Wim Wam

Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

They sat in a circle, in the grass, near the softball field. The nearest I ever came to believing that Father Jimmy was divine was when they all stood up and joined hands. They were wearing white clothes, and none of them had grass stains on their asses. That was impressive. Inexplicable, really.

Big Dave had asked me not to water the lawn, that morning. He didn’t anybody to get all soaked during the meeting.

Father Jimmy would smile in this soft, shy way, and the women would cry. Weep openly. After a bit, the weeping would turn to singing. Almost imperceptible. A transition. The sobbing would get rhythmic and breathy. They’d do ‘Jesus Is Just All Right With Me’ with tears streaming down their faces.

No acoustic guitars, fortunately.

Father Jimmy’s nephew sang in a flute-y, feminine voice; very different from the tone he used when screaming at other kids on the school bus. I couldn’t tell if he was some kind of two-faced asshole, or if being related to The Messiah forgave his acting like a bully on the basketball court. You should have heard him. He sounded like Judy Collins when he sang.

After the meetings, Father Jimmy would ask to use the private men’s room in the front office. I could tell he was no-one’s Lord and Savior simply because he could never figure out how to use the lock.

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