Left Behind

The Annual Church Picnic Has Been Moved This Year

The last cheerful strains of Kumbaya
abruptly ended
as the bus doors swung open, setting us
loose in the warm August air.
Just over the balding hill, sunlight
bounced across Legg Lake, silver flashing
like a bag of spilled nickels.
The annual church

picnic had commenced.
It had always been this way – the picnic held
down at the lake, ‘cause ya never know
when a baptism might break
out. I kicked off my dime store flip-flops
and plunged my feet in the cool
water, dozens of kids fanning out across the park
for hide and seek, and furious
rounds of capture the flag.
The adults busied themselves with grilling
hot dogs and talk of God, and no one

noticed when Bobby Lopez dropped
his G.I. Joe into the water and followed
close behind. Some of the older
kids had been exchanging
dares, and that was why my brother John
had set out for the buoy in the middle of the lake.
No one really thought he’d make it all that way
as his hands slapped the gentle
waves again and again, but there he was
inching slowly toward the bobbing red marker.

When he finally made it to the center
of the lake, it took a few moments
for everyone to realize his shouts were
not cries of joy, but fear
and sorrow. He tried to lift
the buoy from the water but sunk
beneath the weight, and I held my breath
as someone nearby whispered
“My God, is that …”
All around me feet were pounding
a frenzied rhythm and people were flinging
themselves into the lake, splashing like
dying insects along the water’s edge. I made my way
through the crowd in time to see
the lifeless body placed into his mother’s arms,
JESUS LOVES ME!
splashed in big wet letters
across his chest. Hot dogs burned and stuck
to the grill, as the congregation
of the First Baptist Church
stood silent, watching as his mother wept.

Tina M. Harris © 2007