The Youth Pastor

I met June in January.

I met her when there was a foot of soft snow blanketing the ground, and icicles decorating the trees. She had such a strange, quirky way about her.

She used to point at those icicles on the trees as we lay on the frozen pond, giggling, and say, “that would be the perfect murder weapon.”

I would gawk at her and laugh nervously.

“The evidence melts away.” she would say, coyly.

“Well, who are you going to kill?” I would ask, sitting up on my forearm.

“David Reese.”

My heart sunk.

“June….”

“Morgan. Come on, it’s fine. I’m just messing around,” she paused. “But he can rot in hell.”

“Okay. I know that-”

“Do you love me, Morgan?”

She had never asked me that before.

“Yeah, June. I do love you. But I feel-”

“Sh…” June put her hand over my mouth. “If you love me, then kiss me.” she moved her hand from my mouth and replaced it with her lips.

There we kissed, somehow cozy, atop a frozen pond.

David Reese was a monster.

David Reese was a pastor. He was June’s youth pastor. He was charismatic and seemingly kind. He had bright blue eyes and dark black hair.

And David Reese proceeded to take advantage of June in his office after youth group every week. And he told her if she said a word, he would kill her. June’s family went to that church every single week.

So nobody knew. They continued to high-five him after dodgeball tournaments and respect his teachings during sermons. He had a wife. He had a five-year-old son. June was only fifteen.

It was eventually discovered. And now four years later, David Reese was somehow getting out of prison.

And June was terrified.

She wouldn’t mention him often, but it had grown in frequency as the date got closer. I just wanted her to talk to me, but instead she would drop bombs. And when I would try to get more out of her, she would just laugh it off, change the subject, make out with me, anything to keep that conversation from happening.

“June,” I said one day. We were back on the frozen pond. It was sprinkling dazzling snowflakes.

“Yeah, Morgan?” she said softly. Her eyes were closed. Her cold cheeks were pink. Her curly chestnut hair was resting on her sides.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

June opened her eyes and turned towards me. “Of course I love you.”

I sighed, “Then, talk to me.”

June’s expression changed. She put her hands over her face and breathed deeply. “Morgan, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you sure? You keep mentioning it and it’s happening Friday-”

“Look, I am feeling nervous. But I probably won’t even see him, I think, and I’ll forget about it soon.”

“I won’t push you,” I said meekly. “I just want to know you’re okay.”

June put her freezing hands around my face. “I’m okay.”

And she smiled.

Even after talking with her, it was still gnawing at me. It was just this unsettled feeling in my stomach I couldn’t get rid of. I had to do something.

“Let’s go away for a while.” I said, with pseudo confidence. It was a confidence I sometimes tried to muster by pretending I was June. She always had this confident way of speaking and being that I always admired.

“What? Where?” June asked. We were sitting in my room holding cups of scorching herbal tea.

“Let’s just leave town. For a couple weeks. We can just start driving. See different places, spend some time together.”

“Is this about-”

“Doesn’t matter,” I cut her off. “I want to get away. Don’t you?”

“When?”

“Let’s go tomorrow morning. You can sleep over. We can pick up your stuff on the way.”

“I mean…”

“Come on, June. We both need this. Spend some time with your girlfriend. Away.”

“Okay.” June resided. She had a glazed-over look about her. Like life had already been sucked out of here.

“Okay?” I asked, taking her hand, smiling at her.

“Okay.” she squeezed my hand and smiled back.

And on that Thursday night, I felt better. We were going to get away from all of this. We were going to get away from this weight. We settled into bed early. We kissed and touched each other until we drifted off. Things felt like they could really be better. Like they could go back to normal.

The five o’clock alarm came and I awoke with hope. I rubbed my eyes and reached out beside me. My arm fell into empty space. I jolted up.

June was gone.

I called for her, praying for her to be in the bathroom. She wasn’t. I called her phone several times. No answer. I knew something was wrong.

I threw on a coat and slippers and bursted out the door. I ran down my street. The only place I could think to check was the pond. But it was blocks away. I continued to run, practically hyperventilating. And when I heard sirens, my heart sunk into my stomach.

A familiar house was surrounded by police cars and an ambulance. Police tape was being plastered around it. I saw a body bag on a stretcher. I stared. Gawking. Panicking. And as I was being ushered away by an officer, I realized something.

That was David Reese’s house.

I began to sprint as fast as I could, praying June would be there at the pond waiting for me, waiting for us to figure this out together.

Finally, I reached the area. She was nowhere to be seen.

“June?” I called as loud as I could. Nothing.

I began to walk across the pond. I shrieked as my practically bare foot slipped into the icy water.

I halted, catching my breath, trying not to fall in.

And then, I saw her.

June was waiting for me. Not at the pond, but in the pond.

Her body was hovering in the midst of the turquoise waters. Her eyes were closed. Her cold cheeks were pink. Her curly chestnut hair floating at her sides.

When I saw her, I thought my heart had stopped too. I fell to my knees at the edge of the ice. I reached for her. I almost collapsed into the water as I dipped my head in, reaching, letting out a gargling, watery scream.

It’s been two years since that January. I still go back to that frozen pond. And I think of her.

I don’t think of her as drowned. I think of her laying beside me, making me feel like life is beautiful and interesting. That you can have confidence if you want it.

And there is only one thing that ever brings me any solace.

David Reese is rotting in hell.