KABOOM Page 19

  “Dad. Please. It’s not boys. It’s a boy. Kevin Malloy. You know him. I’m not going to do anything stupid. There have been two girls in my grade who have already dropped out this year because they’re pregnant.”

  “Soon to be three,” Britt added.

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “Nancy Garlock. She just found out.”

  “Terrific!” Dad said. “How reassuring. I feel so much better now.”

  “Dad!” I said. “Relax. The point is this. Number one: I am not doing it with him. Making out is not doing it. Number two: I don’t plan on doing it with him anytime soon. Number three: if or when I do, you can bet I’m going to be using protection. I know how it works, Dad. I know about birth control. I’m not stupid.”

  “Of course you’re not,” Dad said. “I just worry. Boys are boys and, well, boys are . . .”

  “Horny,” Britt said.

  I put my hands over my eyes. I could not believe I was having this conversation.

  “Enough of this,” I said. “On to the next subject.”

  “I just worry that . . .”

  “I get it, Dad. I really do. If and when I decide, and it will be me not him deciding, that I am ready, I’ll be careful. Can we please change the subject?”

  “Why don’t you just sext him?” Britt asked.

  “Britt!” I said. “How do you know all of this stuff? She’s the one you’re going to have to worry about, Dad. Not me. Just wait till she gets her period. You’ll be totally screwed then!”

  Dad slumped over, put his face in his hands, and scrunched his knuckles into his eyes.

  “This is, like, the most awkward conversation ever,” I said, curling into the fetal position on the couch. “Can we please move on!”

  “No way!” Britt said. “We’re nowhere near done!”

  Dad sighed yet again as he straightened back up. “I got a call from Principal Miller today. Looks like you’ve made some pretty nasty enemies out there. Those two boys seem like very scary individuals.”

  “Assholes. Bastards.”

  “And I also heard about what happened at the dump on Saturday.”

  “Wow, Dad, is there anything you don’t know about me?”

  “I know you care very deeply about this mountaintop removal issue, Cyndie.”

  Thank God he was calling me “Cyndie” again. The “Cynthia” thing was creeping me out.

  “And I’m proud of you for that,” he continued. “I really am. But I honestly think you need to reconsider this whole thing, given some of the recent events that have happened. I will not have you putting yourself into dangerous situations. You know and I know that there are people in this town who are not very happy with your activism. Environmentalism is a dirty word around here.”

  “Too bad mountaintop removal isn’t.”

  “Well, it is what it is. Whether you like it or not.”

  “What are you saying, Dad? What are you telling me?”

  “I’m saying that it makes sense to tone it down a little. You’re fifteen. You don’t need to move so quickly. Let the adults deal with this. It’s a complicated issue, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, nowww I get it. Let the adults deal with it. That makes so much sense, Dad. What a relief. That is such good advice!”

  Dad looked confused again.

  “Well,” he stammered. “I’m glad you think so.” Dad was like Ashley, completely clueless when it came to sarcasm.

  “I totally think so, Dad. I mean, look at the wonderful job you adults have done with this so far. You’ve blown the tops off of, what is it, 500 mountains? Blown them up, Dad. KABOOM! They’re gone forever and they’re not coming back. Wow! What an awesome job. And you’ve polluted how many rivers with toxic waste? How many new cases of cancer? Mom would be so pleased to know about that one, wouldn’t she? I bet she’s up in heaven right now, sitting in the cloud bleachers, yelling, ‘Go, guys, go! Blow up another one for me!’ You shut down drinking water for the entire state capital in Charleston for how many days when the slurry dam broke? The water is still probably unsafe to drink! And all of this so we can burn the effin coal to fry the planet? You’re right, Dad. You are so right! I’m so happy with how you adults are running things. I really am. I’m so pumped about my future! Killer storms. Rising sea levels. Drought. Wildfires. Less food. More terrorism. And my favorite place in the whole world turned into a wasteland! Wow, Dad, thank God for the adults. You’re doing such an awesome job handling the effin world the way that you are.”

  I had emerged from the fetal position and had been pacing the room the entire time while I went off like this. All the while, Dad had sat there in stunned silence. Even Britt was quiet.

  Totally spent, I collapsed on the couch and brought my voice back to normal.

  “No offense, Dad. By adults I didn’t mean you.”

  “Is that a compliment?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Damn,” Dad said.

  “Damn what?”

  “Damn it. I’m never going to be able to retire, now.”

  “What are talking about?” I asked.

  “The way you argue I’m going to have send you to law school. That’s four years of college, then three more years to get your legal degree. Think of the cost. I don’t want you burdened with a huge debt, so I’ll never be able to retire.”

  “Is that a compliment?” I asked, snuggling up next to him, putting my arms around him, and resting my head on his shoulder.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I still think . . .”

  “Dad,” I interrupted. “I will be careful. I promise. About boys and about mountaintops. But I am going to do what I have to do. And you’ll know everything that’s going on because somehow, the snoopity-snoop that she is, Britt will find out and I’m sure she’ll tell you.”

  “She’s right,” Britt said. “I will.”

  “You could tell me, too,” Dad said.

  “I could,” I said.

  “Not everything, but some of the stuff I would like to know. I really would.”

  “Deal. Are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” Dad asked.

  “Kevin Malloy and I are getting married. I’m going to be a child bride!”

  “What?” Dad leapt up.

  “Chill, Dad! I’m kidding!”

  Not for the last time, Dad breathed in deep and sighed even deeper.

  45

  FRANK’S EVANGELICAL YOUTH GROUP was having a meeting at his church on Sunday night, and Kevin and I were going to back him up. It was two weeks since the fake-crystal meth incident, and Ashley and Marc were off to the movies. Date night trumped doing God’s work.

  We were there to get the group’s endorsement for the Save Mount Tom campaign, collect more signatures for our petition, and see if we could use the church as our staging area and starting point for the Children’s Crusade.

  “Do I have to behave myself in church?” Kevin asked. It was Sunday morning and I had been talking on the phone with him for two hours. We had gone miniature golfing the night before and I had walloped him. I had three holes-in-one. It was awesome.

  “You better behave yourself everywhere,” I told him.

  “That’s no fun,” he said. “If I hold your hand while we’re there, will they damn us to the raging fires of hell, start casting stones at our privates, and drive us out like rats from of a flooded mine onto the street?”

  “They might,” I said. “But I kind of doubt it. Frank has a girlfriend and I’ve seen him holding hands at school with her.”

  “But while we’re there I should probably keep my tongue in my own mouth,” Kevin said making slurping sounds over the phone.

  “Probably a good idea,” I said. “But only while we’re actually in the church itself. Before and after don’t hold back.”

  “Excellent. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know, Cyndie,” Kevin said. “We sure go on the weirdest dates.”


  “They’re not dates, Kevin! They’re thingamabobs! Remember?”

  “Oh yeah, my bad. Just imagine what it’s going to be like once we really start going out!”

  It wasn’t hard for me to imagine at all.

  •

  On Sunday night the church meeting room was full with kids from middle through high school. Not just from our town but others as well. Kevin had picked me up early, and after a glorious session of oh-so-fun tongues in mouths in the church parking lot we had gone inside to meet Frank and company. There were a few awkward moments as I kept trying to strategically position my hair, with no success. There was just no way to conceal the hickey on my neck courtesy of Kevin, aka The Human Vacuum Cleaner.

  Frank was a youth pastor and the designated leader of the evening Bible study group. He began the meeting with prayers and testimonials to Christ and a song about how Jesus loved us. Then we got down to business.

  I had not been raised as a churchgoer. After all, attending service on Sundays got in the way of my family observing way more important things, i.e., the never-ending Civil War. As previously noted, the only church we were involved in was the Church of the Holy Reenactment, which held weekend services on Civil War battlefields.

  To be honest, I hadn’t ever really thought all that much about God. I could see how the idea of Him and heaven could be comforting and reassuring, but it seemed to me that so much of the hatred and war and trouble and strife in the world was over whose religion was right. Whose God was the true one. Whose faith the chosen one. If there was a God, would He really have anything to do with all of that baloney? I didn’t think so. If God was love, then killing in the name of Jesus or Jehovah or Mohammad, or whomever it was you worshipped, made about as much sense as blowing up Mount Tom.

  It was clear, however, that these kids were true believers and that their support of our Save Mount Tom Campaign could make a huge difference.

  So there we were, sitting in church, surrounded by evangelicals and making our pleas for them to be the saviors. The saviors of Mount Tom.

  Frank and Kevin and I spoke about the evils of mountaintop removal, the plans we had made, and the work we were doing. The group was totally into it. They asked good questions. We gave good answers. After an hour we were getting to the end of the meeting.

  “Did you watch TV this afternoon?” I asked the group. “The discovery they made in Egypt on Mount Sinai? It’s all over the news.”

  “What did they find?” one of the more gullible, younger kids asked.

  “There were actually eleven commandments. Not ten,” I said.

  “Really?” the kid asked.

  “Really. Evidently Moses tripped on his way down the mountain and broke the third stone tablet that the eleventh one was on. They just found it yesterday. Under some Pizza Hut or something.”

  “No!” the same kid said, his eyes as big as pizzas.

  “Yes. And do you know what the Eleventh Commandment is?”

  “What?”

  “‘Thou shalt not blow the tops off of mountains.’ There it is. Clear as day. Written with the finger of God!”

  “Wow!” the little kid said. “Awesome.”

  “She’s joking!” Frank said, looking at me askance. Apparently this line of humor was perhaps a little over-the-top for him.

  “He’s right,” I said. “I wish I weren’t, but I am.”

  The kid looked disappointed.

  “It should have been the tenth,” Kevin added. “I mean, really. Doesn’t that one say something about not coveting your neighbor’s ox or donkey? I wouldn’t even think that would make the top fifty.”

  Everybody laughed, including Frank.

  “In all seriousness,” I said. “Can you imagine God giving his blessing to blow the mountain sky high? All in the name of the Almighty Dollar? Boom! Take that, Creation!’”

  “But shouldn’t we just trust in God, knowing that the Earth is in His good hands?” one of the kids asked.

  “Trust in God, but tether your camel,” Frank replied.

  “You guys are the biblical scholars,” I said. “You guys are the experts. What’s the Bible say about protecting creation?”

  Frank opened his Bible and read aloud. “Isaiah 11:9: They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “It doesn’t get much clearer than that, does it? Read it again, Frank.”

  “They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain.”

  “There you have it,” I said. “There’s not a whole lot of room for interpretation is there? God’s pretty much telling it like it is. No ifs, ands, or buts. No tiny fine print at the bottom of the page stating ‘Not applicable to West Virginia,’ or, ‘Exception granted to American Coal Company.’”

  “And I don’t see a sign anywhere in front of the church,” Kevin said.

  “A sign?” one of the kids asked. “Saying what?”

  “‘God was wrong. Support mountaintop removal.’”

  Everybody laughed again.

  I reached over and gave Kevin’s hand a squeeze. “And Frank, doesn’t the Bible go on and on about how pissed God will be if we screw the whole thing up? I mean, not in those exact words, but you get my point.”

  Frank opened his Bible and read again. We hadn’t rehearsed beforehand but we were like a well-oiled machine. I’d talk. He’d quote. We were on a roll. There’s nothing like the Bible to back you up.

  “Revelation 11:18,” he read. “‘The nations were angry; and your wrath has come. The time has come for judging the dead, and for rewarding your servants the prophets and your saints and those who reverence your name, both small and great—and for destroying those who destroy the earth.’”

  “Oh yeah!” Kevin said, pumping his fist in the air. “Payback time’s a bitch, dude! What goes around comes around. Boom!”

  I poked Kevin. “Sorry,” he said.

  “As Christians we’re called upon to protect God’s creation,” Frank said, shooting Kevin a friendly scowl. Frank had a wonderful speaking voice, soothing and gentle and convincing as hell. And, to add to the package, he was eye candy, too. Not nearly as hot as Kevin but still pretty sweet. I’d even think of making an occasional appearance in church if he was the one spouting off the word of the Lord.

  “We have that opportunity,” Frank continued. “Right here. Right now. To be stewards of creation in our very own backyard. To protect Mount Tom and all of the critters that God has put upon it. Mount Tom is our holy mountain. At this moment, in this place, we can make a difference. We can be the word of the Lord. Let us pray together.”

  Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes while Frank did his thing and Kevin put his hand on my thigh.

  46

  “THAT MEETING WAS SOMETHING!” Kevin said, as we came up for air after fifteen fabulous minutes of making out. We had left the church but were still sitting in his car in the parking lot. I was snuggled up close and he had his arm around me.

  “It sure was,” I said. “I think it went well, don’t you?”

  “I think it went great! I mean, you were totally locked in. You had them eating out of the palm of your hand. It was awesome!”

  “Stop,” I said, snuggling closer.

  “No. I’m serious. I bet most of those kids started off the meeting not giving a rat’s ass about mountaintop removal. But after seeing you in action they’re completely on board. I can really relate.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “I’m just saying I get where they’re coming from. I mean, after all, that’s how I got into this whole Mount Tom thing.”

  “By not giving a rat’s ass about mountaintop removal?” I asked.

  Kevin looked flustered. “No, no, no. It’s not that I didn’t care, it’s just that, well, you know . . .”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “I hardly knew
anything about mountaintop removal when I first met you. Just like the kids in church. And then you came along and, well . . .”

  “Well what?”

  “I wanted to be with you.”

  I should have been flattered. I should have been pumped with pride. Here I was in this fairy-tale romance, making out with a former Untouchable who tells me he joined KABOOM just to be with me! What could be more of an ego boost than that?

  But for some reason I was getting super-annoyed with Kevin. I just couldn’t help it. Maybe it was fallout from the meeting at the church. Maybe the whole “holier-than-thou, what would Jesus do” thing had rubbed off on me a little too much. I wanted Kevin’s motives to be pure and noble, beyond reproach. I hadn’t gotten into the mountaintop removal fight so I could hook up with boys! Why should he get into it just to hook up with me? It didn’t seem right. It seemed cheap and shallow and stupid. I wanted everything to be perfect—and this wasn’t.

  “So you don’t give a rat’s ass about saving Mount Tom!” I told him, this new bitchy side of me rearing its ugly head.

  “Of course I do!” he said.

  “That’s not what you’re saying.”

  “It is what I’m saying. Because you care, I care. That’s my whole point!”

  “Oh, I get it,” I said, scooting away from him. “You want to save Mount Tom so you can get into my pants.”

  “Your hoop skirt. I want to get into your hoop skirt!”

  “Oh my God, Kevin. That’s really lame. Sad and lame. I really thought there was more to you than that.”

  “Chill, Cyndie. I’m joking. It’s a joke.” Kevin reached out and tried to hold my hand but I folded my arms tight, locking them away.

  “Criss-cross applesauce,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. You don’t get it.”

  “I do too get it. And anyway, who cares how I get into it as long as I’m into it? What difference does it make?”

  “I care,” I said. “And it does make a difference.”

  “Why? Why does it make a difference?”

  “Remember what Frank said? ‘They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain.’ Do you think Jesus was doing God’s will just so he could get with Mary Magdalene?”