When Chuck sings that old familiar hymn, “I’ll Fly Away”, you actually believe him. You’re expecting the moment between “oh glory” and “hallelujah by and by” to see him ascend to heaven in a fiery chariot. And I’ve seen his rendition of “Amazing Grace” draw thirty people to the altar rail. Thirty Methodists, mind you. This man, Chuck, who had never done a seedy thing in his life, could channel that ex-slaveship captain who was lost and found like Johnny Cash could channel a Folsom County lifer.
When Chuck sings, his sincerity transcends his artistry.
Which is not to say he is a bad singer. Quite the contrary. His rich, velvety baritone is almost edible. It’s just that it isn’t his vibrato that moves people. It’s his honesty, his passion, his… sincerity.
Then one Sunday, Chuck didn’t sing. Well, didn’t sing a solo anyway. Just sat in the loft singing hymns with the choir. A couple of weeks later, he stopped singing with the choir completely. He joined the rest of the unwashed masses in the pews, sitting beside Sandy with his arm around her shoulders. When we rose to sing together, he stood up but didn’t crack a hymnal.
Several weeks went by and the whispering campaigns began in earnest. Rumor was that Chuck was planning a solo for Easter Sunday. To everyone’s chagrin, Chuck and the choir director were keeping mum.
But the one thing that can be counted on more than rain on a church picnic is the resourcefulness of a church secretary. She wore the choir director down and got the scoop of a decade: Chuck was indeed going to sing.
That Easter Sunday, I stood outside the sanctuary helping Bob, the head usher. He railed about what he called the CEs–those parishioners who came on Christmas and Easter only–but I was happy to see such a good turnout. I passed out bulletins, held open the door and became increasingly eager to hear Chuck.
But I was the rookie usher that day and had to count the offering in the sacristy while the rest of the ushers went into the sanctuary to listen. I could hear Chuck, though, and he didn’t disappoint. He sang the last verse a cappella and slowed it down to a near crawl.
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eyes shall close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See thee on thy judgment throne…
Chuck paused, then unleashed in the last couplet a depth of brutal honesty that overwhelmed me. My legs quivered and for a moment I stopped breathing.
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.
There was a second of silence, then wild applause. I stood planted in the sacristy, fistfuls of twenties and checks in my hands, tears in my eyes. Then I saw Chuck walk past hurriedly toward the back exit. I flung my handfuls onto the counter and started after him. I caught up to him in the parking lot.
“Chuck? Where are you going?” I asked as I grabbed onto his elbow. “That was a great performance. It really was.”
“Thanks,” Chuck said, turning to face me. “But I’ve got to go now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving. Leaving the church, leaving town. Sandy and I are over.”
“I don’t know what to say, Chuck. I’m sorry about you and Sandy, but you don’t have to leave.”
“Listen, Sandy was my rock. She’s the one that had faith. If she believed, then I could too because I had faith in her. The rest of the crap going on in that church doesn’t interest me in the least. The politics, the gossip, the hypocrisy. I never heard otherworldly voices or felt a spirit descend upon me like a dove. I loved Sandy and that was good enough for me. Now that’s over. That song was my last shot.”
“What do you mean?”
“I told Sandy that I would look her way during the last verse. All she had to do was give me some kind of sign and we could forget everything and start over.”
“And?”
“And when I looked at her, she was crying and she looked me straight in the eyes and shook her head and mouthed the word, ‘No.’ Well, that’s all I needed. It’s over and I’m gone.”
I realized I had been holding on to his arm the whole time. I let go.
“Okay, Chuck,” I said. “You go on. Good luck with everything.”
As he walked away, I felt compelled to say something.
“Chuck?” I shouted. “Chuck! Your singing. It meant a lot to me. I mean it. It really did.”
Chuck stopped at the door of his car and turned back my way. I could barely hear him.
“I wasn’t singing for you,” Chuck said.
And he drove away.
Jason Stout lives in Atlanta, Georgia with his wife and 5 children. His works have appeared in: Every Day Fiction; Flashquake (Editor’s Pick); Shine!; and Pequin. He can be contacted through his website: jasonstout.jimdo.com.
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22 Responses to “AND THE WELL RUNS DEEP • by Jason Stout”
Comments
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November 27th, 2008 at 1:41 am
Sad and compelling. Felt really sorry for Chuck, the narrator, too. Great voice and flow.
–dj
November 27th, 2008 at 3:42 am
Wonderful piece. Tremendous.
November 27th, 2008 at 4:22 am
It’s a powerful story, Jason, both in subject matter and in presentation. I gave it a five.
November 27th, 2008 at 5:15 am
A five from me, too Jason. Poetic and beautiful. I really enjoyed that, thanks.
November 27th, 2008 at 6:42 am
Moving…lyrical and real!
November 27th, 2008 at 6:44 am
Beautiful and well executed. Only one minor issue - Sandy is introduced into the story too late. A mention earlier on would have been good, as I was momentarily thrown out of the story going “Sandy? Sandy who? Whu?”.
But other than that, fine work.
November 27th, 2008 at 7:11 am
Reminded me of the loss I felt when the choir director at our church died. Good story.
November 27th, 2008 at 7:53 am
Very enjoyable, thanks. Those last two lines really bring out all the bitterness the poor man feels.
November 27th, 2008 at 8:31 am
Great story, Jason. Emotional, but written with a light touch. Nice job.
November 27th, 2008 at 8:53 am
That just replaced everything else I’ve read here as my favourite, Jason because I’ve know those people so well all my life and I could really hear Chuck singing and feel his pain, and hers.
November 27th, 2008 at 9:07 am
Oh man.
November 27th, 2008 at 9:37 am
Great story, Jason.
November 27th, 2008 at 9:41 am
Aww, that poor man. Beuatifully written story though, funny to think how someone could have enough faith in one person to do something they otherwise wouldn’t.
November 27th, 2008 at 4:18 pm
Oh, brilliant. Thank you for this.
November 27th, 2008 at 7:25 pm
Very compelling. I love the opening paragraphs and the description of his singing particularly. “Thirty Methodists, mind you.”
November 28th, 2008 at 7:29 am
Jason, this pieces has definite heart and soul, along with some good writing, especially the line - “His rich, velvety baritone is almost edible.”
November 28th, 2008 at 9:25 pm
A wonderful story.
November 30th, 2008 at 3:10 pm
Good story. I love the dichotomy of how one person’s actions can mean something totally different to someone else, and it works especially well in this religious context, when God could speak through Chuck, even when Chuck didn’t know it.
December 2nd, 2008 at 8:40 am
Excellently done. I think Erin expressed it perfectly in comment #18.
A great story.
December 3rd, 2008 at 5:11 pm
Loved it!
December 13th, 2008 at 4:38 pm
Good job Jason I enjoy you writing keep up the good work.
December 22nd, 2008 at 9:45 pm
Well written, Jason,
I was most impressed with the emotional content. The characters’ feelings were alive.