A/N: S. E. Hinton owns all rights to the characters in The Outsiders and her other stories, I only own my imagination. Victory in Jesus is copyrighted by Eugene M. Bartlett (1939) and was renewed by Mrs. Eugene M. Bartlett (1967). Please don't sue me! A lot has happened over the past eight-ish years I've been gone, but I was recently bitten by the writing bug again, so enjoy. Sorry if the characters sound OOC, I'm a bit out of practice.
We sneaked into the back of the church just as the singing began. "Please turn to hymn number 375- Victory in Jesus." The pastor instructed, amidst the sound of rustling pages. The organist's notes wavered as the people started in on the first verse as loud as they could. Pony and I stumbled through the words and music, singing quietly so we wouldn't attract attention to ourselves. We wasn't dressed so nice, and not half as nice as them other people there. At least we'd wore clean shirts.
"He loved me 'ere I knew Him, and all my love is due Him. He plunged me to victory beneath the cleansing flood!" The pastor thumbed through his well-worn Bible on the podium and started in on his text after the music faded. "Friends, please turn with me to the book of John, chapter ten, verse ten: 'The theif cometh not, but for to steal, to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.' Now, friends, you may be wondering how you can live the abundant life that Jesus promised us right there in His word. Well, let me tell you…"
THUD!
The hymnal I'd been using dropped as I tried to put it back. I didn't mean to, my hand just slipped. Thankfully, only a few heads turned. Pony and I shared a glance, and I mouthed an apology, my face burning.
"Let me tell you, friends, that this victory, well, it comes like that. Thud! Just like that. Victory over sin, death, the power of the Devil. I ministered in New York City after that boy Michael Farmer was murdered, with the gangs out there, and let me tell you that when the glory of God came on them, they were changed. You hear me? Changed- just like that! And you can have that victory too. Victory in Jesus!"
A few people chimed in with 'Glory', 'Amen', and 'Hallelujah', distracting the curious away from the scene I'd caused. My hands were still shaking. "Hey, you wanna go home?" Pony whispered, tugging on my sleeve.
"Yeah." I nodded my head.
Once the prayer part of the service began, we slipped out of the sanctuary through a side entrance only to find the pastor smoking a cigarette. "Decided not to stay?"
"No, we'd better get home; I got homework to do." Pony bluffed.
"Well, it was nice seeing you anyway. Don't feel bad about the hymnal, son. It happens to the best of us." He patted my shoulder with a reassuring smile. "Y'all take care, now, and bring your friends next Sunday."
"Sure thing." Pony agreed, but I picked up the insincerity in his voice.
"Can you imagine Dally in a service like that?" I asked when we were well out of earshot.
"No, much less Steve or Two-Bit. Thanks for going with me, Johnnycake."
"You're welcome. It was nice."
"You think that pastor's really been to New York?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Maybe you could ask Dally for me."
"Pony, New York's a big place. I doubt they'd have run into each other."
"Well, maybe just ask him anyway."
"Alright, alright, keep your shirt on!"
Dally and I met later at the DX, neither of us really wanting to go home. "How'd it go with the kid?"
"Fine. Um, Pony wanted me to ask you, since you grew up in New York. Do you remember the Michael Farmer murder?"
"Yeah, kinda. Why?"
"Well, that pastor made like he'd been there and talked real big about helping the gangs find Jesus."
"If he was, I never saw him. I was nine when it happened, though. My friends and I thought it was pretty fucked up to jump a kid with polio like that, especially since they didn't fight fair. Rumor was that they didn't even know if he was really part of the Jesters, or not."
As darkness fell, I sat alone on my favorite bench in the park, thinking of a kid who had died on a hot summer night, much like this one. The air was heavy and close, and I tugged at my shirt collar. Those Socs didn't fight fair either. Maybe it wasn't worth getting them back. Could be one or more of us would end up dead. I shivered, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. A couple months before, and that kid could've been me. Almost was. I still got sick just thinking about it. I buried my face in my jacket, laying on the bench and tried to fight off the nightmares again. Socs with chains, Socs with clubs, Socs with belts, Socs with knives and fists. If we did win, like everyone else said, would the victory outweigh the loss?
