My mother lent me the car to drive to the school, with the admonision
to park in a well-lit place. I didn't know anyone else who went.
Who were those kids, anyway? It was a warm night, so the ride there
was pleasant, the breezes in my hair.

It was in a converted movie theatre. This guy came out on stage
and started pushing Jesus. And everyone was buying. All these white
folks started answering his call like they were on the Price Is
Right. Jumping up and down, waving their hands, hootin' and
hollerin'. There was live music, there were testimonials. It was
more enthusiasm than I had ever drummed up for anything. And I
was caught up in it, too. So when they asked for people to come up
on stage who wanted to be saved, I went.

They sat me down on the floor, behind the stage curtains on the side
and this guy sat down with me and put his arm around me. I could
smell his dinner on his breath. He seemed real nice, but I was
uncomfortable. No stranger had ever put his arm around me. (Now if
it was a woman it would have felt different - still uncomfortable,
though.) But I was still caught up in this thing, so when he asked
me if I would take Jesus into my life, I said yes, and we cried.
Then it was over.

It wasn't that abrupt, but it seems like it, looking back. I found the
bus. The kids on it were laughing in the back. I caught a funny
smell in the air. They were smoking pot! I was quite upset by that,
inexperienced me. These are the same folks who were "saved"? (I
don't know if they were or not, but I assumed they were...)
Somehow, the whole thing seemed like a sham, all of a sudden. It
hadn't been what I thought it would be before I went, and maybe it
hadn't been what I thought it was when I was there, either. No one
spoke to me on the bus, that feeling of being a part of something
astoundingly wonderful was completely gone.

It was a dark, cold ride back.