As I stood surrounded by a crowd of church people in the front room, I realized I needed to escape. The preacher approached, his eyes glistening with hope as my stomach turned in fear. I believed in God, but not on the same level as these people. These were fanatics, opening a bible to choose what meal to prepare three times a day. Opening a bible to decide whether to cut down a bug infested tree, letting the lord decide on such personal issues like the selling of an automobile.

I had to act, and act soon otherwise I'd be expected to profess my allegiance to the spiritual club of 69727 West Manchester Street. I smiled politely as Preacher Sigley began to pray over me.

"I have a headache." I whispered, turning to dart from the room.

"Form a circle!" The preacher commanded. His tone of voice was deep, his determination obvious. He saw me as a soul in need of salvation and I saw myself as a soul of independent thinking. The people surrounded me and my temples began to pound.

"Let's pray over Jessie's headache. Everyone feel the power! Feel the power of a compassionate Lord!"

Was it the devil causing my stomach to surge with nausea or just another typical premenstrual migraine?

The room was lacking in oxygen, I couldn't breathe. "Help." I whispered as smirks of amusement flickered. I slithered to the floor lifeless.

When I came to, the preacher's wife Bette was holding me at the fountain outside fanning my face with a church bulletin. The others stood at the door with smiles plastered on their faces. It was as if everyone were a carbon copy of the next. Paisley sun-dresses were worn as if a prerequisite, a women's Christian uniform. Chills ran up and down my spine. I knew in that instant that I needed to escape. Fire or no fire, it was time to go home.

I began to plan and prepare. I had brought along my bicycle, a twelve speed mountain bike with ultra-thick tires. I began riding it several miles a day, fast miles, on challenging terrain. I peddled out to the main road, trying a variety of paths, trying to find the best time, the quickest route for my plan. I was conditioning myself, memorizing every path and rut so that I could find my way at night.

It was time to go home and I realized neither the preachers nor his wife Bette would easily let me go. They had their sites on me, on converting my poor heathen soul.

Over fish one evening, Bette managed in a sweet unthreatening tone, "We feel it's time you profess your faith and this Sunday would be perfect! The entire congregation agrees that it's time you make a pledge."

"I'm not ready for such a thing." I said as politely as I could muster.

"Don't be ridiculous." The preacher interrupted. "You're ready as ready can be."

I noticed a glance exchanged between husband and wife. I knew somehow that it was sink or swim. I had to escape from the pressure, I had to escape to my previous home. My husband was supposedly working to fix the remnants of our fire damaged structure. He'd visit twice a month for the past three. Twice a month I'd beg him to let me return.

"A tent is no place for you to live." He had said dismissing my request. The preacher and his wife were never very far off and would pipe in agreeing with Patrick.

"Please." I had pleaded as my husband would slide into his old Chevy S10.

"You're better off here among friends then suffering next to me. Besides another two months or so and our house will be livable. Then, I'll bring you back."

"These people are trying to suck my brain. They remind me of that movie, Invasion of the Body Snatchers except they are after my human soul."

My husband laughed, but I was serious. "The preacher and his wife are good people. Just humor them and you'll be okay. They're just passionate about what they believe in."

"I notice you're not the one living here." I whispered, with a snippy tone.

My husband paused, his eyes flickering with a hint of annoyance.

"I'm doing the best I can. I can't stay here too, I have to work besides trying to reconstruct the house. We can't afford to hire the work done even with the insurance money. I'm afraid we're nearly broke as it is."

"Tell me this Patrick, what exact day can I come home?"

"Soon." He said, as he started the engine and hurried away.

I stood in the driveway fighting off a surge of emotion. The truck furthered itself and I watched until it was no larger than a speck in the distance.

The area was flat with farm fields surrounding the road out. I fought off a smile as I realized I knew a path that no one could possibly follow. I knew the way to light, my personal light of escape.

"It's time to come in now." Bette managed, as I brushed away desperate tears. How I resented that, resented the fact that I was now being told when to do things, how to do things and judged by if the Lord would approve of my choices.

"I think I'll take a bike ride." I said over dinner on the evening of my escape.

I had saved my allowance from day one never purchasing a single item during the shopping excursions that Bette accompanied me on. "You need something nice for church services on Sunday." She had said.

"The Lord does not care what I wear, nor should you." I snapped.

"We have a dress code at church." Bette had replied with exasperation.

"If I'm not good enough as is, I would rather not join you." I said.

Bette's lower lip began to quiver as she realized that when I made up my mind about something, it was not to be changed.

I pulled ninety seven dollars and fifty cents and tucked it in the front pocket of my denims. It was time to go. Fish, rice, broccoli, prayer and water. Every item on the table was blessed individually.

With an hour until nightfall, I mounted the bike and tore off to the main highway. I did it in a round about way so that the preacher and his wife would be oblivious to my escape.

I was fast, thicket snapped in and out along my path. In record time I was on the highway heading to my former burned out residence.

The Sigley's lived fifty miles from Sutter's Pond. Patrick and I built an impressive ranch structure on property adjoining the county park. Often during the evenings we'd take a stroll down to the pond and watch as the fish would feed for the night on mosquitoes. These were carefree evenings at the beginning when life between us lacked in complication.

Fifty miles at thirty miles per hour. I wondered how soon it would be before I would reach Sutter's Pond. I focused on my breathing.

In no time, night was upon me. I was fortunate to have a full moon illuminating the county road. The stretch was vacant, the only noise coming from the clicking of the bicycle glide.

Fifty miles at thirty miles an hour. I thought again. Fifty miles at sixty miles per hour would be fifty minutes. If I could maintain my pace, fifty miles at thirty miles per hour would be one hundred minutes. One hour forty minutes. I kept my determination as a smile pursed my lips.

I heard a loud muffler before headlights became apparent. I knew the clanking muffler, it was the preacher and Bette coming for me.

I threw on the brakes and the bike skidded to a stop. I dragged the bike in a desperate attempt and leaned it down in the overgrowth. I hunkered down next to the bike and aside from the hand-grip on the handlebar, I was hidden.

The car eventually passed as I watched Bette with her head poked out the side window scanning the tall grass on the opposite side of the street.

They missed me completely since I was traveling on the left side of the road instead of the right.

"Idiots." I said, as I stood watching the tail lights distance themselves from my position. I realized in that moment that my escape was not going to be an easy one.

I swung onto the bike and began riding at a more relaxed pace. I had to be certain to keep them ahead of me.

What then? I wondered to myself. It was obvious they were driving to my house. They would wait for me to return, then simply force me back to their religious retreat. Suddenly I realized my plan had a serious flaw.

They couldn't wait forever. I thought, as I continued to pace myself on the bike. I wouldn't go home tonight anyway. I wouldn't return to their home either, but where could I go?

I knew of a place, a place that only a fool would ever consider going. I lived with a man in the time before Patrick. In many ways I loved him, in many ways he annoyed me no end. His little annoyances overtook my sensibilities and I walked away one night. No explanation, never once turning back until now.

Somehow I realized staying with the preacher and his wife was like attaching an anchor at my foot and tossing me into the deep currents of the river. It was as if they wanted to baptize me, although I had all ready been baptized.

I turned off the main highway and headed for Sharp's house. I lived with him from the age of eighteen until I was twenty four. In many ways I was happy back then, so young, so naive.

The back roads were creepy at this time of night. Shadows seemed to contort around trees and at any given moment I imagined a monstrous hand grabbing for my ankles.

Focus. I whispered to myself. Focus and pedal.

I had to double back. I had missed my turn off and didn't realize it until the sign for the town limits of Spencer became readable in the dim moonlight.

It seemed like forever until I finally pulled into Sharp's driveway. His Camaro was parked out front like it had been many years ago. He was at home. A hint of television flickered between the gaps of pull down shades.

There was a woman in his life for the first two years after our breakup. I'd be dishonest if I didn't admit it bothered me. Although she seemed to be good for him, his annoyances must have driven her away too. One day I noticed him doing things alone. I could only guess at the extent of their breakup.

I stood on his front stoop and balled my hand into a fist to knock. I paused, uncertain exactly what I was supposed to say.

The porch light clicked on before I had a chance to prepare. The door swung open and there Sharp stood. I had forgotten how remarkable his blue eyes were. Even in the contrasting light, his eyes reached through the screen and gripped at my heart. I gasped surprised that his presence caused such a reaction.

"Isn't this a surprise." He said, opening the door.

I nodded entering his home.

The surrounding room was immaculate. Sharp was very fussy about how he lived. Everything had a place and the man did not believe in dirt or clutter. The home was photo perfect as if in wait of a surprise inspection at any given moment.

I stood as perspiration trickled down my forehead. Sharp gazed about outside.

"I don't see a car." He said turning to face me.

"I rode my bike."

"Your bike?"
"Yes." I said fighting off the exhaustion.

"I was told you were staying outside of Brentwood."

"Yes."

"That's sixty miles easy."

"I rode it."

"Really?" Sharp said grinning.

I nodded.

Sharp tilted his head and his grin diminished into a hint of amusement.

"Rode sixty miles at night just to see me?"

"Something like that." I said, not wishing to burst his bubble.

Sharp began to chuckle. Sharp was his last name and everybody called him such. I understood why he didn't care to be recognized as Clarence.

"Can I offer you something Jessie?"

I stood proud not knowing how to ask for a spot on his sofa, so I shrugged my shoulders.

"A drink of water?"

I nodded as he hurried into the kitchen. I tiptoed to the mantel and gazed at the row of various photographs. Every frame was in perfect alignment. There were a few images of us together, one of which struck me as odd. Sharp was holding a long encasement of lunch meat, similar to what the workers at the deli pull out to slice. Sharp was gazing at the meat in such a loving way. "Strange." I said in a full belly chuckle not recalling when it was taken. Sharp returned a moment later with the tumbler of ice water. His eyes reflected an instant of worry as he handed me the drink.

I drank the entire glass in one guzzle, then handed him the empty.

He just stood there, smiling at me stupid.

"What?" I finally snapped at him.

"You look rather pretty there with egg on your face."

"What's that supposed to mean exactly?"

"Just that things with ol' Patrick didn't work out now, did they?"

"I'd better go." I said turning to face the door.

"Naw, I'm just funning with ya. Please have a seat and tell me what this visit is about."

After explaining the entire mess, Sharp nodded with compassion.

"So your bike is out front?"

I nodded.

"I'll pull it around back and you're more than welcome to sleep in my spare room."

"You'd do that for me?" I asked him.

"Sure. We go way back Jessie. Aside from the fact that you broke my heart, I still regard you as one of my dearest friends."

I smiled as he headed outside.

__________

I was jolted awake by a sudden pounding from the kitchen. At first, I had forgotten about my brave escape, but then as my eyes adjusted, I noticed all of the plastic model cars surrounding Sharp's spare room. In a flash, I remembered the long trek in the dark.

I hurried from the bed and slid into my denims from the previous night. Shuffling, I followed the noise to the kitchen where Sharp had taken the trouble to prepare a huge breakfast. He was slamming orange juice concentrate onto the rim of a glass pitcher.

"Good morning!" He said. His blue eyes sparked at the pleasure of having me in his home once again.

"Hi." I whispered.

"I hope you're hungry after such a long bike ride yesterday evening."

"I could eat." I said with an agreeable tone.

"Well, I made your favorite. An oven baked omelet."

"With the tiny cubes of ham mixed in?" I asked, feeling my taste buds fire alive.

"Yep."

"I may never want to leave." I said in jest.

"I could only hope." Sharp responded as we both chuckled in unison.

"Naw, I'd get under your skin after a bit and the past would eat us alive!" I said knowing how it was in fact, quite the opposite.

"You'd get under my skin, but as I recall it would be for more pleasurable reasons."

Sharp winked at his intent.

"Oh, such a flirt so early in the morning!"
Our laughter trailed off as I pulled two plates from the cabinet and set the table as if I had been living there for the past few years. Sharps eyes followed me and I felt very natural in his presence.

"There was a missing person's report about you on the local news this morning."

I gazed at him with surprise.

"The announcer said you'd been staying with the preacher and his misses. Your mental state was described as troubled since the fire. Is that a bunch of hogwash or what?"

"Patrick arranged for me to stay with them since I had no where else to turn. Sure I was upset most of my stuff burned up, who wouldn't be?"

Sharp nodded in agreement, but there was concern in his gaze.

"Well, you know you can always hang out here as long as you need to."

"I might not have a choice, but to take you up on that offer."

Sharp smiled at my statement.

"You'll have the house to yourself today Jess. I need to drive into Toledo for a custom installation job. The client ordered very expensive speakers for his new sound system. Unless.... maybe you'd like to take a ride with me?"

I found myself smiling, something I hadn't managed for the past few weeks.

"Are you opening the t-roof on the Camaro?"

Sharp began to grin. "I could." He said.

"Okay. Sure, I'd love to take a drive with you."

Sharp headed to the pantry and pulled a loaf of bread. "Just like old times." He said.

"Only better." I whispered as he pivoted around and eyed me with intent.