Bread For The Body

Slice two.

How do you describe love? Is it the opposite to hate? So, how do you describe hate?

I know that hate is bad... The bible tells me not to hate. Mom and Dad tell me not to hate. Hate is bad.

So why do I still hate?

If I were to ask Taylor, he'd blame it on being human. Ike would frown and tell me to ask someone else. But, I would never ask my parents.

Come to think of it, the question isn't so much: why do I hate, but how can I stop...?

Someone poked their head through the doorway. "Zac? Want to come with your old man for a drive? Just down to the Post Office."

****

"Dad, I'll be back soon. No more than ten minutes."

I left the Post Office and started in the direction of my church. I needed answers and I didn't know where else to get them.

Sometimes when I pray, I feel like crying. It's not usually from sadness but just having this overwhelming feeling.

There was a man about my father's age, standing in the doorway. He had a glassy look on his face.

Like him, I didn't feel like going into the building. So I stood there, beside the man and looked in. After a minute, I had a change of mind and decided to go into the church.

I thought the man would follow suit but he didn't. This puzzled me. "How come you're standing outside and not coming in?"

At first he looked at me with silent features. "Such an innocent question."

I was not happy with that as an answer. So, I repeated myself. "How come you're standing outside and not coming in?"

"You wouldn't understand,... or perhaps you might but I wouldn't feel right telling you."

"Please come in, you're wanted inside. That's why the church's door is always open."

"Are you saying this metaphorically?" I pondered and didn't say anything. I hadn't meant it to mean something deeper but I guess that was the way it had sounded.

The man slipped a little grin. He chuckled, "Hey, for all I know you could be an angel from heaven, a messanger from God, guiding me."

Eh? All I asked him to do was not stand outside the church.

So now we both were inside the church but still at the doorway. Much progression? I think not.

"Sir, I think there's a seat over there with your name on it." I murmured, pointing to one of the back seats of the church, only a few feet ahead.

"Son, you don't even know my name."

I gave him one of my cheeky grins, the ones I'm so famous for. "You're a Jack? A Michael? A George? A Peter?..."

"Nope, I've been a Hen all my life."

"Excuse me?!"

Deep chuckles echoed throughout the room, for several moments. "Hen, short for Henry."

"Oh, right. Well I'm Zac."

The smile never leaving his face, he said, "I could've guessed."

"Sure... anyway, my Dad's waiting for me and I said I'd meet him... about this time. See you again, sometime!"

"I'll look forward to it." I nodded then ran out the church, rushing so to make up for lost time.

Slice three...

Stories