Chapter 3
Show Them the Way
…24 hours later
Drake woke up in a panic when he opened up his eyes and saw the unfamiliar surroundings. He
was in a simple room that contained the twin bed he was sitting up in and two dresser drawers.
He had a throbbing headache, but nothing that an aspirin or two couldn't take care of.
There was a soft knock on the door,
"Drake, may I come in?"
"C-Cameron, where am I?" He rubbed his eyes.
"My house. Don't you remember getting sick on your latte? You passed out in my car. I got
sick on the way home as well and my house was closer to the Premiere than yours was. I called
the movie theater to let them contact your parents. I couldn't find your number in the book."
"It's unlisted. I have a headache."
"You better get home. You don't want your parents to worry. And I'll get you some aspirin."
"I doubt they would. But, I don't want to burden you with my problems."
"You're not a burden. I'm a youth minister; I help young people such as yourself overcome
your problems. I don't believe in shoving religion down people's throats. Why don't you stay
for breakfast and I'll drive you to the Premiere so you can get your car back?"
"Sure. So, you're a minister that likes rock music? That's pretty cool."
Cameron smiled.
This might take an extra day or two than planned, but there was going to be another brother joining
the flock. The rest of them were zoned out on their daily dosages and doing their quiet assigned
Biblical reading in the basement where they had their church services on Wednesday evenings.
"I believe in an alternative approach. If you'd like to take a shower you can use my private one
in the attic bathroom. Every door and drawer that was supposed to be locked was and so it
wasn't like Drake would find anything.
"I wish more adults would as awesome as you. For the short time you've known me you
haven't pestered me about growing up and finding a job."
"It's not my place. My place is to understand the youth, not to condemn any one of you kid's
like the parents seem to do. I'll see you downstairs."
Twenty minutes later Drake found the kitchen and was greeted with a plate of scrambled eggs
and a berry fruit cup. He kept the food sedative free, Cameron knew the next step was to have
him return home and then having the big argument with his folks.
He needed to be sober for that event to take place.
"Thank you so much for making me breakfast and the aspirin."
"You're very welcome. I cannot find the Magic Markers."
"What do you need them for?"
"I was making a sign this morning. We need another renter to help with the living expenses."
Cameron pulled out a sign from the storage cabinet. It said "Renter Wanted" in big bold letters.
Every letter was filled in with a different color except for the 'e' and'd' in 'wanted'.
"Hey," Drake stood up, "There's a package of markers on the microwave."
He handed them to Cameron.
"Thanks. I guess I should wear my reading glasses more often. I'll finish this and after you finish
breakfast. I'll drive you back to get your car. Maybe you can recommend a new CD for me to
buy."
"I can do that now—The Python's Live at Black Rock."
Cameron opened up a new carton of orange juice; he needed to stay sober as well. He
obviously couldn't bring the safe food down from his own mini refrigerator that was in his
bedroom.
"So you're really into music, Drake?"
"I play guitar and sing. I have a band, but I'm afraid it's not going to go anywhere, two of my
band mates are going away to college."
"You might find there are more important things than rock and roll," Cameron smiled, "My
bad—I hope that didn't sound like I was pushing religion down your throat."
Drake laughed, "No, I suppose you have to say that. Tell me about yourself."
He's never felt this confident around an adult ever. They were either authoritative figures or
business people like the owner of the Brew Note and other establishments he played his music
at.
"I am a graduate of Cornell University. I have my degree in psychology and a minor in
chemistry. I used to work for a firm in Manhattan, but I didn't particularly want to spend my
whole life in the rat race. I found religion and it has been my mission to help the youth ever
since. I'm very happy," Cameron looked at his watch, "We better get a move on."
"I wish I didn't have to go. I like talking to you. There's no pressure."
Drake stood up and pushed his chair in; Cameron walked up to Drake and put his hands on his
shoulders.
"Stand firm and let your voice be heard. Don't let them force you into something you do not
want."
"I'll remember that. You don't know my folks."
He quickly removed his hands and went into his inside jacket pocket and took out his beige
leather wallet, "Here's my card. Call me anytime, day or night, if you need to hear a supportive
voice or if you need to vent."
The card was ivory and said:
Cameron DePalma, Youth Minister/Consultant
24 Hour hotline: (619) 555-1311
Drake Parker wasn't a religious young man, the only time the family ever went to church was if
someone got married or for funerals. He didn't have any particular beliefs except the Heaven
and Hell basics your parents tell you about when you are two years old and asking "Why?"
every five seconds.
But there was something undeniable about Cameron DePalma that just seemed right.
"Thanks, man."
"My pleasure, Drake, it really is my pleasure. I only want to see you kid's happy."