Reverend Willis clutches a Bible against his chest as we parade past: Praise God, Thoughtful sermon, See you at prayer meeting. Dad nods as he passes, Praise the Lord. I look down at the black patent leather shoes I’m made to wear, feel the birth of a blister on my heel, as I rush outside to breathe fresh air.
Kim finds me beneath a tree plucking the caps off fallen acorns, asks if I want to come over, spend the night, says we can sneak “Laugh In” on the TV.
Kim’s mom has a Bible laying on her nightstand. I know because last week when I slept over, when I felt blood trickle down my thigh in the middle of the night and thought I was dying, guided only by a nightlight in the hallway–the one shaped like a cross–I rushed into her room without knocking. I saw it even though I looked away as soon as I heard the whispers: I thought you locked the door, I must have forgotten, Jesus Christ. I looked away as soon as I recognized the man’s voice.
I tell Kim I don’t like “Laugh In” anymore, that Goldie Hawn is annoying and so is she. I tell her not to talk to me anymore, that if I ever see her again it will be too soon. I blurt out her mom is going to rot in Hell.
My parents yell my name, rush me into the car. I glance back at Kim as we leave the parking lot. I swear she’s kneeling on the ground stuffing acorns into her pockets like there’s no tomorrow. Mom starts singing “Amazing Grace.” I struggle to keep my mouth shut, to not yell out what I know so she’ll do anything but sing.
Tonight I’ll dream of Reverend Willis. Damp circles will stain the underarms of his crisp white shirt and his face will bleed red as he climbs the mountain behind our house. The trees will rain acorns that make a path leading to a boulder where I’ll be making paper planes out of the ripped pages from the Good Book, and in that instant he’ll know.
INSTANT NOODLES 