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I will be kind…I will smile…were Brenda’s thoughts, as she sat in the family pew, hands folded in her lap, back straight, and eyes focused on Pastor Ben. No one will know my thoughts. No one will suspect what I am thinking.
On her left side, her father was ‘amening’ almost in a rhythm, and Brenda had to force her feet from tapping 1…2…3 and hold…1…2… Her grandmother was waving her hankie in a show of agreement.
Show? Brenda pondered that word, looking around at other old ladies with their gray hair and dressy hats. They too were waving their hankies, and some even dabbed at their eyes.
All the other young people were sitting in the back, passing notes, and giggling. Their heads were bowed, but Brenda knew what they were doing. She was not allowed to sit there, per Grandma's suggestion. The young families were in the middle of the church, with their children. Brenda could smell the Cheerios and Fruit Loops.
Her mother sat, quietly folding and unfolding the church bulletin. Fold...2...3.. Mom's hands were red and worn; she had to prepare another dinner for the pastor and family, as well as her seven children. Every Sunday, it was dinner for someone.
Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact. Mom never looks anyone in the eye.
Her mother smiled at her, and briefly made eye contact. Mom never looks anyone in the eye.
That was when Brenda knew. Her mother wanted to blast out of this church just as badly as Brenda. To escape.
What’ll we do? Mom, what will we do?
Her mother wrote a note to her father, which read about checking on the roast and get dinner ready for the pastor, and Brenda had to help. Her father nodded, not breaking rhythm one bit.
They tore out of the parking lot. As they drove past their house, Brenda turned to her mother. Mom? Mom?
Her mother smiled, lit up a cigarette, and sped up. “We’re goin’ to Vegas, girl. I am done fixing dinners every single Sunday for each and every preacher passin' through town.” Then they headed to the West, the whole 1,000 mile trip.
Luggage in the back and radio cranked high with Janis Joplin, Brenda and Mom felt happy for the first Sunday in a long long time.
Dad would be at church for another two hours. Praise God.
I wrote this in 2013. This is pretty much the way Mom and I spent every single Sunday. With no help with cooking or cleaning up, she and I would gladly have done this. The memories repeated Sunday after Sunday are fresh, even 50 years later.
Luggage in the back and radio cranked high with Janis Joplin, Brenda and Mom felt happy for the first Sunday in a long long time.
Dad would be at church for another two hours. Praise God.
I wrote this in 2013. This is pretty much the way Mom and I spent every single Sunday. With no help with cooking or cleaning up, she and I would gladly have done this. The memories repeated Sunday after Sunday are fresh, even 50 years later.
