Rapture Practice by Aaron Hartzler

surge of excitement that I’m finally grown up. This is what it feels like to be my ownperson, to have my own friends, to listen to my own music. I’m laughing and talking and feeling… free. I don’t have to hurry home. I don’t have to worry about curfew or explaining to Mom and Dad whom I’m going to meet where.
    This is the first time I’ve ever been completely on my own.
    After we eat, our whole group takes a stroll around the tiny, quaint town of Central City, Nebraska. Allison catches up to Jason and me with Melody, a tiny college gymnast whose blue eye shadow has metallic flecks in it. She’s telling me a funny story about campers from last summer when I look up and realize that our big group of counselors has stopped.
    We’re all standing in front of a movie theater. In fact, we’re in a line at the box office.
    The theater is a historic building with a neon sign above the marquee that spells out the word STATE , and a ticket booth on the sidewalk. One by one, each of our group takes a turn at the window. As I watch, my palms get sweaty. Melody is still talking, but I can’t hear anything she’s saying as Jason buys a ticket. He’s my ride. Am I going to sit on the curb for two hours while he watches the movie?
    This
is that moment, the one Mom talks about—the moment when I have to decide for myself which choice I’ll make.
    Mom and Dad will never know you disobeyed them.
    The voice in my head is loud and clear, but then my conscience kicks in. It’s a tiny whisper that answers back:
    God will know you disobeyed.
    Mom and Dad are hundreds of miles away in Kansas City, but it feels like they are right here looking over my shoulder. Mom says the Holy Spirit is the still, small voice inside me who helps me resist temptation. He knows
everything
. Every word. Every action. Every thought.
    Sharing your brain with God can be handy when you need to pray in a hurry:
    God, help me to remember the formula for the circumference of circle.
    God, help me not to mess up on the piano solo I’m playing in church.
    God, please don’t let Dad take us to Panama next year to be missionaries.
    It can also be exhausting. At moments when decisions need to be made quickly, the idea that God can hear my every thought always gets in the way and gums up the works. It makes some decisions very difficult, especially this one.
    “You comin’ man?” Jason asks.
    I smile but say nothing.
    “I’m going to go in and save seats,” he says. As he holds open the door for Melody and Allison, he jerks his head toward them and grins, mouthing the words
Hurry up!
over his shoulder.
    I watch them disappear into the theater with the other counselors, and for a moment, I stand alone on the curb. My heart is racing. My mouth is dry. Finally, I square my shoulders and step up to the ticket window.
    “One for
Hunt for Red October
, please.”
    Unless Jesus comes back in the next two minutes, I am going to break one of Mom and Dad’s biggest rules. My cheeks are hot. I feel out of breath. A drop of sweat trickles down my back, but the girl behind the glass doesn’t even look up at me. She has no idea what is happening in my head, what a big deal this is for me. She couldn’t be less interested.
    I slide a five-dollar bill under the window. She hands back a small yellow ticket between neon nails so long they curve.
    “Enjoy the show.”
    I take a deep breath.
    I take a look over my shoulder.
    I take the ticket.
    Ever since
E.T.
, I’ve always known that one day I’d break the movie rule, but I sure didn’t see it coming
today
. In all of my midnight imaginings of this moment, I never considered it might happen at a historic theater in Nebraska, but as I walk through the front door, I realize something:
    This place is perfect.
    There is a sense of history here—the dark wood and plush velvet curtains hold a grandeur that matches the momentousness of the event. I feel a surge of excitement. It feels dangerous but thrilling. For the