“They ride in them, just don’t own them.”
“Seriously? What now? They call an Uber?”
“Sure. They could if they want. They have cell phones.”
“That makes no sense what-so-ever.”
“When has religion ever been logical?”
“All of Father O’Connell’s sermons are.” At my outlandish statement, Suds belly laughs and wipes his eyes.
“My favorite one was a few weeks ago.”
Knowing I’m about to receive a full recap, I put my seat back and gaze up at the roof. “I probably slept through it.”
“No doubt. Lemme see if I can recall… He started with the story of the prodigal son but with a strange twist. He said we should all go out and party, get it out of our systems, and come home all repentant-like. Then, we should ask folks for forgiveness, and live the rest of our lives as holy rollers. That was the gist. Of course, he rambled on about pornography and how life is sacred. I think he touched on drinking to excess except on Christmas and holidays, which apparently is okay with God as long as you’re with family and don’t punch no one, say anything sinful, nor sleep with your neighbor’s wife.”
“Damn, he covered a lot of commandments. Sorry I missed it.”
Suds clicks his blinker, and enters the fast lane. “Uh huh. I’ve been counting. He covers at least six in all his sermons.”
On my right, we pass three eighteen-wheelers, the most interesting thing to happen in miles. “Impressive.”
“Yeah. I’ve started taking notes. The man is a genius.” He finds a country station and hums along while I snooze fitfully.
It’s dark when he pulls to the shoulder. “Wake me in a couple hours.”
“Sure thing.” I hop out, stretch my legs, and run around the front to jump in the driver’s side.
Former military, he sleeps as soon as his head hits the seat.
“Okay then.” I crack open the window, find a pop station and sing along to stay awake. As the miles pass, I picture the people who came in and out of Twelve Columbus Place. One was familiar. I’m sure of it.
