The Southern Review, March 22nd, 2006
A Personal Savior Under a moon like a ripe yellow cantaloupe the youth minister confessed his doubt--to me. We stood between cars in the church parking lot, after the youth group meeting, keys in hand. It was Sunday evening in fall, I was sixteen, in love with his younger sister who lived on the moon and would not return my calls, made every Saturday. And I was the minister's son, so I had to listen. It was about the time the desert winds that blew down from the mountains wore out and the Pacific blew back a coolness against the coastal hills where we were nestled. The moon was pulpy ripe, cl...
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