As For God - Melody Cryns

It was a frigid, foggy Sunday morning in San Francisco when many people were still snuggled and warm in their beds – except maybe a few who went to early Mass. I was running down the streets of my neighborhood – between Arguello and Fifth Avenue, throwing newspapers on to porches, wearing only a light windbreaker. But the heavy bulky newspapers stuffed into the burlap newspaper bag both in front of me behind kept me warm enough.

This morning as I slowed down and trudged down Hugo Street, I was mad and getting even madder by the minute. I wasn’t supposed to do this paper route alone – ever. Especially on a Sunday morning when the San Francisco Chronicle papers were twice or three times heavier than usual. It wasn’t fair. My brother Michael was supposed to help, but would he? No! He wouldn’t get out of his warm bed at all, and I knew we’d be dead meat and lose our paper route if somebody didn’t show up on Fifth and Irving Streets by 5:30 a.m.

It was still dark when I left the flat – no one was awake yet except me. Michael kept yelling at me to “Leave me alone, go away!” when I attempted to wake him up. I should have poured cold water on him that’s what I should have done. I grabbed one of the papers that I had put together and thrust it on to a porch as hard as I could. The paper didn’t quite make it to the top and some of the advertisements managed to fly out even with the rubber band on it.

“Oh Damn!” I knew I wasn’t supposed to say it, but I didn’t care. This was child abuse – but my mother didn’t force us to have the route or anything. We all wanted it, me my brother and sister. But if I had known this was going to happen, I’m not sure I’d have gone for it.

Finally, smelling like ink and newspaper, I made it back to the corner of Fifth and Irving, with still a couple of papers to spare – hopefully I hadn’t forgotten anybody on the route. Anthony Lee, a slim, kind of short boy who was at least three years older than me stood there and smiled – like a big Cheshire cat.

“Hey you,” he said. “You doing paper route alone today?”

“Yeah, and I wasn’t supposed to!”

“That’s okay – you strong girl, you good girl!” Anthony patted me on the head. Even with the way he stared at me all the time and his weird accent, Anthony Lee was pretty cool. Sometimes we’d talk for an hour or two, standing on that corner, about anything and everything. He always had an opinion about stuff, like about the philosophy of work and life. This morning I wasn’t in the mood for it.

That’s when I heard the music playing – it was guitar strumming, but not quite the same as the guitar strumming I heard in Golden Gate Park and on street corners all the time – where the heck was it coming from?

“Do you hear the music?” I looked at Anthony.”

“You crazy girl, hahaha! Just kidding. Yeah, I hear music – from over there!”

I looked across the street to where Anthony Lee pointed – at St. John of God Church, a small Catholic church that looked more like a chapel – guitar music and loud singing came spilling out. I listened, mesmerized. It sounded so good – but no! They don’t play guitars at church!

No way! That was unheard of. All I ever heard in a church was an organ and a bunch of people singing, like real formal, in a choir. This sounded like the kind of music my wonderful music teacher at school played, Miss Evans – like folk music, and I could hear the beat of the tambourine and everyone sounded so happy singing, “It’s a loonnnggg road to freedom winding steep and high!”

“I just can’t believe it! I’ve gotta go in there. C’mon Anthony, let’s go!”

“Oh, I’m not going in there – I’m Buddhist!” Anthony smiled.

I looked at his round, kind face and his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Anthony was pretty cool.

“What difference does it make? Who cares? C’mon!”

“Okay, okay, you win. Hope they don’t kick me out!” he joked as we sauntered across the street and I opened the church door and was greeted by beautiful sounds of guitar music, singing, tambourines playing and the smell of incense. The church was packed with people, and some even stood on the sidelines – I’d never seen any church this crowded before in my life. St. Agnes was a big church and so was St. Anne’s and St. Ignatius, but this was tiny. Everyone sang and the music played and even the priest up on the altar was totally getting into the music. Some people even stomped their feet and clapped.

It was so wonderful and amazing. People actually moved over so Anthony and me could have spots to sit in the very back. I started clapping and singing along to the music too, and I think, just maybe, I could hear Anthony sing too.