The pastor back in New Hope loved that saying. He would quote it to me and the other kids in the congregation after the service ended, always in the context of helping out around the house. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant. I just knew that a playground sounded much more preferable than the stiff wooden benches at church. Now, however, I get it. Because if I’d had something to do, I wouldn’t have ended up here on the dock on a Friday night, keeping an eye out for Elias. I had no idea if my encounter with him here three weeks ago was a fluke, or if he came after every game. Part of me wanted it to be a fluke. This growing infatuation I was developing for a boy who was not only the star athlete of my new high school but also a self-proclaimed Christian needed to end. The similarities to Chris Nanning should have sent me running in the opposite direction. But another part of me wanted Elias to come. Because maybe if he came, he’d do or say something that would prove he was like every other high school boy out there and my infatuation would fizzle and die.
What do You think about The Art Of Losing Yourself?
