S H E L L E Y H R D L I T S C H K A
6
His brow springs up. “Well now.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m trying to get my head around what I’ve
said.
Was
. If I’m leaving a faith community that practices
polygamy, then I’m an apostate. Apostates are no better than
filthy animals.
“Then I guess you can lose some of the layers,” the driver
says, glancing at my best go-to-church clothing.
“I’m okay.”
His face softens. He fiddles with a dial on the dashboard
and turns up the air-conditioning. I undo the top button of
my long-sleeved shirt and lean my head back on the seat.
The driver turns up the volume on the radio. The music
is unfamiliar. I listen closely, both appalled and intrigued by
the lyrics:
Don’t stop now
Oh baby, oh baby
Feel it
Move it
Rock it
Oh, oh baby
Don’t stop now
We were only permitted to listen to spiritual music in
Unity, but on those occasions when Jimmy showed up late at
night for a visit, we boys would sneak off and sit in the cab of
his pickup truck and listen to music he called rock or punk or
pop. I liked the music, but it’s all still new to me.
