The Lightning War: Grounding Unit: The Lightning War, #1

Copyright © 2024 Jarrett Browne

Publisher Fae Corps LLC

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction, any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

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Chapter 1

Dale, you awake? my mother asked me as the car's movement jostled me into the seatbelt which I had twisted into a sling. Orange sunlight slanted across my face and warmed my eyelids as I awoke from my nap. An itchy, irritable sting pierced the corner of my mouth where my saliva dripped as I chewed the string of my hoodie. My most recent memory was crawling into the back with all the road trip trash and deciding to take a nap, maybe it was somewhere in Ohio, I don’t know. I pulled myself at eye level with the car windows, greeted by the unwelcome sight of my family’s new hometown as the sun set on the longest day ever. Tinville, read the white reflective font on the bright green road sign. A single main road ran perpendicular to the highway exit ramp, largely occluded by Dad’s large moving truck in front of us.

We there yet? I inquired, unfortunately knowing the answer.

Look around, Dale, it’s your new home! Not too far up the main road, I could make out a few boring businesses dotted with a few basic fast food places. We’re probably getting dinner from that Chinese place over there later, Mom informed me. You like Chinese, right?

I mean, yeah, I replied. Chinese is fine. The moving truck swung wide around the turn as our small sedan followed, cruising along this little town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. Hills and trees shrouded our immediate view past the street and whatever establishment we were passing.

Dale, your school is on the left, Mom informed me. A blocky brick building spread low beside a large metal truss-styled stadium stand, blue and white with the words WE ARE TITANS painted upon them, matching the painted gladiator statue at the entrance to the field.

Looks like a bit of a dump but at least they’ve got a sports budget, I shrugged.

Well that’s good for something, you were going to go out for the swim team weren’t you? she reminded me. Not going to lie, I did miss the club team I left behind in Buffalo, but at least I was going to a school with an actual swim team.

Tinville Masonic Lodge, I read off the sign bolted to the warehouse-like building beside the school.

What about it? my mother attempted to keep the conversation going.

Just reading the sign, I huffed. Sorry, I just don’t want to be here. That did it. I knew this conversation wouldn’t be civil forever. This was probably our ninth time having it, and it had yet to end peacefully.

I’m aware, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want from me! my mother snapped in desperation. Your dad got this good job offer, I’m sorry we have to leave New York for it. You’re sixteen anyway, you only have to stay here two years if you want to move back when you go to college.

If I even go to college, I huffed under my breath.

Exactly, you have no future plans anyway, she reminded me, as my parents tended to do at least once a week.

Because I can’t do anything, I reminded her in turn. We’ve been over this, I’m a loser, there’s, like, no career path that works with the stuff I’m good at. This came up multiple times a week. Yada yada yada I have no ambition in life, I have to remind her it’s because I’m a loser, at this point I gazed off into space out the window and let my brain go into autopilot. Back and forth. Back and forth. Yada yada yada. Squabble squabble squabble. Just another argument that teenagers hate having with their parents, and parents hate having with their teenagers, yet they end up happening all the time.

Enough, my mom changed the subject. "We’re almost to our new home, when we get there your father is going to park the truck in the driveway and you’re going to help carry boxes in.

Okay, I don’t know what you want from me! I retorted.

I want you to carry boxes in, mom hissed at me. Shrouded in awkward silence, our car careened through the country until we rounded the corner into a fresh, polished housing subdivision. Dozens of houses in various stages of construction, from dirt lots to wooden skeletons wrapped in white plastic accompanied freshly built homes containing newly relocated families. Finally, I recognized the beige siding on the one at the end of the street, surrounded by other completed homes. The newly built house we had just purchased that I had seen only in photos was ready for us, cracks of light between the other houses shone against the plastic siding as the orange late summer sun sank into darkness.

"Clinklinklinklinklink!" The large, cumbersome cardboard box somersaulted from my arms and slammed into the driveway, shuffling all shapes and sizes of colorful glass and ceramic shards that used to be our dishware across the pristine white concrete. Dale! shouted my father, What the hell did I just hear!?

I don’t know what to tell you, I hopelessly sighed. It was heavy and I dropped it, I guess. Dad silently turned his back to me as he attempted to regain his composure, scruffing his goatee in between his fingers.

It’s fine, he simply stated.

Please don’t-

It’s FINE. he abruptly cut me off, not wanting to fight and just get done what we needed to. Tell you what, Dale, he proposed. Take the box labeled ‘Dale’s Room’ up the stairs, your bedroom is on the left side of the hallway. Just drop that there.

Yes, sir, I nodded.

You got those hiking boots we bought you? Tell me you have your hiking boots.

They should be in the box, I huffed at him.

Throw your hiking boots on and go explore the woods, maybe go stretch your legs for a bit, he instructed me. I grabbed that box, paraded it into the cold, unfurnished house across saran-wrapped carpet, and dropped it in my room. I ditched my $13 Walmart sneakers for the brand new hiking boots my parents had purchased for me to wear into the undeveloped woods near the subdivision.

Do you want me to help clean up the broken glass? I asked my father.

I got it, just go somewhere you aren’t in the way, he ordered me. I placed one of my boots into the freshly turned soil, fuzzed with a thin layer of baby grass. Jesus, Dale, not in the lawn that grass is young!

Sorry, Dad! I briskly trotted down the driveway and made a break for the sidewalk near the dead end leading to the woods. I checked my phone, 34% battery, and not a single text from any of the few people I left back in Buffalo. Course they didn’t care.

Dale! He shouted at me, heading down the driveway to meet me.

What? I shrugged, spinning back around to face the freshly built home bathed in orange twilight.

I’m sorry, my father whispered, patting me on the shoulder, the low sun casting a shadow from his Bills hat across his face, cloaking his eyes in shadow though I could tell he felt exhausted and sincere. I know this move wasn’t ideal for you and it’s been a long day for all of us.

Mom reminded me of what a loser I was back in the car, I grumbled.

You aren’t a loser and she doesn’t think that, he reassured me. We want the best for you and we want you to make a plan for your time after this household, maybe this move will open some doors for you in that respect. Now, go chill out in the woods for a bit, go on a little adventure. Be back at 8:30, we’re having Chinese.

She told me.

Love you, son, he gave me that rare reminder.

The forests here in Indiana weren’t like the ones in Buffalo. This one was all deciduous trees with low, leafy branches. Thick honeysuckle bushes blocked off certain sections of forest like a knotty timber wall. A few spring green and yellow leaves speckled the ground alongside the normal dead brown ones producing a faint earthen odor of decay, the first sign of the oncoming autumn season. I tread along a path that had been deliberately cleared, presumably by fellow amateur woodsmen in the neighborhood. The soft watery trickle of a nearby creek echoed throughout the foliage alongside the usual sounds of rustling branches and the occasional avian chirp. Star-like specks of orange light danced through the waving leaves as the sun continued to go down.

Maybe this move will open some doors for you, I ruminated on possibly the only uplifting thing I had heard all day. They did have a point, I was getting a fresh start. My life at home, as comfortable and safe as it was, was boring. I was the kid that went to school, maybe talks to three other students from time to time, never went to the football games because I couldn’t drive, and never got in trouble. My peers barely knew I existed, my teachers barely knew I existed, I could count the number of people that cared on one hand and sometimes I wondered if my parents were even included in that.

No, they were. They had to be. They’re my parents.

Dead leaves crinkling and dried twigs cracking under my boots drew my attention when I noticed faint voices echoing in to join them. I spun around to locate where they came from, hearing them coming from up ahead in the path. How was I not alone? What on earth would anybody else be doing out here? Even stranger, it sounded like multiple people, all adult men. Was it a search party? Maybe there was a dead body to be found in this forest?

Up ahead I could vaguely make a few figures moving between the trees out as not just shadows, but made of some kind of black cloth. People. I headed closer, intrigued as to what they were doing out here on a Thursday night.

Get out of here, jerk! the voice of an older man cut through the calm forest ambiance. From the woodwork emerged a tall, commanding individual clad in a silky black robe, a sort of silver symbol embroidered on the forehead of a hood. A deep violet apron adorned in strange golden symbols hung from his waist, and pristine white gloves covered his digits.  Don’t let me catch you back here again you punk! I turned to walk away, not wanting any trouble. Click! The possible sound of a revolver’s safety mechanism disengaging sent me right into fight or flight.

The light gray cotton of my t-shirt was slowly but surely saturated with perspiration as my heart painfully throbbed in my chest. Just a little further! I clambered over the viney, possibly poisonous foliage at the edge of the forest and sprinted back onto the cement sidewalk. Somewhat safe in an area with people around, I returned from a balls-to-the-wall sprint through the forest to a brisk walk, the evening breeze slightly cooling me as I made my way back down the street to the house with the moving truck in the driveway.

Mom! The slam of the door echoed through the empty house as my run for my life came to an end, the air conditioning chilling my sweaty body and filling my lungs with dry frigid air. There’s a bunch of creepy guys wearing weird robes back there!

Yes, I heard her calmly reply. Walking through the kitchen, I saw her wearing AirPods while speaking into her phone, the familiar red and white menu of a Chinese restaurant pulled up on her touch screen. Name on the order is Sandy Bergeron.

Mom! I hissed, trying to get her attention quietly and politely.

One second, my mother excused herself before covering her mic.  Wonton or egg drop soup, Dale? she whispered.

A bunch of guys were back there! I repeated in the same hushed, panicked tone. They had black cloaks and were doing some weird stuff!

Stop being a dumbass, Dale! my mother scolded me. Wonton or egg drop?

Mom, one of them had a gun!

Dale! she hissed through gritted teeth.

It began to replay through my brain again. Of course something like that happens and they don’t listen, do they ever!? Won ton, I guess! I huffed, plopping in a kitchen chair that had been haphazardly scooted against the wall, yet to be arranged with the rest of the furniture.

Yes, sir, won ton soup, she replied. So, the General Tso’s, does it have peppers in it? Like how spicy is it? Mom! I thought, sitting through her taking her sweet time with the order as she tended to do.

Beep beep beep! She pressed the red button at the bottom of her screen to disconnect the call after a good ten minutes of ordering food for three people. Dale, what is with you today? You distracted me, if I screwed up that order it’s your fault!

Mom, for once, listen to me! There were a bunch of creepy guys back there and they yelled at me when I got close to them! They had black robes on!

Dale, she rolled her eyes, you can’t expect me to listen to you when you come home cracking stupid jokes about Satanic cults and crap. It was useless, once again an attempt to speak up was blown aside on my end. Why bother trying?

Dinner was awkward. Everyone quietly scraped their disposable chopsticks against the plastic take-home containers, tired and pissed off and just ready to get to sleep. I wanted to break it, I wanted us to just be happy and have a normal family dinner, just a simple normal in a place that I had been forced to accept as the new normal. Dad made eye contact with me briefly but ultimately kept his mouth shut.

Thanks for dinner, Sandy, he finally stepped up and spoke. It was delicious.

Yeah, I like that place, she calmly piped up, apparently cooled off from our little blowup. Dale, you like it? I didn’t want to speak but I took a deep breath and bit the bullet.

Yeah, I smiled. I liked the peanut chicken the best I think.

I’m glad, she wiped her mouth and began stacking everything on the table. Dale, can you go wash out these containers so we can reuse them?

Why? I inquired, perplexed as to why my mother would want to reuse the plastic take-home boxes. That was a mistake, I thought as she buried her face in her palm.

Because, Dale, you smashed the only plates and bowls we brought with us and we might need to use these a few times before we can go out and buy a new plate set.

Well sorry! It was an accident! I felt like I was beating a dead horse trying to explain this.

I’m sure it was an accident, my mother scolded me, now go take accountability for it and clean the containers without giving me a bad attitude!

I didn’t have a bad attitude, I just asked why we were saving them, sheesh! So much for a pleasant evening, we had just come right back around to where we were an hour before.

Dale, you’ve had an attitude all day! she erupted on me. We all packed up our lives and moved here so your father could give all of us better lives, you weren’t asked to do anything except sleep in the car eating junk food the whole way and carry in boxes, which apparently you can’t even do correctly at sixteen years old! Dale, you’re an adult! I knew whatever came out of my mouth next wouldn’t be done sound of mind. Act like an adult!

Well, maybe I’d feel like an adult if I could say anything to you or dad and have it be taken remotely seriously! You guys never listen to anything I say! There. I had done it. Sixteen years of frustration towards my parents, whom I loved, had finally come out. They were great and supportive, don’t get me wrong, but I was done with them not taking what I had to say into account while being great and supportive. Once I turn eighteen I’m moving somewhere where I’m taken seriously!

Ktschshshshssshhhhh! Our fiery gazes locked into one another broke. Our attention turned to the kitchen sink, where a pressurized geyser of water sprayed against the ceiling from where the faucet used to stand. The sink, counter, and floor got slicker by the second as a series of metal satin-finished rings rolled and rattled around to rest.

What the hell, my father whispered under his breath, clearly perplexed.

Dale Joseph Bergeron, my mom continued to lecture me, did you just break our brand new faucet in our brand new house!? Water gushed over the countertop like Niagara Falls, mixing with the thin layer of sawdust covering the freshly built kitchen as it puddled up on the floor.

From all the way over here!? I trembled, clueless as to how the faucet exploded in the first place but somehow feeling guilty for it, as comes with years of trying to explain one’s actions to a brick wall.

Get out of here! Don’t let me see you for the rest of the night! my mother shrieked in a fit of blind rage.

Sandra, my father rested her hand on the shoulder of her t-shirt. Please calm down.

Raymond, our son just destroyed part of our house!

D-dad, I swear, I-I didn’t! I stammered, terrified of what horrible reaction was certain to come of it.

Who did then!? Your druid friends from the woods you also lied about tonight!? It was a lost cause at this point. When my mother got this angry there was no calming her down, and what came out was usually pretty irrational.

Sandy, we’ll call the plumber tomorrow, Dad calmly explained. Here, we can just turn it off for now. My father knelt, opened the empty cabinet beneath the sink, and twisted the valve on the pipes below. Squeak! Squeak! The geyser slowed from a violent spray to a gentle bubble before reducing to a trickle that spilled into the sink, stopping it. It’s a new house, he explained to both of us. Stuff breaks, it’s never been used before to know if it works. My mother buried her face into her hand and turned away from all of us.

I-I’m sorry, she forced out, obviously beginning to choke up, her curly light brown hair covering her face.

Good night, guys, I turned around and walked away from the ugliest scene that I’ve ever seen at a place I lived. My father embraced my crying mother as plastic containers, trash from the move, and scraps of wood from the home construction drifted around the big awful puddle on the once pristine tile floor. Love you guys.

Love you too, Dale, my father called back as I stormed up the stairs. I closed the door as violently as I could without getting yelled at for slamming it and threw myself on my bed’s bare mattress.

Chapter 2

Knock knock knock! The neutral, industrious scents of young paint coats and freshly sawn lumber in my nose served as a cruel reminder that the previous day was not just some crazy fever dream, my conscience dialed in the low hum of a box fan in the window. Bleary-eyed, I unwound the single fleece blanket from around my trunk and sat up. Looking out the window I was greeted by the sight of the neighborhood, likely midday considering the sun was blazing. Thank hell Dad dropped off that fan and blanket, I vaguely remembered Dad checking in on me to make sure I was okay after I stormed off to bed last night.

Knock knock knock! Dale, are you awake? a voice called from the hallway.

Kiss my ass and go away! I groaned at whoever it was, rolling back over and shutting my eyes again.

Dale, it’s me, my father chuckled. Can I talk to you once you get up? That was my dad! I told my dad to kiss my ass!

Oh, sorry! I exclaimed. Sorry, I’m half asleep,

You’re fine, just get up and come downstairs. I picked up my phone and looked at the white numbers at the top. Eleven-seventeen AM, way late into the morning. I opened the cardboard move box reading Dale’s Clothes and threw on another outfit for today before heading downstairs. Much of the furniture had been pushed into place but the place was still far from complete, with disconnected wires hanging from holes in the ceiling and a thin layer of sawdust still coating the countertops. Three boxes sat on the kitchen table: one depicting a set of red plates and bowls, one depicting a set of drinking glasses, and a third showing a simple light fixture, this box was open with foam and plastic packaging sticking out.

Dad? I called. Ummm, Dad? The garage door opened with a squeak, echoing through the short, empty hallway.

I’m out here, Dale, he informed me. I stepped down the one wooden step and shut the door behind me. The singular feature on the barren concrete garage floor was my father’s workbench, and on it sat the light fixture on the box, surrounded by fasteners, tools, and plastic to be discarded.

You wanted to speak to me? I inquired.

Yes, my father confirmed, placing his reading glasses onto the brim of his Bills hat to better look me in the eye. Dale, he strolled over to me, the plumber came out this morning and looked at the broken pieces from the sink, and he said that the valve just failed for some reason, something about an ‘anomalous spike in pressure.’

Well, I know that, I shrugged.

But your mom feels bad because she thought you broke it and that proved it didn’t. I called the builders about it and they’ll be back to reinstall another faucet this afternoon.

What do you want me to do? hopelessly I shrugged, asking this for possibly the millionth time in my high school career.

Well, he leaned up against the bare drywall, your mother and I want you to figure on your own what your skill set is, we want you to make a future doing what you’re good at, and we want you to go on to live a happy life.

Why don’t you and Mom ever listen to anything I have to say? I’ve asked this before and never gotten answers, but it never hurts to ask again. One day this circular dialogue I’d been trapped in for years with my parents would have to break itself, why couldn’t it be today?

My father seemed irked that I was asking the question yet again. Dale, I honestly have never not believed a single thing you’ve said. Over the past sixteen years I’ve seen you grow into a responsible, honest young man and you’ve never lied once. He took a deep breath, the type of deep breath someone takes when you know they’re about to say something troubling. Your mother is a very skeptical person. I love her, she’s wonderful, but it’s hard to convince her of anything. But after you went to bed last night, she was really upset and she was upset again this morning when we found out about the sink.

She was crying because she knew I was right, I sneered.

You were right about the sink, my father confirmed. Not sure about creepy old guys in cloaks in the woods, but you were right about the sink. And if you’re okay talking to her this morning, I don’t think she’ll yell at you or anything.

Where is she? I asked.

She’s in the backyard, he explained. I went to Walmart this morning and got a few things for the house, actually I don’t know if you’re hungry or not but if you are we have those little frozen pancakes and sausage on a stick that you like. Now we were talking! No morning could be sad if it had a frozen piggy on a stick with some real maple syrup!

I’ll go talk to her, thanks Dad, I shot him a smirk and turned around.

No problem, son, he reassured me, patting me on the shoulder. Got two weeks of summer left, go enjoy them. I shut the door and headed out back, sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the deck, my sneakered steps reverberating against the freshly assembled wooden boards. My mother was sitting down, like my dad, keeping track of numerous fasteners and hex wrenches, except instead of assembling a light fixture she was assembling this simple green Adirondack chair from a box.

Umm, Mom? I asked.

Good morning, Dale, she uttered monotonously into her half-finished patio furniture, screwing what looked to be the arm of the chair together.

So, can we talk about last night? was my pitch. I don’t want to spend days fighting with you, please. My mother set everything down and turned around, the sorrow and regret clear in her expression.

I never didn’t believe you about the sink, she admitted. It had been a tough day, we were all tired, and you had said something kind of far fetched earlier. And I took that out on you way beyond being a parent.

Mom, I love you but you never seem to believe anything I say, I once again dragged up. No matter what happens, your version of it is whatever you first see in your head. She took a deep breath, grabbed the railing of the back deck, and pulled herself to her feet.

I know, Dale, she told me for the first time in my life. And last night was kind of the breaking point and I realize that now.

Why have you never trusted me before in the first place? It’s not that I run around and lie all the time. I might actually get some answers!

Dale, you know your Uncle Carl right? she ensured I was aware of my almost perpetually incarcerated uncle.

How could I not? His kleptomania stories get dragged to the Thanksgiving dinner table every year. Of course my idiot uncle might be to blame for this, no family holiday was incomplete without my grandparents rehashing every single thing mom’s brother got in trouble for in his entire academic career. All ten years of it.

My brother Carl, my mother explained, well he was always kind of a bad kid but it was somewhat around the time he was your age that he began to show signs of abnormalcy. I could tell that was like a weight off her shoulders. We had some changes in life then, he was about fifteen and I was about twelve. It was kind of around then that he started getting in trouble with the law more frequently, started stealing, he might have been into drugs, I don’t know.

Oh, I huffed, so I’m just your idiot brother in your eyes? Got it.

No, Dale, my mother was backpedaling like a cyclist headed for a cliff. You aren’t, and it’s time I started giving you the credit of someone who’s not. She took another deep breath. Not gonna lie, I do think you’ve gotta get your life together, but it’s more together than Carl’s ever was.

I didn’t know how to react. My mother was never vulnerable like this, ever. It was always Sandy’s way or the highway with me, no ifs, ands, or buts. Whatever fight happened last night, whatever things were said, a problem that had bothered me more and more as I had grown older might have just taken a big step towards being solved.

Love you Mom, I reached out to hug my mother.

Don’t hug me I’m sweating out here, Dale, she laughed as she respectfully pushed me away, cracking a smile in the process.

Anything I can do to help you? I offered.

Just keep being the great young man you are, please, she asked me. Promise I’ll see more of a future out of you, and I promise I’ll work on seeing you more for that.

I mean today, I clarified.

We’ve pretty much got it today, did Dad tell you there’s pancakes and sausage in the fridge? she confirmed.

Way ahead of you, got one in the microwave, I laughed, the smell of the maple syrup already flowing through the kitchen as I set one foot back inside.

Yeah, eat breakfast and unpack your room, go explore more of the woods, maybe look at colleges. Something constructive, she advised me. I opened the newly relocated microwave and grabbed the frozen, mass-produced breakfast treat. Dammit, gotta nuke it again! I thought, not realizing how much longer my talk with Mom went than intended.

It wasn’t my first time back in the woods, but I felt like it was simply because it was my first time there that I wasn’t running from my parents, I was simply vibing and killing time, my ears filled not with the sounds of teenager-parents squabbling but of singing birds and active forest life. The bright midday August sun illuminated the forest much better than last night, and I suddenly felt much safer back there. After a bit of exploring, I came across the same clear-cut path I saw last night, the one that led up to those creepy cult guys. Eh, not today, I thought, crossing the path instead of following it and continuing down through the trees, looking for nothing in particular and just enjoying my time alone with my thoughts.

Find your skill set, in the numerous times I had been round and round with my parents about my future and what a loser I am or am not, today was the first time that phrase had come up. I was an okay swimmer, didn’t necessarily win for the team but I didn’t usually come in last. My best subject in school, maybe? I was good at history, I could be a history teacher.

Me? Magically work up the backbone to wrangle a class of unruly school-aged kids? Hell no! Maybe I could be an archaeologist? That would be cool!

As I approached a small but steep uphill ridge in the land, I paused briefly. Crunch. Swish. Footsteps! I had heard footsteps, I wasn’t alone! Panicked, I made sure to stay silent as my eyes scanned the ground in front of me for anything I could use to defend myself against whatever might be there. What if it was the creepy guys from last night? What would I do if they started trouble? About a meter in front of me sat a pinkish granite stone the size of a grapefruit, that was perfect! I silently took one more long step forward and picked up the rock, eyes locked on the top lip of the ridge as the footsteps got closer, ready to drill whoever was undoubtedly about to get in my face. A few branches bent out of the way before another person approached me, now was the time! With everything I had, I wound up like a major-league baseball player pitching a curveball, and I let that rock fly!

Eep! shouted a girl my age, diving to the side and flinging herself into the dirt. Crack! I heard the stone strike and ricochet off a dead tree immediately to my left. I wasn't sure why it went ninety degrees from where I threw it but that wasn’t my focus, not when I had just thrown a rock at someone.

I’m so sorry! I exclaimed, lunging up the decline to help her. I thought you were someone else!

Hey, don’t worry about it, she chuckled, brushing dead leaves and twigs out of her wavy blonde hair and lifting herself back up. I probably should have said something when I heard you coming.

Ditto, I jointly accepted the blame.

Haha, I’m Alina, she extended her hand.

Dale, I introduced myself. We like, just moved here yesterday.

Wait, she smiled, did you have an SUV and a moving truck last night?

Yes, that was us! I confirmed.

You’re right across the street from us, what the hell happened with those plates? Alina’s face lit up the second she found out I lived across the street from her.

Long story, I rolled my eyes.

You dropped them, didn’t you? she sensed.

...maybe, I chuckled. It was an accident.

When we moved in earlier this summer, she began her next story walking away, nonverbally inviting me to walk alongside her. I was carrying this floor lamp with a glass shade in and I accidentally smashed the bulb and shade against the wall tilting it to get it in the door, there was glass everywhere.

Where you from? I asked her.

Kentucky, not too far away, she shrugged. My dad’s a pastor so we sometimes move around for his church stuff, it’s stupid.

Mom’s a paralegal, Dad’s a manufacturing engineer, I explained. We’re from Buffalo.

Wanna go back to my place and chat? she offered. My mom’s home, she won’t mind if we hang out in the backyard or something.

Totally! I took her up on it. I was getting a little thirsty anyway. I wasn’t the biggest fan of just stepping into a stranger’s home, but I wasn’t one to decline an offer like that.

Alina’s house was across the street from mine the whole time. Yes, I had seen it, no, I had not noticed it, per se. From afar, it’s just another mass-manufactured home in the modern maze of a Levittown we had moved into. But up close, Bible verses on anything that was not natural. River rocks in the garden, the little  Jesus flag hanging from the wrought iron frame, the little painted wooden crucifix ornament on the front door. Whoops, Alina insincerely shrugged as she unhooked the yellow cross from the door and flung it into the bushes. The wind did it. Again.

Not feeling the holy spirit I take it? I confirmed with her.

Never believed any of that Jesus garbage, she admitted. Told my parents when I was little, they yelled at me, so ever since I just pretended to go along with it. Pretended to go along with it, I wasn’t even religious in the slightest but that phrase hit way too close to home. She opened the door and kicked off her flip-flops before motioning for me to come in, I followed suit and unlaced my boots to leave by the door.

This home was identical in structure to my house, but aside from the obvious that it had been moved into, it looked like Jesus had thrown up on every single vertical surface of that place of residence. Every wall was plastered with crosses, Bible verses painted onto anything and everything you could possibly paint them onto, and photos of Alina’s family at church and only church. This was little me, Alina pointed to a photo of two adults in their forties with a little blonde girl in a white dress, the family standing in a blooming springtime garden with a large church of some kind in the background. I think this was Easter when I was like seven or eight.

Alina! I heard a woman call from upstairs. Is your friend here?

Yeah, I’ve got him down by the front door, she shouted back up the stairs. Around the corner at the top of the stairs walked a larger woman in her early fifties, her long graying hair pulled back into a thin ponytail, a laundry basket in her arms in front of her partially covering the Bible verse on her ratty pink sweatshirt.

Hello, there, she smiled pleasantly. I’m Mrs. Jones, I’m Alina’s mom, you are?

Dale, I waved up the stairs. Dale Bergeron.

Well, very nice to meet you, Dale. Alina mentioned you live around here? She set the laundry basket down and firmly shook my hand without asking.

Um, across the street, I chuckled, pointing at the front window behind