Rapture Practice (19 page)

Beer cans are cooler than regular cans.

My hands shake a little as I pop the tab, and a bit of fizz bubbles up at the top of the can.

Calm down. You’re just opening it. You’re not going to drink it. You’re not doing anything wrong. This is how normal people live.

I pass the can across the island to Drake, who is gathering a plate and utensils for the burgers.

“Thanks, Aaron.” I watch as Mr. Westman downs a long swallow of beer, then juggles the plate, the burgers, and the beer can out the back door toward the grill. Drinking is so
casual
for them. Bradley didn’t even blink twice, but my heart is racing.
You were just holding a cold beer.
I try not to imagine what Mom and Dad would say about this.

Bradley is laughing at something his dad says on the deck. He comes over and pokes his head in the door.

“Whatcha doing, man? C’mon—I wanna show you the hot tub.”

I follow Bradley outside and up the steps to the Jacuzzi.

“You say Tyler is coming over tonight?” Drake asks.

“Dad, be nice.”

“Why? That kid is such a putz.”

“Dad! He was one of my best friends.”

“Wait—Tyler Gullem?” I ask.

“Yeah,” says Bradley.

“Oh, god.” Drake grimaces. “You have the misfortune of knowing him, too, huh?”

“He’s in our vocal ensemble,” I say. “You don’t like him?”

Drake takes a swig from his beer. “Think he’s a little uppity is all.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Tyler used to be over here all the
time—especially last summer. He and Dad used to watch golf together.”

“Golf?” I ask.

“I don’t get it, either,” Bradley says. “We have the biggest TV screen in the Western Hemisphere, and you still can’t see the ball. It’s like watching a camera pan around a landscape painting.”

“We used to watch golf and have a few beers is all.” Drake flips the burgers with short, jerky movements. “Then he went and got brainwashed.”

“He’s not brainwashed, Dad—he’s really into Janice.” Bradley turns and fills me in. “Tyler ‘rededicated his life to Christ’ last year, so he doesn’t hang out much anymore.”

Drake scoffs and finishes his beer. “He’s really into Jesus to hear him tell it.”

All at once, I’m worried: Does Drake think Tyler is brainwashed because he’s into Jesus or because he doesn’t drink anymore? I wonder if Drake will think I’m brainwashed, too, if I don’t drink.

The kitchen door slides open and a woman with a sweet smile and designer jeans steps out onto the deck, holding a glass of white wine. “Hey, boys. How goes the hunting and gathering?”

“Hi, Mom,” Bradley scrambles down the stairs from the Jacuzzi and kisses her on the cheek. “This is Aaron.”

“You’re one tall drink of water, young man.” She winks, and I feel myself blush.

“Nice to meet you.”

Drake hands me the tongs and gives an empty platter to Bradley. “Two more minutes, gentlemen, then pull off the burgers. I’m going inside with this hot mama to mix up some margaritas.”

Mrs. Westman giggles as Drake pinches her on the behind, and pulls her into the kitchen.

“Get a room, you two!” Bradley calls after them. “Jeez,” he says, laughing. “They’ve been horny as hell since he moved back in.”

“When was that?”

“After Christmas last year.”

“How long had he been gone?”

“About two years.” Bradley opens the grill and squints down at the burgers. “Yeah, I was in ninth grade when he moved out.”

“Where’d he go?”

“I dunno, exactly. Stayed with some girl from his office, I think.”

“Wow. So they got a divorce?”

“Yep. They got a divorce, and then this chick turned out to be a nightmare. Coke fiend, the whole thing.”

“So… he came back?”

“Well, not quite that easily. Mom was done with him.”

“How’d he convince her?” I ask.

“He changed,” Bradley says, with a quiet smile. “Let’s pull these off.”

I grab the tongs and put the burgers on the platter Bradley is holding.

“He wooed her,” Bradley explains. “Sent flowers, bought jewelry, made promises he actually kept. Came to every one of my basketball games, even though he hates the school.”

“Think they’ll get married again?”

“Oh, no.” Bradley smiled. “Mom’s smarter than that. She missed him. I knew she did. But that was something she’s never giving up again.”

I close the grill as Bradley covers the platter with a piece of aluminum foil, and we walk toward the kitchen door. As Bradley reaches for the door, he pauses and smiles.

“It’s weird, but they’re happier now than they ever were when they were married, I think. At least from what I remember.”

As we walk into the kitchen, Bradley’s parents are locked at the lips, pressed up against the sink going at it.

“God! Would you two stop it already?” Bradley cries out in mock horror, but he’s smiling as he places the burgers on the counter and grabs a handful of the potato chips Mrs. Westman has put out. The smile stays on his face the entire time we eat.

I’m amazed at how Bradley’s parents treat him like an adult. It’s like they’re old friends who get together for dinner at night. It’s bizarre. No one prays before we eat; no one reads the Bible afterward. When we’re through eating, Drake lights a cigarette out on the deck and refills their margarita glasses. There’s something about it that makes me feel excited—like I’m doing something dangerous.

Maybe I am.

Mom and Dad believe that people who engage in worldly behaviors like drinking, swearing, smoking, and dancing aren’t exhibiting the “fruit of the Spirit” in their lives. I’ve never thought of Mom and Dad as judgmental, but they would definitely question whether the Westmans are Christians.

If Jesus came back right now, would the Westmans be left behind? If they died, would they go to hell?

It feels strange to even think that, because the Westmans are so loving: to each other, to Bradley, to me. They’re kind, and funny, and downright sweet. They may not be married anymore, but they obviously love each other.

Dad says God’s plan for romance is marriage: “One man with one woman for life.” The Westmans have followed a different plan, but it seems to suit them. It doesn’t seem they love each other any less because they aren’t married.

After we finish eating, Bradley and I run lines for an hour, then start watching the episodes of
Beverly Hills 90210
Bradley has recorded. In one, the whole gang goes on a camping trip, and Dylan storms out after a fight with Brenda. Brandon goes after him and right as they head off on a hike by themselves, there is a knock on Bradley’s front door.

Bradley hits Pause and opens the door for Tyler and Janice.

“Hey, man!” says Bradley. “Good to see you.” He and Tyler do an awkward handshake.

“Hi, Janice.” I wave from the couch as she walks down the three stairs from the front door and peers at the screen. “Have you seen this episode?” I hit Play, and Brandon and Dylan jump to life again.

“Oh, yes!” Janice runs around the couch and plops down next to me. “This is the one where they go camping, right? We watched this one together, Tyler.”

“Yeah, I don’t watch that anymore.” Tyler doesn’t smile when he says this.

“Really?” Bradley asks.

“Yeah, the kids on that show are always drinking and talking about premarital sex. It’s not what we should be thinking about.”

“It’s only a TV show,” says Bradley.

“Yeah, but it’s a TV show about kids being immoral. It’s not pleasing to the Lord.”

There’s an awkward silence. Janice looks at the floor. This is exactly what my dad would want me to do in this situation. He’d want me to hang out with Tyler, not with Bradley. As we all wait for whatever will happen next, I realize I’ve never been good at doing the unpopular thing in front of a crowd. When I was a kid, it was my brother Josh who used to tell older neighborhood boys not to use bad words, never me. It wasn’t that I didn’t love God; I just wanted them to think I was cool.

Is Dad right about me? Maybe I
am
too worried about what other people think of me.

Finally, Tyler clears his throat. “Well, we just wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay for a second?” Bradley asks.

On the screen, Brandon’s foot slips on a rock during the
hike, and suddenly he’s hanging on for dear life with one hand. Dylan rushes to help him and grabs his wrist. Their friendship hangs in the balance: life or death.

“Yeah, I have to get Janice home,” says Tyler.

Janice stands up again and gives me a small wave good-bye. Bradley walks them up the stairs to the front door again. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he jokes.

“I won’t,” Tyler says firmly. “I won’t do most of the things you would do.” He’s not joking, and when the door closes, Bradley just stands there for a second.

“Jeez. What was that all about?” I ask.

“I don’t know. He’s changed.” Bradley walks back down the stairs to the couch. He tries to shrug it off with a smile, but there’s something sad in his eyes. “I think Tyler’s a really good guy, but I don’t get this holier-than-thou thing. He used to be so cool—like you.”

I can’t help but smile.
Bradley thinks I’m cool.
As Dylan pulls Brandon to safety on the screen, I feel a surge of relief—not for Brandon Walsh, but for myself. I’m so glad I’m not as uncool as Tyler. I don’t think it’s so wrong to be happy that Bradley likes me. Just because I’m watching a TV show about teenagers drinking and having sex doesn’t mean I am going to drink or have sex. Besides, this show is really about the importance of being there for your friends—your best friends, and right at this moment, that’s all I want.

Bradley settles onto the couch, and turns the volume back up. We hang out on the couch, surfing back and forth
between MTV and VH1. Pop Up Video is running a marathon and it’s addictive. After a while, we are both yawning and head to bed.

When we get into Bradley’s room, he grabs at the neck of his T-shirt and pulls it off forward over his head. He’s still tan from the summer and I can’t help but notice how muscular his chest is.
No wonder the girls love him
. I make a mental note to do more push-ups.

Mrs. Westman appears at the door. “You boys have everything you need?” she asks with yawn.

“Mom!” exclaims Bradley staring at his calves in the mirror. “Look how big my legs are getting.”

She laughs and joins me behind Bradley at the mirror. He does have muscular calves.

“Bradley!” says his mother in mock horror. “You’re so conceited!”

“What? No!” Bradley protests. “I’ve been doing calf raises. They’re looking killer, right?”

Mrs. Westman rolls her eyes, then reaches up and runs her hand through Bradley’s hair. “Yes, darling. You’re a real He-Man. Aaron, good luck fitting into the bed with this one. His head is liable to take up the whole room.”

Bradley laughs and blows his mom a kiss good night, then reaches over and pulls back the comforter and crawls into bed. “You need extra pillows or anything?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

I’m nervous in this weird way, like when I opened Mr. Westman’s beer earlier, but I don’t understand why. I notice
the sheets on Bradley’s bed. The pattern is a light gray grid with red, blue, and yellow geometric shapes scattered sparingly. No floral prints here. Bradley’s room is cool and contemporary, like the rest of his house. I lift the corner of these stylish sheets and gingerly slide in next to him.

The queen-size bed feels huge, so different from my twin bunk bed at home. There’s no danger of me brushing against Bradley, but I stay as close as I can to my edge of the bed. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to snuggle up or anything. He clicks off the lamp, then flips over on his stomach and hugs the pillow under his head.

“Thanks for having me over,” I say.

“Sure, man. I’m glad you came.”

“Your parents are awesome.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “And they like you. You’ll have to come back next weekend.”

I smile to myself in the darkness. “Sounds great.”

Bradley’s breathing seems to even out, and after a moment, I’m pretty sure he’s fallen asleep. It startles me a little when he says one more thing.

“And next week: girls.”

Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see,

Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see.

For the Father up above is looking down in love,

So be careful, little eyes, what you see.

Mom has never been shy about singing Bible club songs in public venues, and the checkout line at the Hy-Vee grocery store is no exception. As she sings, she reaches up to flip over the
Vanity Fair
magazine she thinks I am looking at. This action, coupled with the song produces the desired effect. I quickly drop my gaze and swivel to face the candy display as if I’ve been caught.

“Guard your eyes, sugar,” she whispers to me.

Mom has told me to “guard my eyes” every time she sees a billboard or a TV commercial or rack of magazines since I was four years old. The stars on the magazine covers have changed, but her sweet Southern drawl and her admonition
to “guard my eyes” has not. She smiles at me, and I smile back at her, relieved to pretend that I was indeed looking at the
Vanity Fair
she flipped over.

Barbra Streisand was splayed across the cover in a knit beret, and while she was wearing a baggy cashmere sweater and fishnets the color of sin, she was not wearing pants. Nothing was seen, but everything was suggested.

“She’s got such a beautiful voice.” Mom sighs. “It’s a shame they have to take pictures of her that are so immodest.”

Mom and I came to get groceries for our new house while Dad directs unpacking efforts with Josh, Miriam, and Caleb. Our new place is on an acre of grassy property; a corner lot with a stream along the back in a subdivision across the street from a state park. It’s bigger than our old place, and I finally have my own bedroom.

As Mom begins to unload the cart, I cautiously glance up at the magazine rack again. It’s hard not to look at the black-and-white photo of Jason Priestley, who is grinning down at me from the cover of
Entertainment Weekly
like the happiest guy in the world. He and I both know I wasn’t looking at Barbra Streisand’s fishnets. Shannen Doherty is giving him a little peck on the left side of his forehead. Luke Perry’s arms are draped around both of their shoulders. I wonder if this has something to do with why Jason is smiling more broadly than Brandon Walsh ever does on
90210
? It feels good to have a friend you’re really close to. I’m starting to feel that close to Bradley.