I walk to my truck and there’s a couple making out in the car across the street. Their silhouetted shapes separate as I slam my door and start the engine, coming together again as I pull away. It’s late, and it’d be a lot warmer if they made out inside. When I park the asphalt is covered in frost, tiny glimmers of light like glitter falling from the sky. I can’t tell if it’s on the asphalt or in the air.

It’s late and I should be going to bed. But only out of convenience. I’d rather read a book. Or flip through a catalog. But it’s more convenient to sleep at night, when all should be quiet. Sleeping after class never quite works.

The pithy little hymnal started and I hoped we’d sing only one verse. The comments from the missionary and the guest speaker were enough to squelch any inkling of interest I might have had in a missions conference. I wanted to sing a hymn and depart, the sooner I could be on the road and spouting my intellectual complaints the better.

The sentimental hymn finished and the pastor started a real send ’em out prayer–but I was no longer listening. Ralph–the miniature old man who collected the Sunday School attendance sheets with the gusto of the energizer bunny–had turned the color of an onion. He didn’t stand for the hymn, he didn’t stand for the prayer, and his wife had a distant, immobilized glaze over her eyes. A woman rushed forward, scanning across the rows of bowed faces. The associate pastor nearly bowled over his wife. Another woman butted her way through a row and disturbed a praying doctor. He rushed forward and began slapping Ralph’s weak, bony hand. They laid him down, and began undoing his tie and his shirt.

The prayer ended and eyes opened, the organ began a rousing goodbye tune, and everyone in the vicinity turned to leave. Then their eyes fell on the commotion and they all stopped. Ralph’s head was half hanging off the pew, people were scrambling, and everyone else just gawked, unsure of what to do. I wanted to reach out and help, but there were already too many people helping. The pastor stepped off the platform and into the fray, not even realizing what had happened. All color had left Ralph’s face, and I didn’t even recognize him as the jovial man who dutifully took the attendance from us Sunday, always waiting patiently when I’d forgotten to fill it out.

I walked out of church slow, hesitant. The man had probably suffered a heart attack. The ambulance hadn’t pulled up by the time I left, and I didn’t hear sirens the entire way home. I wanted to do something for Ralph. I wanted to do more than watch and wonder. The man may be dead by now. He may be in heaven, or a stuffy hospital room. Either way I don’t know what to do. My complaints are quickly forgotten, and I don’t remember them until later that evening. There’s something about a man dying in a church pew.

I always thought there might be a hidden path there. I’ve walked by that patch of ground a million times. But for some reason, tonight, I noticed something odd. As I walk the path late at night the rabbits usually jump when I go by. I never really thought of rabbits as nocturnal creatures, but there they are. If they just stayed put I’d never even know they were there. I always like to watch the rabbits, too. They watch me for a few minutes–I’m usually completely oblivious to them–and then they hop away as if they had to decide how dangerous I was. After they start hopping I watch them disappear into the woods, and they stop to turn around and watch me again.

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