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3rd pov
Across the fellowship hall, where crockpots simmered and lemonade flowed endlessly, most families sat quietly—engaged in light conversation, trading recipes, or discussing next Sunday's sermon. Children nibbled on cookies, elders passed dishes, and somewhere in the background, the church choir played a soft, unobtrusive melody meant to soothe rather than stir.
Except at one table.
The Cooper table was chaos with a southern accent.
Several congregants had, at some point, paused mid-bite just to watch it unfold—like a sitcom taping they hadn't known they were attending.
Georgie Cooper was pointing dramatically at each family member, demanding to know "who made my little princess sad?"—causing the youngest Cooper, Missy, to cross her arms and sulk even harder like she was preparing for a monologue. Veronica, blushing and still dabbing her mouth from some overly spicy homemade food, chuckled awkwardly beside him.
Across the table, Sheldon Cooper sat like a robot assigned to document social experiments. His flat, clinical tone cut through the noise:
"She wants you to sing with the band..."
Missy glared at him like she was willing to commit a minor crime.
Connie Tucker, the family's wild card, sipped her lemonade like it was whiski, smirking through most of it. George Sr. tried—and failed—to stay neutral, only to bribe his son with five bucks for a Spanish translation earlier and then slap the back of Georgie's head a few minutes later when he got too excited about beds and nap deals.
Mary Cooper, of course, looked both exhausted and triumphant. She negotiated a 'one-week nap privilege' for Georgie and Veronica like she was brokering international peace, but with stricter boundaries.
"Did he just say he wants a bouncy bed?" whispered Sister Margaret, a retired Sunday School teacher, to the woman beside her.
"I think he did," the woman whispered back, eyes wide. "Is that… his girlfriend?"
"Must be. Poor girl."
Meanwhile, a teenage boy from the youth group, standing near the choir setup, leaned toward his friend. "Dude… is that the guy who sang with George S. A few weeks ago?"
"Yeah," the friend nodded. "He's kind of famous now."
"....and said the word 'Whore' in front of his grandma."
The first teen nodded solemnly. "Respect."
At the refreshment table, Pastor Jeff nervously wiped his brow and muttered something about divine patience.
Selena, leaning against the exit door with a cigarette she hadn't lit (yet), smiled to herself.
From George Sr.'s awkward presidential waves to the now-infamous "bed negotiation" between Georgie and Mary, it was all on display. And the congregation? They were watching—some whispering behind hands, others openly pointing toward the Cooper table.
Then, as if the curtain was rising on Act Two, Georgie Cooper stood up.
So did Mary. So did the rest of the family, all eyes shifting with them.
Mary walked up to Pastor Jeff, leaned in, and whispered something that made his eyebrows jump. Without hesitation, Pastor Jeff made his way toward the church band choir. Naturally, Selena followed, abandoning her third cigarette of the day just before the spark.
More murmurs filled the air, heads turned, and then it happened.
One of the musicians handed Georgie an acoustic guitar.
He took it.
He didn't say much.
But the energy shifted.
Pastor Jeff cleared his throat, turned to face the crowd, and lifted the mic.
"Hello, Medford," he said warmly. "One of our own, from the Cooper family, is going to bless us with a little something today."
The murmurs swelled once again.
All eyes turned toward the front, where the Cooper family now stood just beside the stage. Mary stood tall, arms crossed. George Sr. adjusted his belt like he was preparing for impact. Missy bounced excitedly beside them, while Sheldon observed the crowd like he was calculating applause probability.
And then there was Veronica, standing just slightly behind Georgie… until she stepped forward.
Selena, standing near Mary, crossed her arms with that same lazy, teasing smile—and when her eyes locked with Veronica's, her smirk widened.
Veronica snorted loudly, not even pretending to be polite. She took one step forward, and with the kind of flair only the right girl has, pulled out a cowboy hat from behind her back—no one knew where it came from—and placed it in Georgie's hands like it was a sacred relic.
Gasps and giggles rippled through the room.
Even Pastor Jeff blinked.
"Georgie Cooper," he said, trying to recover, "what… what do you want to sing now?"
Georgie looked around the room, then slipped the cowboy hat on with calm, quiet confidence.
He took the mic.
"I'm gonna sing about sin, Lord… and the train comin' for those who don't pay attention to the tracks."
A few people whispered.
Selena's smile faded—just a little.
Mary raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Veronica folded her arms like she'd already heard the song—she just love Georgie and support him.
And somewhere in the crowd, an old man muttered, "Well, hot damn."
Several heads turned.
Pastor Jeff, having heard Georgie words, blinked—then broke into a crooked smile. The awkwardness he'd been carrying since Georgie was handed a guitar seemed to melt away.
"You know what?" he said, chuckling softly. "I believe in you, son. Let's just let folks hear it."
He handed the mic to Georgie.
Georgie took it confidently, adjusting the cowboy hat on his head like he'd done this a hundred times—which, in fairness, he sort of had.
"Thank you, Pastor Jeff," Georgie said. "Now y'all know my momma's a devoted Christian—sits front row, bakes potato salad that wins hearts and souls—so I know how to behave… at least in public."
A few people laughed.
Mary crossed her arms tighter, but she was smiling.
"I also know," Georgie continued, turning toward the congregation with a grin, "that church folks love two things: forgiveness… and good music. So if I mess this up, I'll just ask for both."
That got a louder chuckle from the back.
"Alright. I ain't got no band behind me today," he added, holding up the guitar, "just me, my hat, and this six-string I borrowed from a guy who looked half nervous handing it over."
The musician in the corner awkwardly raised a thumbs-up.
Georgie nodded solemnly. "Respect."
Then he stepped up to the mic, adjusted it slightly, and grew quiet.
"And now, if y'all don't mind… I'd like to sing about that Long Black Train. Please enjoy."
The hall was silent.
Georgie took one breath. Then another. His fingers rested on the strings, still.
And then—
A single, slow strum filled the room.
Low. Gritty. Honest.
Georgie wasn't playing fast. He wasn't playing flashy. He played with weight—with soul. Like each note was telling a story all on its own.
The first chord hung in the air, resonating against the wooden beams of the fellowship hall like a slow, distant echo of a thunderstorm rolling in.
Even the Church Choir band, seasoned and trained, leaned forward a little.
This wasn't just a teenager with a guitar.
This was someone who believed in what he was about to say.
Georgie shifted his grip, let the rhythm deepen, and then—his voice came in, deeply:
(Josh Turner - Long Black Train - Acoustic)
*There's a long black train comin' down the line
Feedin' off the souls that are lost and cryin*
Mary gasped softly, her hand moving to her chest, stunned by the gravity in his tone.
"Oh my…" she whispered.
*Rails of sin, only evil remains
Watch out, brother, for that long black train*
It wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
His voice was low, rich, and unexpectedly full of pain, warning… and something close to hope. There was no band behind him, no dramatic lights—just the boy and his guitar… and something honest pouring out from both.
*Look to the heavens, you can look to the skies
You can find redemption starin' back into your eyes*
The acoustic melody wasn't competing with his voice—it was guiding it, like tracks guiding a train. It made the words easier to digest. Harder to ignore.
*There is protection and there's peace the same
Burnin' your ticket for that long black train*
Georgie looked around briefly—everyone was silent. Not in awkwardness, not in boredom, but in stillness. The kind you only see when people are truly listening.
He caught eyes with each member of his family. And each one, even Sheldon, seemed… thoughtful.
'Oh crap,' Georgie thought. 'I just burned my ticket to cuddling with Veronica!.'
But he didn't stop playing.
*'Cause there's victory in the Lord, I say
Victory in the Lord*
His voice rose—not to impress, but to offer. Like he was giving something real. A warning. A way out.
*Cling to the Father and His Holy name
And don't go ridin' on that long black train*
His guitar filled the gap between verses—slow, deliberate, almost mournful.
Like it knew the weight of what it was carrying.
*There's an engineer on that long black train
Makin' you wonder if the ride is worth the pain*
Pastor Jeff subtly touched the small cross that hung from his neck.
He didn't frown.
He didn't smile.
He just… closed his eyes for a moment.
He understood who the engineer was.
*He's just a-waitin' on your heart to say
"Let me ride on that long black train*
Georgie opened his eyes again and smiled softly—his gaze landing on his family.
But they didn't smile back.
They looked like people who had just seen something they weren't sure they were ready for.
*But you know there's victory in the Lord, I say
Victory in the Lord
Cling to the Father and His Holy name
And don't go ridin' on that long black train*
"Heeyyyy hiiii—" Georgie twanged his guitar slightly, lightening the tension just a little. A wink to remind them he was still their Georgie, even if he just borrowed the voice of an old soul.
The guitar soothed the room, pulling them out of the darkness, but not letting them forget it completely.
*Well, I can hear the whistle from a mile away
It sounds so good but I must stay away*
Georgie wasn't looking at anyone now.
Not the crowd.
Not Veronica.
He was staring… into memory.
And it wasn't a memory from this life.
No one knew what he saw. But whatever it was… it was painful.
*That train is a beauty, makin' everybody stare
But its only destination is the middle of nowhere*
He looked up again, locking eyes with the congregation.
Then—his gaze settled on Selena.
She shifted uncomfortably, her smirk fading. Georgie didn't break his stare. He wasn't attacking her.
He was including her in the message. Whether she liked it or not.
*But you know there's victory in the Lord, I say
Victory in the Lord
Cling to the Father and His Holy name
And don't go ridin' on that long black train*
His voice rose again. This time, directed—like a message aimed at Pastor Jeff.
*I said cling to the Father and His Holy name
And don't go ridin' on that long black train*
Now he looked at the whole room.
Everyone.
*Yeah, watch out brother for that long black train*
He plucked the final note.
*That devil's a-drivin' that long black train!*
Silence fell.
Heavy. Complete. Almost sacred.
All eyes were on him—not out of admiration, not applause—but because they had just heard something that felt ancient… necessary… and deeply personal.
Like a warning carved into the bones of the church itself.
No one moved.
No one coughed.
Even the children in the back—midway through stealing second cupcakes—stood frozen, crumbs suspended at their lips.
It wasn't just a song.
It was a reckoning.
Wrapped in melody. Drenched in truth.
A warning.
Pastor Jeff still clutched his cross. His lips moved slightly—maybe a quiet prayer, maybe just stunned breath—but his eyes didn't lift. He looked like a man who had come face to face with something he'd preached about his whole life… but had never quite heard until now.
Mary said nothing either. Her hand remained over her heart, her expression caught somewhere between awe and worry. There was pride there. But also something sacred, flickering quietly behind her eyes.
Georgie stood still, guitar still slung across his chest, fingers curled loosely around the neck. He could feel the weight of every gaze—some warm, some wondering, some unsure.
So he did what he always did when he didn't know what to do next.
He cracked a joke.
"...Should I sing a happy song now?"
That broke the spell.
At first, it was just a chuckle or two.
Then laughter rippled through the room—relieved, human, grateful.
Even Pastor Jeff let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like a man waking from a powerful dream.
Sheldon blinked twice, deadpan as always.
"That… was statistically unexpected."
Veronica reached for Georgie's hand and intertwined their fingers beneath the guitar.
She didn't say a word.
She didn't need to.
Across the room, Selena crossed her arms. Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a frown. Something between discomfort… and quiet defeat.
Her eyes met Georgie's just for a moment. Then she looked away, turned her back to the crowd, and quietly lit her cigarette—third one today she never planned to finish.
No one would remember the potluck's chicken.
Or the potato salad.
Or even the cupcake bandits.
But they'd remember this.
The boy with the guitar.
The song that sounded like a warning.
And the voice that reminded them the Devil didn't need fire, or horns…
Just a train.
And a whisper.