Rev. T. Scott Kincannon Keeps Some Secrets from Her Flock

Michael Shay

1. Trixie is her given name. She was named after her grandmother, Trixie Armstrong, who ministered to the lepers in post-war Japan. Some of her elementary school classmates thought she might be named for Trixie Belden in the mystery novels. T even looked like Trixie’s drawing on the book jackets. One sixth-grade afternoon, Mary Ann Smith announced that Trixie was “a hooker’s name.” Hookers were a rarity in small-town Wyoming but you know how pre-teen girls are, and Mary Ann was more popular than Trixie. In the summer before eighth grade, when the family moved from Riverton to Cheyenne, she changed her first name to T. “Just T?” asked her eighth-grade homeroom teacher. She told her classmates, “You can call me T.” Nobody called her T.

2. She had premarital intercourse five times. T (née Trixie) gave in to her boyfriend Jimmer Dean in the early morning hours following East High School’s senior prom. Next up was Telson, her steady beau in Divinity School, who had all the makings of a shepherd-to-be for some large and well-heeled flock. He talked T right out of her drawers on three occasions. He used colorful condoms! Their final frolic was followed the next morning by Robert’s revelations that he was seeing a sorority girl from the U whose father was a state legislator. The break-up hit her hard. She vowed to stay away from talkative men with funny names.

3. What about the fifth time? T’s D School female cohorts told her not to mess with the guys from Huskerville on the other side of town. Two weeks before graduation she went to a party in Huskerville. She met Kevin Michael Kincannon, the op-ed editor at the school paper. He wrote crazy things. He called President Reagan a sniveling old codger! And he wanted to save the planet. But she didn’t care. He had curly red hair and an almost mustache! Kevin invited her to an intramural softball game. Kevin jacked the ball over the left field fence and the first thing he did after crossing home plate was smile up at her and doff his cap. She smiled back. That’s all it took – that and two post-game beers. It’s true what they say – D School girls can’t hold their liquor!

4. She sometimes hated her forthright mother. On her one-month anniversary as assistant associate pastor in Sheridan, Wyoming, T phoned her mom with the somber news of a pre-marital pregnancy that, in most cases, only affected others. “Call him,” said her loving mother. “It’s his, isn’t it?”

5. Details of the marriage proposal. On her one-month-and-one-day anniversary as assistant associate pastor in Sheridan, she called Kevin Michael Kincannon. She laid it all out for him. Silence on the other end. She could hear a siren wailing in the background. Life as a big city reporter in Phoenix! She wondered why the window was open, why he didn’t have air conditioning in that hot city. He said this, “Will you marry me?” “Yes,” she said.

6. Secrets of not-so-immaculate conceptions. It’s possible that four of their five children were conceived on four different Sundays in four different churches throughout the Rocky Mountain region. This was due to (contended Kevin) the highly charged eroticism engendered by T’s sermons. The way her lips moved. The taut skin of her throat vibrated as she spoke. When ovulating, she always inserted “to know” into the sermon, an antiquated Biblical term for fornicating with the goal of procreation. She ended with “my door is always open.” After service, followed by the traditional doughnuts and coffee, she returned to her office to await her husband. The door opened and closed quietly. He whispered “you said your door is always open” as he unwound her sand-colored hair. She stood, grabbed the desk and leaned forward. He would have pulled down her undergarments but she never wore them on Ovulation Days. He kissed the back of her thighs and removed her shoes. He was a busy little bee under her dress. And then he stood and his hands were on her shoulders. He said “talk dirty to me” and she said “fuck me you big ape,” and he said “your blessed pussy calls my name.” She rocked forward with each thrust, watching the desktop work a groove into the eggshell-white wall. He called her Trix. Kev, she replied. They sometimes fucked face-to-face sitting up, which was tough on office chairs and couches. Many rugs came unraveled in the name of love. Even in its proper Biblical role, sexual congress can be tough on furnishings.

7. She had a wicked jealous streak. Kevin was in Indonesia for a month. He emailed photos of jungle and city. One of them showed him with his photographer, a dark-haired, thin Belgian in tank top and khaki shorts. Her name was Ava. Of course. He was with Ava in the jungle for a month and then he arrived home and then was busy with deadlines and then he flew off to D.C. and then to Belize. More jungle and Ava! Two weeks chasing anacondas run amok in the Everglades. She was juggling math homework and a church governing board that questioned her every move. When will she get anacondas and sweaty jungle sex?

8. She had an affair. She didn’t mean to. Kevin was always away. On Sundays, she waited for the unlocked office door to open behind her and one day it did and it wasn’t Kevin but she let the man in anyway. A board member, divorced, handsome with a streak of silver in his perfect black hair. They began with handshakes and a formal discussion of plans for the church addition. Then his hand was up her ministerial dress and her tongue was down his throat. “Not here,” she said, glancing at the desk. She went to his place, several times. She bought condoms for the first time to limit risk-taking. The affair is over before it started, or so she thought. She feared an incident of pokies during service, a wardrobe malfunction. She was ready to break it off when he announced he was moving to Salt Lake. Mercifully, it was over before Kevin arrived home from the jungle. He shared news that he had a new photographer, a scruffy guy from California named Jason.

9. She cared more about her marriage than her flock. She told Kevin about the affair. “Why?” he asked. “Ava,” she said. He shook his head. “Ava’s a lesbian.” So she was the one, the fallen woman, Eve consorting with a silver-streaked serpent? It would never be the same. In public, the couple acted as the oh-so-marrieds. The woman pastor and her loving spouse. Fine brood of kids. “That little one will pitch for the Lord,” announced the board chair, a Cubs fan, one Sunday at doughnut time. Behind the scenes, there was dust. This went on for years and several church postings. Kevin was away even when he was home. The kids had their own lives. Three in college all over creation and two were still in high school. Kevin spoke to them but not to her. Then one day, he returned from a trip to some jungle. He was very sick. The docs diagnosed malaria. He spent a month in the hospital. When he came home, he was skeletal and indifferent. Before he had just been indifferent. He was so sick and he needed her, really needed her touch and her chicken noodle soup.

10. Rev. T sweated blood over her sermons. The congregants thought of them as smooth and effortless. T tried to work the old magic. But not for the chubby old couple in the front row or the young people in the choir or any other congregant. She wanted to heal herself, mend the rift, make amends to her husband. If it engendered some highly charged eroticism in the process, so be it.

11. She is not just saying this: “I have faith beyond measure.” Every Sunday after service, following doughnuts and coffee, she is in her office awaiting the opening of the door. The door locks now. There is just the single key clearly labeled “office door” that hangs with other keys in the house. “I now lock my office door,” she announced to Kevin one Sunday morning. Was he listening? Will she again be known in the Biblical sense by her husband? There is no groove worn in this office wall caused by an erotic Reverend banging the desk against a wall as she is being known intimately by her husband. Not yet. She thinks she hears something. She awaits the key in the lock.

A very short story about a woman minister with a story to tell. I am learning to listen to other voices. I hear them rising out of my strict religious background which I worked hard to escape, but now know there is no escape so why not have some fun with it.  That’s a breakthrough.