This is a back story that will be featured in an upcoming collection of short stories.

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There were plenty of reasons why she started doing it. Pastors don’t make a lot of money to begin with, and being the pastor or a small, rural church of one hundred souls certainly won’t net you a six figure income. The income Dan made being a pastor had to be supplemented, so early in the marriage she had found ways to pick up odd jobs here and there, using her many and varied talents. It was talents, after all, that had convinced her that she should become a pastor’s wife. She knew all the hymns, could play the piano, sing alto, bake a cake, sew, and loved children—it was a natural fit. So, she went to Bible College with an intent to look for a husband more than looking for enlightenment. After the wedding, her eyes were opened to the financial plight of her poor husband, who was an adequate pastor, but with just enough shortcomings to never “make it” in a big church—the type of church that would provide enough income to guarantee that the pastor’s wife didn’t have to work.

Beyond just the lack of creature comforts, they had a son, and he was a growing boy, and growing boys need food, and food costs money. Her husband hadn’t had a raise in years, but the costs of keeping a family kept going up. Fortunately, for Sherry, as costs rose, her skills increased, and she ventured into more and more lucrative side work. The odd jobs became more and more demanding, but she took her role as a housewife seriously, so she tried to plan her work when she knew that her husband would be away for most of the day: conferences, hospital visits to the big city, all night prayer vigils, and the like. Sherry was surprised at how very busy pastors can be, and Dan would leave his family unattended for whole days or even nights.

Today, Dan told Sherry that he had a trip to the city to visit a few parishioners in the hospital and that he would be eating lunch and probably dinner in the city. She smiled, prayed with him, and told him that she would look for some jobs to fill her day and also bolster the bank account. They kissed goodbye, she told their son, Emerson, that she would be back later and that there was a TV dinner in the freezer. She grabbed her purse, walked out the door, and started the family station wagon. As she backed out of the driveway, an overgrown bush scraped against the “Honk for Jesus” bumper sticker covering a hole in the fake wood grain of the wagon.

As Sherry drove down the street, she followed her husband’s small hatchback down the two-lane that ran out of the village and into the city sixty miles later. Unlike her husband, though, when she got to the first crossroad, she made a left and drove for twelve miles until she saw signs for the interstate. She got on and drove north for three exits until she saw the familiar sign for a truck stop. She pulled off and into the parking lot. She parked in a spot farther away from the convenience store so that her car would be less noticeable. She walked into the store and went directly to the aisles that she needed. She got a bag of peanuts to tide her over till she got home, then she got a bottle of Gatorade to keep herself hydrated. Her final item would need to be gotten from the clerk behind the counter. She always dithered on what size package to get, but always decided on the larger quantity. She thanked the clerk and paid, then went to work.

Every walk across that lot to the parking area for the semis was like a walk to the gas chamber. She felt like she intimately knew what prisoners go through, shackled and exposed for the whole world to see. She saw herself walking down that prison hall as she shuddered under the large light poles that spotlighted her every move, even in broad daylight. She was already dead on the inside before receiving the injection, but the unknown of what waited in the next few moments always gave her goosebumps and a jolt of new life instead of death. She didn’t want to die. She wanted to live! And this horrible work made her feel alive, but not because she enjoyed it. She made more money in one trip than her husband made in a week. The money was practically thrown at her, and all she had to do was that. Besides, her husband had never complained about the skills she had acquired doing these odd jobs. And she was always careful—very careful. She had protection, and she always used it, and she always would.

As she made her death row walk that night, she indulged in her last meal. A bag of salted peanuts. She ripped the bag open and ate one, letting the salt dissolve on her tongue before chewing the moist flesh. Her mouth watered as she reached for another and pressed it between her lips. She rolled it around in her mouth, savoring the flavor and the feel before finishing it. She poured a handful out of the bag and shoved as many as she could inside, carelessly letting some spill out. As she chewed with her mouth so full she could no longer distinguish individual nuts, she crumpled the bag and put it in her purse. This was her life. This was her work. She reached the first semi and knocked on the cab door. It swung open and she climbed in.

Her day ended at dusk. She drove home the same way that she came—the car could do it by itself now—and she didn’t think about anything. She didn’t think about her husband or the truckers or even her son. She just didn’t think. She had received her lethal injection again, and it always left her numb. As she pulled her car into the driveway, the overgrown bush scraped against the side. No one trimmed it, and it just kept growing further and further into the driveway.

She walked into the house and put her purse on the table. Emerson was sitting at the kitchen table finishing his TV dinner.

“Gosh, mom, there’s not enough food in these things. This is my third one and I’m still hungry!”

“Emerson, dear,” sighed Sherry, “How many times have I told you about using ‘gosh’? You know that word just stands for ‘God,’ and we don’t believe in taking the Lord’s name in vain in this house.”

“You should hear the words the other kids say! Gosh isn’t so bad!”

“Emerson, sin is a slippery slope! It starts with saying ‘gosh’ and before you know it, you’re cursing like a drunken sailor! You have no idea the road you’re traveling on!”

She opened her purse to take out her car keys and saw the crumpled bag of peanuts. She sat down and buried her face in her hands, hot tears streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the table. She spoke through the choking, burning feeling in the back of her throat: “You—you have no… idea… the slippery slope.”

By a stump

From: United States

Website: http://www.astump.com