Dick Bentley Shrine
We
were going to Boyne to ski. Got lost around Indian River and the snow thickening on the road. Robbie says, “We’re not going to make it up there tonight.” He’s tired from all the beers, plus we’ve been passing a little ganja around the car, the four of us. The smoke’s quite thick and the car reeks. Then, through the windshield, the headlights pick up this sign for the world’s biggest crucifix. “Shit! Let’s check that sucker out,” Robbie says. We follow the sign. We get to the parking lot and circle around. You can barely see the thing—just a big shaft sticking up through the snow and darkness. You can see some feet on the bottom, though. That’s when Robbie dares me to climb it. There’s this maintenance ladder that goes up it. With little rungs where you can stick your feet and hold on.
I go, “No way. No way I’m getting up that thing.” But here I am, right at the top of the world’s biggest crucifix. I can almost see the face, but it’s dark and snowy. The thing is made of some kind of metal—bronze maybe. Shit, not the first time I’ve done something stupid for Robbie. I yell down, “Hey, there’s somebody already up here.” Robbie and Max, I can hear them laughing way down below, laughing through the wind. Charlotte probably stayed in the car, the little pussy. Even though Charlotte’s sort of a bitch, still, she can be pretty funny. She says all the guys that like me are total jerks. That I’m like a magnet for them because I like to do crazy stuff. It’s way cold up here. I’m not dressed warmly. Everything seems frozen. My nostrils are doing that thing where they stick together. Where they