Growing up on a farm, Perkins woke to the sounds of singing frogs down by the lake and fell asleep to the quiet whispering notes of the restless sheep in the pasture. Dreaming of the weekend ahead, he never worked so hard to get his chores done today. Every Sunday morning, the 28 mile ride to the town church was his drive to his life, to his heartbeat.
Why then at the end of the service would he walk quickly to the battered truck and step inside and wait impatiently to drive the 40 minute ride home? Perkins took his well sharpened pocket knife from his pants as he watched members appear before him and walk pass. Only his eyes cast down when Melanie strode by in her summer finest church dress. Freckled and still taller than Perkins, she never looked at the old truck or the young man waiting so desperately to find the courage to say he loved her.