Bibles

This took me a long time to write for no good reason.

 

A week after the death of the abusive father, I found a new victim. I hate church, but every great once in a while, all parents decide to go on a religious kick and force their children to be surrounded by Jesus freaks and paranoid theologians.

Sunday morning consisted of my being forced to wear a s****y, too-small flowered skirt that I’d only ever worn to such events as church. Church. The word made me cringe. The thought of an invisible guy up in the clouds watching me all the time made me feel faint. Religion is all fine and good, but it shouldn’t be forced on anyone. Christians have a habit of forcing beliefs onto people whether they’re willing or not, and an even worse habit of using the bible as a crutch to prosecute others and glorify themselves.

The Baptist church building nearby held memories of Sunday school lessons and summer Bible camps. My family had attended on and off for about half of my life. The people there were perfectly nice as long as you belonged. Belonging was not something I was really big on, so you can guess how I was treated. Karen, the pastor’s s**t of a daughter smiled warmly at my parents and sneered at me and Jeremy, who’d just barely fit back into his khaki slacks. I pulled down the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands and faked a smile.

Karen and I had a history. In Elementary school, we’d shared a desk and seen each other at church on some Sundays. We weren’t best friends, but we got along until the day we’d found out we’d be going to different schools the next year. I was going off to the public Middle school and she was moving to a private institution nearer to her house. My family quit attending church. The next summer, when my parents started another round of Christianity for fear that Jeremy and I would find evil if we weren’t exposed to good moral values, Karen and her new best friend sat behind me during service snickering and yanking my hair the whole time.

I sat in the pink chair next to Jeremy and rolled my eyes. He smiled crookedly. For siblings, we actually got along pretty well, which usually meant we avoided each other at all costs. We could be civilized, though. Karen’s father took the stand in front of the congregation, and Karen sat in the front row of chairs, beside her mother. We stood. Pastor read a passage from the giant bible on the pedestal in front of him. Karen tossed her hair over her shoulder. Jeremy clasped his hands together. We sat. The one-woman choir, an old lady in her sixties at least, belted out something that resembled a psalm. Why wouldn’t anyone sing with her? If she sang in a choir, maybe it would sound better; anyone can sound good in a choir. Mom pulled the bible out from underneath the chair she was sitting on. Karen tossed her hair over her shoulder. I placed my hands on my thighs, palms down. Mom flipped the dusty old bible to a page number written on the chalkboard in front of us. Dad crossed and uncrossed his legs. He was probably reminding himself that sitting cross-legged was for women, and that the Lord looked down upon men who dressed or acted like women. Karen tossed her hair over her shoulder. To think that I’d invited that girl to any sleepover in my life…

I hate church.

Reviews

[Brie]

I like the part about her dad crossing/uncrossing his legs. I could see it in my mind! I sensed a lot of tension here....
-Brie