The Van Pact

37: Stevie

The O'Shaughnessy Laws are maybe factually untrue. I've decided to reconsider them, in light of new evidence contrariwise. Here are some important points:

1. Sam Mullingar kissed me.

2.      God let Valerie live.

3.      There is beauty in chaos.

The third point is probably the most profound. Maybe the grand secret to life, Valerie's secret, is that you can see the horrifying things and the holy things at the same time. That, within a Church, you can see the doubt and the inconsistencies and the human nonsense, and you can also see the long river of peace flowing above and around you, since people first felt the divine brush their lips. And that is the choice you can make. To see the beauty that still exists in chaos. To see the eternity in transient things. And to believe in beauty and eternity, even when chaos and transience seem to envelop everything.

            Maybe that's what faith is. To see what is wrong, and still hope for what is right.

            But also, Sam Mullingar kissed me.

            And serenaded me with Grandma O'Shaughnessy's favorite song. It was the most beautiful thing ever. I don't know if I can describe what that felt like, especially after everything that's happened in the past month. I guess it felt like how Grandma O'Shaughnessy would make pot roast on my birthday, back when we lived in Boston. I'd come to her quiet little duplex after listening to my parents bicker for a week over whether I wanted purple or blue frosting on my cake, and there would be the roast waiting for me: beef and potatoes and gravy and garlic bread. I'd always fight back tears then, as I'd shovel food into my mouth.

            Or maybe Sam's serenade felt like the dumb jokes Valerie would tell me in the cafeteria, after I'd get out of gym class in seventh grade. That bitch Courtney Logan would falsely accuse me of stuffing my bra in the locker room, and her snot-nosed minions would laugh when I tried to defend myself. I'd get to our lunch table utterly demoralized, and I'd see Val sitting there, and suddenly I was untouchable (and all you need is one cool friend and the bitches back off like betas in a wolf pack). She'd open YouTube on her phone and load some unintentionally-funny music video made in a Soviet-satellite-state, or a bizarre 90s Bollywood dance number and we'd laugh over our Tastykakes.

            Sam's serenade was like putting on pajamas straight out of the dryer, or waking up to a pristine layer of snow on Christmas day. It felt like home. And all I could do was cry.

            I bawled like a stupid baby.

***

            When Valerie parked the Jeep on her driveway, she pressed her face straight into its steering wheel.

            "My poor baby," she caressed the dashboard, "will only be playing EDM shit for the next six months. My dad's such a normie." As soon as she had said this, she sat up and blinked at me like an idea had struck her in the gut. "We have to give her a proper send-off." She jumped over her door and opened up YouTube on her phone. As I got out my side, I heard a bugle wail Taps.

            I turned around. Valerie held her fingers to her forehead in a salute.

            I joined her.

            "You two look ridiculous," Dr. DiPaolo said, as she passed us on her way to her porch. I put my arm down, but Val stood motionless, statue-like.

            "Valerie Marie?" Dr. DiPaolo held open the storm door. "I think we need to chat?"

            "Dead man walking," Valerie slipped her phone into her military jacket's left pocket. She smirked. "You're religious, say a prayer for me."