Sunday, Mystery Sunday

The newspaper editor blew another puff of blue smoke from his fake Cuban cigar as he simultaneously threw up his feet and tilted back his bowler hat. This was a proud day for The New York Times and he was trying to take it all in as best he could. As he gazed over the Manhattan skyline to peer over Central Park and the long shadow cast upon it by the Chrysler Building, he couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on this planet. And in a way, he was. Within the last twenty-four hours a few of his freelance reporters had “unearthed” two of the greatest mysteries ever wrought upon the planet; the body of Jimmy Hoffa had been found at last and so was Amelia Gerhard’s plane. It was only a matter of hours before each small household in America was to gather around father at the breakfast table, New York Times in hand, finally solving the mysteries that had plagued mankind for decades. The Times could sell ad space for a million dollars per square inch. The front page had been laid out already, both stories running side by side, and all that stood in the way of Joe Public and the wonderful truth was a printer machine that had earlier ran out of ink. I stepped off the elevator and onto that 23rd floor with an even bigger story. I guarded it like a bulldog with a pork chop between my upper arm and my pit. “Hey Tanner, the boss is about to break out the Champagne for our “biggest story ever” celebration, where are you going?” “Tell him to hold the Champagne,” I hollered back as I whisked my way up the top of the stairs. I caught a bewildered look from my confused colleague out of the corner of my eye. As I made my way to the top of the stairs, I held out the guarded piece of information in my right hand before declaring, “stop the presses, I know where Matt’s dad went every Sunday after sacrament meeting!” Suddenly a hoard of Champagne glasses shattered on the ground. All the typing ceased. I straightened my tie to go hand the boss the real headline of the day.“Hey, Tanner, wake up doofus!” Chase whispered as he nudged my shoulder with the sacrament tray. I reached for a piece of bread with one hand while I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with another. It had all been a dream, just a crazy dream. This was reality and I still didn’t know where Matt’s dad went after sacrament meeting. It had been killing me for the longest time.Like a small child who rats on her brother for peeping during family prayer, only to realize she herself had to have had her eyes open as well to notice, I never inquired of anybody where Danny went. After all, the first time I had seen him pulling out of the church parking lot, I had played hooky myself from church. But here I was, caught by my father who had come home to check on his supposedly “ailing” son, only to find him eating Twinkies and playing Tetris. I was ordered to put on my Sunday best and march up to that chapel faster than an atheist repenting in a foxhole. As my eyes caught a glimpse of Danny’s in that Blue truck, I could feel his sense of sadness for my predicament. Here was a man much older than myself who seemed to be saying, “Someday kid, someday you’ll be able to get out of church just like myself”. It’s not that I hated church, per say, it’s just that I found it waaaayyyyy to boring. I had heard all the talks a dozen times. If I was going to sit through one more discussion on whether tithing gets taken off the gross or the net, I was going to explode! (It’s gross people!) Matt’s’ dad had found that sanctuary away from the sanctuary and I had to experience that for myself as well. I found a Sabbath day when the family had all left on vacation. I could have gone with them to see the Grand Canyon, sure, but I yearned more deeply to find the secret hiding place of Mr. Wettstein on Sundays. I had made up a lie about how I had to work that weekend and that I couldn’t get it off. I parked the car in the lot just to the north of the church bowery and waited. Ten O’ Clock rolled around at last! As people stepped outside to gather lesson materials out of their cars and graham crackers for the nursery children, I spotted that Blue truck! I pulled out discretely and started to follow Mr. Wettstein down Center Street. He passed his house, but that was no surprise. I had known for a while that home was not where he went. I had a sneaking suspicion that perhaps it was Glausers restaurant on Center Street. I followed the old man down airport road and onto 10th west. I could barely hold the wheel as I dripped beads of anticipating sweat. Perhaps Danny was part of some secret society that met together in the basement of Glausers for ribs, pool, and a little hazing of the new guy. It was like a sort of fraternity for those who were fed up with church and I was going to get in! As we approached the bump on 2nd North, I made a costly mistake. I dropped my soda cap onto the floor and took my eyes of the prize, so to speak, for a split second. Once my eyes returned to the road ahead, he was gone. The light had changed to red and I could spot no traces of Blue Chevy anywhere. I drove by Glausers but it was closed. I sat outside in my car for a minute cursing myself for being so stupid! I finally got out of the car and stepped into a back alley to relieve myself. As I did, for just a split second, I thought I heard the sound of a cue ball colliding with a striped 3 ball and then…. it was gone. “The dream was not to be realized today”, I told myself as I bowed my head and made my way back to the car. I made it back to the church in time for Elders quorum where we were discussing what else? Tithing.