by Grace Jaycox
Your father ushers you up on the stage with three other people, one of which is your mother. You look up at her as she adjusts the microphone so it’s the right height for her. The fact that you’re too small to reach any of the microphones was supposed to be a comfort to you, but with nothing in front of you, you feel exposed. You wish you could be where you usually were. Sitting at the old wooden piano that sits down to the left of the stage and out of the way. You look out at thirty or so people. You try to keep your mind off the fact that there are so many people staring at tiny you. You stare at the chairs people are sitting in. Blue cushioned chairs on black metal legs. You look up above everyone at the creamy yellow wall, the clock that hangs over the arch that leads to the few steps that take you to the dark navy blue front door of the church. You wished you could run up the large gray staircase to help in the nursery. Dealing with fussy babies seemed easier than singing in front of everyone. Despite your wishes you have to sing, so you push through.
The next time you’re on stage is because of your own freewill. You look at the other girl on stage, a small pixie of a person. Her golden hair is styled in victory rolls to match the time period of the play. She is almost done with her line. You take a breath in and then say yours. Now it’s time for your favorite line in the play when you get to scream. You walk slowly to the other side of the large but light wooden desk. On the desk is a wooden box painted to look like a small radio and a black folding hand fan that looks as though it were dipped in gold glitter. You take a deep breath. Your mic is off now. You scream. A loud ear-piercing scream. The kind of scream that bounces off the walls. The kind of scream that makes the other girl on the stage jump. The kind of scream that you get asked many times if it hurt your throat. Surprisingly, it did not.
Now you no longer get a chance to let out all of your frustrations into a scream. Instead, you must watch others on stage. Mostly in church. It seems only in church these days.
You stand in church. Though the sanctuary is large you feel suffocated with the amount of people. The line of chairs in front of you are too close. It feels as though everyone is on top of each other. The amount of people and the closeness of the chairs make it feel like the ugly beige walls are closing in. Though you’ve been to many churches smaller than this one, this one feels smaller somehow. You are starting to wonder if it’s because those smaller churches had windows and had the lights on. Though the sanctuary you find yourself in now has plenty of lights in it, the lights are off during the worship service. Well, all except the colorful blue and purple lights that shine on the church’s worship team. The music they play reminds you of drinking La Croix.
Like the carbonation of the La Croix, the music is overpowering but basically flavorless, a poor imitation of something good.
After about thirty minutes the music does eventually end, meaning your tired legs can finally rest. The worship team walks off stage to sit with their families or friends as the pastor walks up on stage. You notice that he’s wearing black skinny jeans, a pale blue T-shirt, and black Nikes.
The Pastor starts his sermon talking loud and clear with near perfect enunciation. As your pen dances across the paper of your notebook in a slow waltz you can barely hear his words. The walls feel as though they’re slowly closing in.
The pastor’s voice sounds far away. So far away. The walls are squishing you but at least the large group of people are gone, yet you still hear the pastor speaking. You can barely hear him. It’s like you’re hiding under piles of blankets. Heavy blankets. Blankets of water. You look down at your feet. Instead of seeing your boots on ugly burgundy carpet you see soft brown dirt has taken its place, the walls are gone, instead replaced by trees, open sky, a river, and a waterfall. You are on one side of the waterfall and the pastor is on the other. Every word he says is drowned out by the sound of rushing water. The sun is so bright out here. Everything is so open, the claustrophobia you feel is gone.
You love forests. You love the sound of the chirping birds. The birds’ songs make you feel as though you could fly. Weightless. You love sitting by water. Water. Water? Are you thirsty? You hadn’t thought about it, but your throat is quite dry.
The waterfall is gone, no more birds, the carpet is back, the other people are where they should be, the walls are where they should be, the pastor’s voice is clearer as he talks about hunting deer. You reason that it’s some sort of illustration. His talking about hunting reminds you of the woods behind your house. Out with your dad and your sister. Having to get wood your father had cut up to bring it up to the house so you and your family wouldn’t freeze during the winter. The ground was covered in orange, yellow, brown, and red leaves. You remember the ever-present crunching sound as you trudged around from the pile of split wood to the tractor to the pile of split wood to the tractor. The pastor’s wife is playing the piano to signify that what he’s saying is very deep and meaningful. To you it just marks that the sermon is almost over.
About the Author
Grace Jaycox is a twenty-year-old artist and a student at FLCC. She enjoys making pieces that make people feel something, whether that be with her poetry, general observations, or through her art. In her free time, she is learning to bake and enjoys having lighthearted debates about various tv shows.