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Kristen was surprised at how easy it was to eat without praying over her food.
So many things about losing her faith in Helio were painful. So many parts of her daily life were laced with broken glass thoughts and memories. But eating without praying was easy.
Kristen popped a grape into her mouth as she and Fabian waited for Gorgug’s barbarian class to let out.
“What’s taking them so long?” Fabian complained, “We’ve been waiting for, like, hours.”
They’d settled on the shady side of the school to wait. Kristen peered back around the corner to find the sun. “Do you see them?” Fabian asked.
“No, just checking the time,” Kristen said, squinting.
“There can’t be a clock all the way– are you staring into the sun, Kristen?”
Kristen looked back at him, blinking spots out of her eyes.
“Not directly. Just getting the position. Their class will let out soon. It’s about a quarter past one.”
“You can tell the time from just looking at the sun?” Fabian said incredulously. He didn’t wait for her response. “Well, don’t. Jeez, you’ll burn your eyes out. Where did you even learn to do that?”
“Summer camp,” she replied.
Because it was easier, she cheerfully told Fabian about “Stand Out” contests at camp, where kids were made to compete to see who could stand out in the sun the longest. No food, no water, just getting their strength from the Lord. Part of her knew it had been awful. Torturous, even, but she hadn’t allowed herself to think it at the time, so it was easy to see Fabian’s slowly dawning horror and feel a small sense of vindication.
What she didn't know how to tell Fabian about was the boy who’d taught her to tell time by the sun. Standing together on a Stand Out day, they’d joked and bickered because they weren't allowed to do much else. Childish bravado bleeding into camaraderie as the minutes sweated into hours that he taught her how to count with an outstretched palm. Eventually, legs shaking, gasping for breath, they leaned on each other, back-to-back, arms interlocked to hold each other upright in the last dregs of the competition. Kristen remembered the burn of his hot skin seering into hers, the feel of his sweat dripping down her neck. She’d never felt so closely connected to another person as their wills merged into one determined flesh.
Her cabin mates had teased her, hours later (after everyone had been given food, water, and a lecture about the frailty of the human body and the strength of Helio as exemplified by the kid with the worst heatstroke being Restored by the camp director). Hiding giggles behind their hands, they’d asked her how his muscles felt through his shirt, if she thought his eyes were dreamy, and (whispered so softly) if she’d felt his butt when they were back-to-back.
She’d been so thrown by their questions. Didn’t Helio teach that lust was a sin? In hindsight, she could pat herself on the back for not being tempted, but their eager and delighted expressions confused her into doubting herself. And in that split second of hesitation, her friends seemed to sense something in Kristen. Something maybe none of them had words for but all knew was off. They stopped asking questions, left Kristen alone. She caught a few of them giving her the side-eye over the campfire.
And suddenly she was alone on the front lawn. Disgust on her mother’s face. Blank dispassion on her father’s. Feeling so small, barred from reentering her family’s home.
“Well, just check your crystal next time,” Fabian cut in before Kirsten could tell him about other “fun” camp games they’d been forced to play. “It’s not the olden days. Or buy a watch or something.”
“Who needs a watch?” Fig asked, rounding the corner with Gorgug.
“Kristen does so she doesn’t burn her eyes out of her skull just to tell what time it is.”
Kristen’s thoughts were still revolving around the boy from camp. That was a good memory, right? Even if the competition was bad, he was still good, right? Even if he followed Helio, and Helio was bad, and the other girls had looked at her so weird, but they were wrong for thinking she was weird because it wasn’t bad to not lust for a boy except when it was– And it was easy to talk about the bad things like the Stand Out competition, but painful to talk about the good things like a nice boy. And she wanted so badly to ask if it was a gay thing to not like a boy, or if it was just be a summer camp thing.
“I forgot my lunch at home,” Fig said.
Kristen broke her sandwich in half and offered it to her.
“Isn’t your father the lunch lad? Can’t you just get him to, like, feed you?” Fabian said. Gorgug gestured to the undercooked and burnt pizza on his own reluctant tray. “Point taken.”
As Fig defended Gilear, they descended into bickering. Kristen popped unblessed-grapes into her mouth and watched the shadow of the school creep over the lawn, thinking about sundials.
Most things about losing your faith were painful. Maybe there was comfort in the things that were easy.