The Long Afternoon of Brian Kunitz
They said later that when Brian Kunitz went to seminary, he came back different.
His friends from church noticed it first. That winter, over his break, he didn’t take a turn playing the organ (though he was invited—he was very talented) and he left right after the service was over. Rev. Hopkins had to stifle his disappointment, he’d been looking forward to swapping seminary stories with the boy. Kevin and Jeff tried to talk him into helping out with the youth group, but he brushed them off with uncharacteristic brusqueness.
Jess noticed it later that day. She and Brian had been fooling around, off and on, since junior year. He’d always cared what she had to say, and he was always so gentle and loving. Now, though, he just seemed… distant.
“What is it?” she asked as he pecked at his fries. He shrugged. “Is something wrong? Bri? Hon?”
“I’m fine,” he said. He smiled weakly. “I haven’t had McDonalds since August. It’s a little much.”
After, when they were driving around in his familiar blue station wagon, he didn’t put his arm around her. She tried to cuddle up close to him, but he stiffened and gripped the wheel with both hands. She withdrew, hurt and confused.
Jess saw his mother the next day at the grocery store where she worked, and asked how he was doing. She laughed, a short, sharp bark. “You tell me,” she said. But Jess couldn’t.
—
The next day she was driving home from her shift when she passed Outlaw’s, a biker bar out on the Turnpike. There, sitting in the lot, was his distinctive blue station wagon. Once she recovered from her shock, she turned around and sped back, determined to investigate.
He perched precariously on a bar stool inside, clearly drunk.
“Brian!” she said, aghast, gingerly settling herself down next to him. “What are you—why are you here? In the middle of the afternoon?”
“It’s not crowded now,” he said, as if that explained everything. His breath reeked.
“Why don’t we go somewhere?” she said, glancing around. There were some large men in the corner. No telling what they might do. “Somewhere else. Please?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”
She fumed. “What has gotten in to you?” she hissed. “You’ve been acting strange ever since you came home!”
“Have I?”
“Yes!”
He mulled this over. “Look,” he said at last. “I figured some things out. I did some thinking. And you know what I’m going to do with my life now?”
She shook her head mutely.
“I’m going to disappoint everybody.” He laughed a very un Brian-like laugh. “Even you. Especially you. And God, too. God.” He shook his head and sipped his beer. “I don’t get it,” he murmured. “I just don’t understand.” He sighed and lapsed into silence.
After a while it became clear that he wasn’t going to say any more. She kissed his cheek, and left.
She didn’t see him again for ten years.
