looked fuller with her hair up, full in a way that an aunt would lovingly pinch them, a way that emphasized her already expansive smile. "He's a persistent son of a bitch, but I think he'll let up soon enough. He thinks the food here is shit anyway, so you shouldn't worry too much about him harassing you again. Or he thinks it's crap, I should say. Can't associate him with such foul language." Dawson thought he sounded natural enough, but the cuss words still felt heavy on his tongue. He took a full swig of his coffee. His lips tightened as he set the mug back down and swallowed. "Well I hope he ain't back soon. Motherfucker sassed me for my tattoo. Said I should give it a little brother, maybe a Bible verse or a cross." The top of her wrist was adorned with a shamrock, one she had given herself their senior year of high school behind the band saw in woodshop class. "Eh, he's just playing around. Tattoos don't bother him much. He's pretty lax compared to most of the people around here." Dawson looked at the sun, finally ascending over the mountain but hiding behind the Red Haven water tower, forming an eclipse and a shadow that stretched over the forest. "So what's your plan, big shot?" "I don't know." Dawson shrugged. "Lay low, never get gas at Shell again, see if I can squeeze my way into a job at the call center, deal with old men telling me to eat shit. Whatever can keep me monetized and away from the Red Haven crew." "Red Haven Baptist runs this county, honey. Nothing short of packing up and getting out of dodge is gonna keep you from seeing any of them." Dawson nodded and sipped at his coffee. The two sat in silence for a moment as Dawson stared at the sunrise over Lindsey's shoulder. After a moment she gently slapped the table with her hand. "Well, you gonna get something to eat or just keep playing with your coffee?" "Yeah, sure." He said. "Get me some French toast sticks and the biggest bottle of maple syrup you have back there. I'm feeling kiddish today." "You got it. I'll grab the pink baby's bib while I'm at it." Lindsey sprung up and strutted into the kitchen area. Dawson pulled out his phone and saw a new text from Ricky. He locked his phone without opening it and took another drink. Dawson entered his car after his breakfast and pulled out his phone. Four new messages. His eyes and thumb lingered over the notification. With a deep sigh he swiped the messages open. All were from Ricky over the past three days. Hey man. Just checking in. Been awhile since we talked... Hit me up soon. Gimme a call when you get the chance. Hope to hear back soon. The third message, sent while Dawson was at Luck's, was a meme of a boulder-armed body builder staring at the viewer. Hey bro, do you even lift? The top caption read. The bottom: ... His name on high? The most recent read simply: Won't you just give me a call? Dawson plugged his aux cord into his phone, turned on one of Spotify's curated rock radio stations, and drove to his "thinking spot" in downtown Wilson, Thomas County's county seat. Dawson hit highway 357 that connected Red Haven and Wilson. It was a bad road with its spaghetti curves and meatball hills, as Mom had liked to call them. He felt embarrassed that he was twenty-two years old and still thought in those silly terms. A picture of Mom sat on the dashboard of his car. She was holding him and his brother Jacob in her lap, Jacob resting his head on her breast while Dawson, chubby cheeked and messy haired, fiddled with a Rubix cube that he would never solve. "You'll be a good preacher one day," his Mom told him once when he was in elementary school. "I've known it since the day you were born. You looked like baby John the Baptist in all those old paintings, with your hair all curly and bouncy. Your eyes were never fully open, like you were always thinking about something." When Dawson started freshman year of high school Mom had given him her mother's Bible. It had a black hardcover, like the ones most churches keep inside their sanctuary. The corners were breaking off and gold lining of the pages had faded away, leaving a dim yellow glow in its place. The margins housed vines of pink and purple notes in cursive he could hardly read. "It's old and it'll fall to pieces by the time you get your church," she had said, "but it'll guide you down that road until you get one." Dawson hadn't even opened it until his high school graduation day, just two months after she died. And now that he had fulfilled and failed his destiny within a year and a half, he didn't know if he'd open it again. Dawson thought of his Mom as he drove over the hills, examining the steep bank of fallen trees and shallow creeks to his right that winded over and past one another like strands of tangled hair.