Rebel Rebel

Chapter 9

Sunday morning. Sunday fucking morning. Don't. Start. Me. My parents made me go to church. NO arguments.

Now, I am not here to have any theological debates. Believe, or don't. Cool. Your life, your experiences. But my god...did I HATE going to church.

First, it was forced, and that killed it for me. I got no enjoyment from it. Sure, I had my set of beliefs, but I wasn't here to argue if God exists. I just feel like going to church should come naturally. It's supposed to be a good thing. Forcing it took all of the good out of it.

Second, we went to "that" church. You know what I mean. It was the church where everyone went there to see and be seen. Again...kills the reason to actually be there. The church itself was even big and flashy. Like dude...no.

But, go I must. Until I was off at college, anyway. So I tried to sabotage most Sundays. Petty? Yes. Do I care? No.

This morning, while mom showered, I turned on every faucet in the house, on hot, and flushed all the toilets (there's 3), one after the other. I giggled when she started shrieking about the cold water. Sean thought it was funny, but wouldn't admit it. That's ok, I didn't expect him to be ok with it. No...really. I was being an asshole. I get it.

"Eudoxia Giselle!" I heard my dad yell. Ooopppssss...forgot I stashed his electric razor too. "I swear if you don't cough it up NOW, you're grounded until you turn 18!"

18 was only 2 ½ months away, but I really wanted to go out on weekends. And do stuff after school. I liked freedom...

"It's in my room. I'll get it!" I yelled as I turned off the last faucet. I bolted up to my room and grabbed it out of my desk drawer. I ran back down and gave the razor back.

"There you go," I said.

"If you'd put this much effort into actually paying attention at church, you might get something out of it."

"I do pay attention, that's why I don't like it. Do you realize how oppressive and contradictory the Bible is? Of course you don't because you don't actually read the Bible yourself."

"Eudoxia..." My dad said, exasperated. Sad part was, he knew I was at least somewhat right (I never saw anyone at home crack a Bible besides on Sunday). Goin to church was all show.

I think at one time, my parents did have actual beliefs, but anymore, they went to church out of habit. I think they were afraid of what people would think if they didn't go. I think that's what bothered me the most about having to go, myself. Either go because you believe, or don't. It was a slap in the face to those who actually wanted to be there.

We finally all were ready, and piled into the car to head out. I didn't really cause any problems on the ride. I did enough damage already. I knew I wouldn't win the war, but I was ok with starting a battle or 2. We pulled up to the church, non-ironically called The Chapel, about 10 minutes later. Thankfully, the church was close. We got out and headed in.

The building was nothing fancy, despite being huge. It was a monstrosity, in my opinion. Not like those giant cathedrals in Europe, or even out own smaller versions of that in the US. No, this thing was an eyesore.

It was only a few years old. My elementary school was across the way from it. It had been an open field before this was built (better use of the land I say...). Then, when I was in middle school, the building popped up. Everyone in the suburbs flocked to it, whether they were church-going, God fearing folk, prior to its construction, or not. No one wanted to be "left out" so off we went every Sunday morning.

I mean...ok it wasn't all bad at first. A lot of my classmates, including the girls in the band, went. Downside was all the snobby kids from school were there. Unless their parents were actually dedicated to one of the other nearby congregations (there was a Catholic church, a Baptist church, one or two Lutheran churches, and a Methodist one), they were here. I ignored them just as much at church as I did at school. They were just like their parents: Praise Jesus on Sunday, forget about him during the week, and fill your Saturday with debauchery.