{"id":2768,"date":"2018-03-27T13:57:07","date_gmt":"2018-03-27T13:57:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/floridareview.cah.ucf.edu\/?post_type=article&p=2768"},"modified":"2018-03-27T13:57:07","modified_gmt":"2018-03-27T13:57:07","slug":"the-devil-in-your-pants","status":"publish","type":"article","link":"https:\/\/cah.ucf.edu\/floridareview\/article\/the-devil-in-your-pants\/","title":{"rendered":"The Devil in Your Pants"},"content":{"rendered":"

Lying in my sleeping bag, I thought of three things: black eyes, round asses, and God. The boys from my youth group were stuffed in the storage room of a Protestant church. The girls were isolated down the hall. Sleep was impossible, but on the first night of our divine mission my restlessness was given a reprieve. Our leader, Geri, burst in screeching with an issue of Cosmo<\/em> squashed in her fist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Geri had to have been in her early twenties, but to us kids, she carried all the wisdom of the Lord. She routinely searched our belongings, and one of the girls had been cavalier enough to buy a secular\u2014satanic\u2014magazine at a pit stop on our bus ride from Sarasota to Miami. The girl cried outside in the hall.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI want to send her home,\u201d Geri said, \u201cbut it\u2019s too late for that.\u201d Her eyes welled up. \u201cWe\u2019re here for a very important reason. We can\u2019t let anything separate us from God. We\u2019re here for Him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Geri had little breakdowns like that all the time. She\u2019d shed tears for us kids whenever she smoked a cigarette: \u201cI know with every puff Jesus suffers longer.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I made sure I wasn\u2019t exposing myself and walked over to her. \u201cYou would really send her back?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She put her hand on my shoulder. This aroused me. As much as I was afraid of her, she gave me more attention than any of the girls in my middle school.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Brett.\u201d Her hair was messy and gold. \u201cDon\u2019t you realize the promise we made?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Oh, I made a promise all right. I promised to give up everything for God: my possessions, dreams, thoughts\u2014my goddamn identity. I was part of something larger than myself, or some bullshit like that. In order to finance the ugly school bus we took from Sarasota to Miami, I spent all summer mowing yards and raking leaves. I had entered a black hole for Jesus, and I was charged with saving pagan souls from it. That was our mission<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll pray this doesn\u2019t happen again,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Everyone thanked her, not knowing what else to do, and then we returned to our polyester masturbation tombs. I wrapped up tight, touching my groin, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. The thick sleeping bag warmed my twig and acorns. Closing my eyes, I tugged my member and thought of Geri, but my rodeo was silent. I\u2019d learned another kind of stealth at school. To prevent a fist from crashing into the back of my head, I studied my tormentors\u2019 routines, let them walk down the hall before I did. I used the bathroom during class instead of on breaks to keep my head out of the toilet. I was a ninja at avoiding bullies, just not defending myself from them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This was why I made my promise to Jesus. I would save souls in exchange for him saving me. Geri had seemed a strange instrument for his salvation, but I attempted not to question God. As long as the beatings stopped, the Lord could ferry Daffy Duck down from heaven to save me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next day we met the Miami pastor. He bounced in his chair and yanked tiny, green things from his beard. \u201cI was a pimp,\u201d he began. \u201cI sold women. I sold myself. I worked as an enforcer sometimes.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cIt\u2019s not pleasant, hurting people.\u201d After wrenching himself from the chair, he trudged back and forth and told us the tale of how he found Jesus.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy wife and I were watching TV. The Preacher opened our hearts. Now I live for God.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That\u2019s right. A televangelist convinced him to love Jesus (and give up his money). This seemed completely normal to me at the time. God works in mysterious ways<\/em>, they said. I worked all summer, so I could be shipped to Miami and sleep on the floor of a church whose pastor was a pimp.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This pimp was a hell of lot preferable to my best friend back home. A few months prior my best friend had punched me in the face during a laser light show. I disagreed with him about music, and so I lost the skin under my eyes. It was minor compared to what I was accustomed to, so I still slept over at his place that weekend. At least he didn\u2019t beat me up all the time.<\/p>\n

After the pastor finished, we handed out pamphlets in neighborhoods with windows shielded by iron bars. People either cussed us out or shared their mutual love of Jesus\u2013ultimately accomplishing nothing. It was either A) \u201cI love Jesus TOO\u201d or B) \u201cFuck off, children.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was one miracle, however. Geri wore tiny little silk shorts that showed off her pumpkin-sized booty. It was that day I discovered my sexual orientation: big-booty-o-sexual. I wasn\u2019t Catholic, but my personal Protestantism had its only holy trinity: the father, the son, and Sir-Mix-a-Lot.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Geri turned to me. \u201cWe\u2019re saving a lot of lives today, Brett.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo one\u2019s really changed their mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She gripped my wrists. \u201cGod knows what he\u2019s doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I nodded. Her words calmed me, and I really believed them. God was looking down on us, admiring his chosen instruments doing his work. And how could I not be spellbound by this delusion? It was a relief to be away from the kids back home dragging me across the baseball field by the legs. No one flicked my ears from the desk behind me. No one sucker-punched me for my lunch money. I didn\u2019t have to endure a room full of kids laughing at my gym attire because someone broke into my locker during P.E. and stole my clothes. Sure, people slammed their doors in our faces, but it was heavenly compared to physical assault. If following Geri\u2019s bouncing cinnamon buns under the light of God wasn\u2019t deliverance, I didn\u2019t know what was.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After wasting paper all day, our traveling circus lingered at a basketball court. Geri was still riled up like a crack fiend, but our other youth group leader, a self-important prick named Chuck, decided we needed a rest. Unlike Geri, Chuck had no redeeming qualities. Unless you count being old and rich as redeeming. He never let up on me. Every night, he barked at me about my untidy sleeping bag or lectured me about the evils of loose women and The Simpsons<\/em>. His favorite topic of conversation was about how much money he donated to our church back home. \u201cKept it alive,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the court, a boy rimmed out a shot and said, \u201cShit.\u201d Chuck whispered \u201cShoot\u201d to make sure our ears hadn\u2019t been soiled, which made me want to shout \u201cEat a dick\u201d into his tender lobes. Instead I read through the pamphlet for the twentieth time. The kid cursed again, and Chuck shook his head like he just heard about a baby getting run over by a truck.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the way back to the labor camp, we passed a voodoo shop. Well, in retrospect it was probably just a store that sold bongs and Ouija boards, but Chuck and Geri steered us away from it like it was Satan\u2019s private sex dungeon. I broke rank and ran over to it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBrett, stop. It\u2019s too dangerous,\u201d Chuck cried.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t look back. I\u2019d made no progress knocking on doors, and if I could save just one soul from the fiery pits of hell, I\u2019d march right into the heart of the devil\u2019s ballsack, and all the schoolyard beatings would be worth it. Chuck could swallow his words along with his fluffy mustache for all I cared. I marched into the shop and tossed the pamphlet on the counter in front of the clerk.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The guy behind the counter eyeballed it, and then he winced at me for a few seconds before hissing, \u201cOut\u2026 OUT.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Back at the church, Geri, Chuck, and the pastor went at me three-on-one.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to listen when we tell you not to do something,\u201d said Chuck.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t why we came here,\u201d said Geri.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The pastor quivered, his face paling. \u201cThere are some places too dangerous to go, son. Demons stalk their walls.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I looked at Geri. \u201cIsn\u2019t this what we came here for?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She walked over to a table and sat down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The pastor continued. \u201cThere is war between light and darkness. We can save some from the darkness, but we can\u2019t enter it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I walked over to Geri. \u201cWhy shouldn\u2019t we try to save everyone?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She mumbled something and shook her head.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t why we came here,\u201d she repeated.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThen why did we then?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t talk back to adults,\u201d said Chuck.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The pastor paced around. \u201cDemons,\u201d he said. \u201cDarkness. War.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I wouldn\u2019t leave Geri. \u201cShouldn\u2019t we try to save, you know, everybody?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She stood up from the table and said, \u201cWe don\u2019t know God\u2019s plan,\u201d before leaving the room.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBrett, I told you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Chuck. You\u2019re right.\u201d I whispered cock face<\/em> under my breath.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As I walked back to my sleeping quarters, the pastor kept on. \u201cDevil\u2019s home. Can\u2019t cross the line.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This was the first time Geri had ever not known God\u2019s plan. She was my constant in deciphering what the Almighty wanted from us.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My first memory of her was when I was twelve. She supervised children making crafts for a pageant at my church. As I cut through red construction paper, she asked me if I was going to heaven.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This struck me as a silly question. I hadn\u2019t murdered anyone, and hell was for really bad people.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cActually, real Christians ask Jesus to come into their hearts,\u201d she told me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cAnd ones that don\u2019t go to hell?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t enter God\u2019s kingdom without asking Him to come into your heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

That a particular phrase must be uttered, like a password, to get into heaven short-circuited my radio to Jesus. I was an adolescent, and she spoke like someone who knew shit, so I bought it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jesus, please come into my heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I said the phrase. Jesus, please come into my heart. Jesus, please come into my heart. Jesus, please come into my heart.<\/em> Was I glad to have that task scratched off my list! I imagined hell as a giant desert with people burning on stakes as a minotaur poked them with pitchforks. That I might fry there for all eternity for not saying the right phrase made my bladder hurt.<\/p>\n

After I became accustomed to being in the saying-the-right-phrase club, I annoyed my friends into saying it too. Do you accept Jesus into your heart? You have to accept him into your heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But I didn\u2019t really know what that meant. Not exactly.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

With the beatings I took from other kids in school, day after day, year after year, the main thing that brought me any relief was biking over to the local comic book shop every month and reading the latest issue about the mutant team. I didn\u2019t have many friends, especially ones I could count on, but I did have my comic books. One day, I snuck an X-Men comic in at youth group. Not wanting to be scolded, I hid it in my jeans under my t-shirt.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Spotting a lump in my jeans, Geri loomed over me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBrett, what did you bring into this holy place?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt looks like you have something there. Hand it over.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t budge.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Geri leaned close. \u201cYou got the devil in your pants. Don\u2019t ya?\u201d Her hot breath made the hairs on my arms rise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cThe devil. You got the devil in your pants.\u201d She glared at the lump in my pants as a smaller lump grew beside it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I shook my head no<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cGive it over.\u201d She extended a firm hand.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Taking a last look at Wolverine on the cover, I relinquished it. \u201cIt\u2019s just a comic book,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She scanned the pages with fire in her eyes. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have brought this here. I\u2019m going to store it away for safekeeping.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not going to give it back?\u201d My neck tightened up.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo. You don\u2019t need things that take you away from God.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She grinned. \u201cThen why can\u2019t you give it up?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cBecause. Because I love it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d she retorted and walked off with my comic book.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I followed her. \u201cYou can\u2019t take that from me.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou lost it the second you brought it here.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My body trembled. \u201cYou can\u2019t take it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cIf you won\u2019t sacrifice all your earthly possessions to Jesus then you haven\u2019t really taken him into your heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSo, I\u2019ll go to hell if I don\u2019t stop reading comics?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She became solemn. \u201cAnyone who doesn\u2019t fully give themselves to God will go to hell.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

All I had were those comics.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cGive it back or I\u2019ll leave youth group forever.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She laughed. \u201cDon\u2019t be silly, Brett.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll see about that.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I left that night, I thought I\u2019d never return. A few weeks later, however, my rebellious spirit broke, and I was back listening to diatribes about the evils of rap music and Bill Clinton. I read comics less often, and when I did allow myself to sin a little I couldn\u2019t indulge my superhero thirst without pangs of guilt sullying the experience.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On our mission trip our main targets for convincing others to say the magical phrase ended up being the children of parents who couldn\u2019t afford daycare. The little nuggets were left for us to attend to at the church. One boy in particular stood out to me. He had dark bruises on his arms and didn\u2019t play with the other children. As I tried to get him to smile, an alarm blared inside me. When you\u2019ve been through enough abuse, it\u2019s easy to recognize it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The other kids in the youth group either didn\u2019t notice or didn\u2019t care. They were happy preaching that Jesus was Lord and savior to kids, many who were Hispanic and could barely speak a lick of English. When it was clear I couldn\u2019t save the bruised kid\u2019s skin, I tried to save his soul. I had no such luck. He wouldn\u2019t say a word. The other youth members managed to get their prospective clients to say the phrase. The kids had no idea what they were saying, but that didn\u2019t stop the youth group from celebrating like heroes.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Later that night, we held hands in a prayer circle. Geri wasted no time lamenting our wickedness. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry, God,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m sorry for all of our sinning. We don\u2019t deserve you, but we will be your instrument.\u201d It wasn\u2019t long before the tears were flowing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Another teenager in the youth group, Damian, leaned over to me. \u201cHow broken is your instrument?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I smothered laughter as Geri wailed on.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHelp us, Lord. Use these children,\u201d she said with tears plopping down her face. \u201cNow sing, everyone.\u201d She started for us: \u201cOur God\u2014\u201d she sang through her snivels, \u201cis an awesome God\u2014.\u201d Snot poured down her chin. \u201cHe reigns\u201d\u2014I closed my eyes\u2014 \u201cfrom Heaven above\u201d \u2014she crooned, \u201cwith wisdom, power, and love\u2014.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Damian snickered, but I kept my head down.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cOur God\u2014is an awesome God.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Damian patted me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes as she repeated the refrain, and a long thread of snot swung back and forth from her nose. It almost reached her legs, but the booger didn\u2019t break.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She returned to prayer. \u201cJesus, help us. Guide us.\u201d The snot swung even more precariously.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I bit my hand to keep myself from laughing, but when I looked over at Damian we both lost it. Our laughter didn\u2019t stop her, though. She finished her prayer, snot dangling from her nose like a limp dick.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After waking from another night tickling my balls so quietly you\u2019d think I was tunneling my way out of prison, Geri invited me to make crafts with her. She wanted to decorate the church. I agreed, but the forbidden nature of the voodoo shop still bothered me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m proud how much you\u2019ve grown as a Christian,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou think so?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve come a long way.\u201d She stared at me intensely.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHave I?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She put her hand on my shoulder. \u201cI know it\u2019s hard. Maybe when we get back to Sarasota you can come over and have a beer sometime.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t know how to respond to this offer.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cWe can talk about whatever you want,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A numbness spread through my chest. \u201cWhat would you do if you were given proof that there was no God?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cocking her head to the side, she said, \u201cBut that\u2019s impossible because God is real.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I said, \u201cbut what if there was proof that He didn\u2019t exist?\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She gazed up at the ceiling and shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t know. I can\u2019t imagine my life without God. I guess if that happened, I\u2019d just believe in Him anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I sleepwalked through the last two days of converting Miami\u2019s doomed sinners into Christians. By that point we had all the children standing on a stage together and repeating the line in unison: I accept Jesus into my heart. I accept Jesus into my heart. I accept Jesus into my heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

While the rest of the youth group beamed and said things like \u201cIt\u2019s a miracle\u201d and \u201cPraise Jesus,\u201d I just sat in silence watching the bruised boy. He remained silent. The image of him is still seared into my memory: dirty hair and bruised eyes. On the last day, I approached Geri.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cI know something bad is happening to him,\u201d I told her.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cJust focus on saving him,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t save him or Geri. I couldn\u2019t even save myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cSo, I\u2019ll go to hell if I don\u2019t stop reading comics?\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":2770,"template":"","categories":[9,49,142],"tags":[417,6,576,577,578,579,580,581],"class_list":["post-2768","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-nonfiction","tag-adolescence","tag-aquifer-the-florida-review-online","tag-brett-pribble","tag-bullying","tag-comics","tag-fundamentalism","tag-missionary-work","tag-the-devil-in-your-pants"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Devil in Your Pants - The Florida Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/cah.ucf.edu\/floridareview\/article\/the-devil-in-your-pants\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Devil in Your Pants - 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