A/N: To the guest reviewer who on my last story said, "I hope you write professionally one day," I actually already sort-of do. While I now self-publish under a penname (Molly Taggart) for greater control, I also have three commercially published books that were put out by a small press publisher. You can find a list of all these books on my profile. They are available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books A Million, and other such online stores. Some of the Molly Taggart books were inspired by FNL fanfiction I wrote in the past (stories no longer in the archives), though they have been thoroughly rewritten so as to no longer have any direct connection with the FNL world. I hope you will give one of my books, under either name, a try.
Conversations with the Reverend Hayes
This series of vignettes starts simultaneously with "The Pastor's Daughter." It has no overarching plot and will just be a collection of conversations between Eric and Tami's father. I plan 4-5 chapters.
[*]
"That doesn't look like homework," Mr. Taylor said, and Eric quickly closed the sports biography he'd been reading. He was sitting at the far end of the bar at his father's place, Taylor's, where he'd been drinking New Coke. His father had gotten advanced samples from his distributor, before the product officially hit the market, and Mr. Taylor said he didn't think the fad would last long, so he was going to buy up and store a large supply of the old stuff before they made the switch. Rum and New Coke, Mr. Taylor said, didn't have quite the right ring to it.
"It's free reading," Eric insisted, "for English class. Mrs. Connor wants us to do an hour a day."
"Uh-huh," Mr. Taylor said skeptically. "When you aren't performing your taxi duties, son, I expect you to be studying."
"Yes, sir. I am, sir." It was opening week at the bar, so his father was all eyes this Saturday, but Eric expected him to be working on owner-type stuff in the back room or at home on future Saturdays. Then he could read whatever he wanted.
"The Reverend Hayes needs a ride." Eric's father nodded to the other end of the bar, where the Reverend sat, flanked by two men, laughing and talking. Mr. Taylor shook his head. "I'm not sure we should visit his church again. I would expect a Reverend to know his limits better, but so many people lack discipline."
"Well, you kind of depend on that for a living, don't you?" Eric asked.
His father glared at him.
"I'm sure this isn't typical for him," Eric said. "I saw those guys, you know, buying him pints."
"Go drive the man home, son. And take my car. Your pick-up isn't presentable."
"Well it was the best I could do with my own money." God knows his father wasn't going to help him buy a car. Well, the man did pay for the insurance, Eric had to admit.
Mr. Taylor's Buick was a mere two years old, and it was sparkling clean. Mr. Taylor vacuumed it twice a week and made Eric wax it by hand twice a month.
"Nice set of wheels," the Reverend said as he slid into the front passenger seat. His gray-blue eyes were sparkling and he had a sort of sloppy grin on his face.
"Yes, sir. Reverend. Sir."
"Call me Edward!" the Reverend insisted, but Eric assumed he only said it because he was buzzed, and he had no intention of calling the man Edward. "Your father runs a fine establishment. It's far better than the Drunken Kickoff was."
"You used to go to the Drunken Kickoff?" Eric asked in surprise as he started the car. That bar didn't have the finest reputation and had been known to be the scene of many a police report. Taylor's was a different sort of establishment, one might even say family friendly, at least before 9 PM, when Taylor's put up the "over 19 only" signs.
"The Bible says, be in this world, but not of this world. Can't be in this world without being in this world, now can you?" The Reverend blinked. "Did I say that right?"
"I think so, sir. Reverend. Sir." Eric was on the street now. "Where do you live?"
"The parsonage is on Main Street, about a mile from my church, if you remember where that is."
"Yeah, I do. Sir. Reverend – "
"- Stop with the Reverend Sir, nonsense, young man. Or at least pick one or the other."
"Yes….sir."
"Your father's something else isn't he?"
"Uh…"
"Must be a hard man to live with."
Eric laughed. He couldn't help it, despite the weird bluntness of the buzzed Reverend. His father was hard to live with. "Sometimes, yeah."
"Your mother's a pretty thing though."
Eric was less comfortable with this pronouncement. "Yes," he said, but said it with a tone of irritation mingled with a hint of warning.
"So's my wife," the Revered said. "Linda has legs that don't quit."
Eric reached for the radio. "Would you like to listen to something?" he asked, just to get the Reverend off the subject of his wife's legs. "The Christian station?"
"God no! They play the most insipid music. It's like they take mediocre pop songs and just replace baby with Jesus. Put on the classical station."
"Yes, sir. Reverend. Sir." Eric tuned to the classical station.
"What music do you like?"
"Uh…southern rock," Eric answered. "Like the Allman Brothers. Lynard Skynard. And general rock n' roll, too. Well, classic rock really. I don't like much modern stuff."
"Classic rock? Rock hasn't been around long enough to be classic."
"Well, you know," Eric said. "The Beatles, Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Who, The – "
"- My God!" the Reverend exclaimed. "I feel so old. How can any of that be considered classic already?"
"It's just what they call it."
The Reverend leaned forward and turned up the Beethoven symphony that was drifting from the radio. He hummed a long for a minute, and then said, "This is classic."
"Yeah, but it's not rock."
"You don't like it?"
"I don't dislike it," Eric told him.
"This is the basis of heavy metal music right here."
"I don't really like heavy metal music," Eric said. "Unless you count Led Zeppelin."
"Well obviously you count Led Zeppelin!" the Reverend insisted. "Hey, where are we?"
"On 27. We'll be at Main Street here soon."
"Don't take the exit. Go all the way down to South Rankin and then loop back around. I need to sober up a little. I can't let my wife see me like this."
"Uh…"
"I'll give you an extra good tip."
"A'ight. Whatever you want, sir," Eric said. "Reverend."
"Thank God I haven't gotten my doctorate yet!" the Reverend exclaimed. "Then that would really be a mouthful for you, wouldn't it? Dr. Sir. Reverend, Sir doctor." He chuckled to himself.
Eric drove past the Main Street exit.
"You got a girlfriend?" the Reverend asked him.
"Uh…no. I did. Back in Houston. But she broke up with me a couple weeks ago. Right before school started."
"Now what did she go and do that for? You seem like a polite, good-looking fellow."
"She found someone else she wanted to date who was…you know…there. In Houston. Not here. In Rankin."
"Yes, well, distance will do that to couples. Don't worry. Lots of pretty girls here in Rankin."
"I don't want a pretty girl in Rankin though," Eric said. "I want Lisa." Once he'd said it, he couldn't believe he had. That was a little personal.
"You feel that way now. You won't in six to twelve weeks, I guarantee you."
This irritated Eric. Lisa had ripped his heart out while it was still beating. She'd promised they'd stay together long distance, that she would drive up to see his Homecoming game and accompany him to the dance, that she'd eagerly wait for him to visit her on weekends when he could manage it. But four days before school started, she'd ended it all with nothing but a phone call. He'd gone to the Homecoming dance with his teammate, a wide receiver everyone called Father Jack, and then Jack had ditched him to flirt with some girl on the volleyball team who didn't even seem to notice Jack liked her.
Eric had danced with a few girls, none of whom particularly interested him, until Anita came gunning for him. He didn't know what to make of that girl. She was pretty, sure, but who the hell just up and offered a guy a blow job like that? Once he realized she was serious, he'd almost thought of taking her up on the offer - it would serve a two-fold purpose - he'd feel a sense of revenge against Lisa (look how quick I can score with someone else!) and he'd be able to let off some steam. After all, blow jobs felt really good. He'd never actually had one from anyone but Lisa before, but he was pretty sure it would feel good no matter what girl was doing it, and Anita Nisbeth apparently had a good amount of experience. But he was also pretty sure he'd feel like a jerk afterwards, even though she was the one offering. And what if Lisa changed her mind, decided she'd been a fool, and begged Eric to take her back? He'd feel like an ass, going back to her after he'd let some random girl do that to him. Lisa wouldn't respect him. He probably wouldn't even respect himself.
"You're wrong," Eric replied. He wasn't going to be over Lisa anytime soon. "We were together two years."
The Reverend chuckled and then apologized. "Sorry. That's a long time for someone your age, I realize. That's over half of your dating life so far, I imagine. But when you've been married over twenty years, you'll see how comical that sounds. How old are you?"
"I'll be 18 in February."
"I'm 46. Perspective."
Eric was a bit surprised by the Reverend's age. He would have guessed 56. The man's hair was practically silver. His face, however, was young. More like 40.
"Another girl will come along sometime in the next month or two and catch your fancy, Eric. Mark my word. This Lisa girl will be a distant memory by Valentine's day."
"Maybe you've just never been in love with someone who callously crushed your heart," Eric said bitterly. He hadn't meant to speak to the Reverend disrespectfully, but the man was pushing his buttons.
"I dated a girl for two years once, and I was smitten. Positively smitten. And when I went away to seminary, she dumped me for my older brother. Now that smarts, young man. That smarts. But guess what? I went to a revival two months after I swore I would never speak to my brother again, two months after I swore I would never love another girl again, and my eyes fell on a very lovely young lady who was playing the piano. And that woman became my wife. And my brother is now my best friend, and he's married to that girl who broke my heart."
This intrigued Eric, and softened his prior irritation. "That must make for interesting Thanksgivings. Is your wife jealous?"
"No. She wouldn't give me the satisfaction of being jealous."
Eric wasn't sure what to say to that.
The Reverend laughed. "We've had our ups and downs. You will too, when you've been married over twenty years."
Eric had reached South Rankin. "Can I loop back round now? My dad's going to wonder what took me so long, especially if someone else needs a ride."
"Go ahead," the Reverend said. "I'll just try to sneak in while she's preoccupied with cooking dinner."
When he'd pulled to a stop at the curb outside the townhouse the Reverend said was the parsonage, Eric fished in the pocket of his khakis. He pulled out a package of mint Tic Tacs and offered them to the Reverend.
"Ah, you're a clever one, young man," the Reverend said, pouring three into his palm and popping them in his mouth. "Is this what you do before going home to Mom and Dad after the football parties?"
"No, sir. Reverend. Sir."
Reverend Hayes laughed. He handed the tic tacs back to Eric. "Thanks for the ride." He opened the door and stepped out. He was about to walk away when he leaned down in the open window. Sorry. I forgot your tip." He reached in his pockets, pulled out his wallet, and apparently found it empty. He put it back.
"It's a'ight. You don't - "
"- Here's your tip," the Reverend interrupted him. "Find a pretty girl, take her out, get her the back of a dark movie theater if you have to. Get over this Lisa individual and get on with your life. You're not even quite eighteen. Enjoy your youth while you still can. That's my tip."
And then he shut the car door.