Death Is My BFFLAD (Book Two Original Series)

Chapter 18: Nothing to Rescue

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~I know, I'm finding it hard to breath. And I've been drowning in my own sleep. I feel a hate crashing over me. So rescue me.

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Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

-T.S Eliot's "The Hallow Men"

I was alone in a dimmed church seated in a praying position, situated at the thirtieth pew of the center group of seats, directly below the balcony. My eyes were gently closed, my head was bowed, and my knees were cradled with the thin stretch of pillow that had been pulled down from the back of the pew in front of me.

When I lifted my head from my position it was as if the lights had become brighter, illuminating the rainbow of stain glass along the walls of the building and the rich, polished mahogany of the old church seats. My eyes danced over the alter dozens of feet away, which had a theme of gold and was wrapped around with vines and flowers. I imagined the church filled with assortments of people, all situated with their hands in their laps, sun hats over their head, and an ecstatic chorus of small children getting ready for the opening hymn. The elderly Priest would slowly walk down the aisle, giving me a small wave and shaking hands with my Father, as well as other adults as he went by.

Suddenly it was all happening. I was nine years old, sitting between my Mother and Father, my hands in both of their laps. My Mother was wearing her favorite white sun dress with her short black hair curled. My father wore his favorite khakis, matched with a light green button-down.

I was wearing a bright pink dress, my long black hair pulled back from my face in a French braid. My toes had barely reached the ground and my back was straight and proper. I was the perfect image of a church daughter, however my ocean eyes were jerking between people, fascinated with my surroundings. The chorus was warming up. But the pews were practically empty.

My Mother kissed my cheek and said she had to go talk to a friend, Betty, our close neighbor and mother to Thomas Gregory, the boy that would grow up to be a nasty, rude young man. Thomas was standing next to his Mother, his hands in his pockets and his head down in a shy manner as he followed with bright eyes the approaching figures through the church's entrance.

Suddenly we locked eyes, and Thomas' blonde hair fell in into his face as he stared me down with narrowed eyes. Little did I know that look meant he didn't like me too much. I just wanted to go on the playground with somebody. I looked up at my Father's young thirty-year-old face and smiled so huge my cheeks were straining to keep the position.

He nodded and leaned down towards me, a smile edging his lips. "You can go play. Just hurry before your Mother get's back."

In one fluid motion I kissed my Father's cheek and leaped from the pew, running towards Thomas, who was still standing in the same spot he was in moments before, although his Mother had moved a few feet back in deep conversation with my own Mother.

Thomas was a little taller than my height, even though girls were suppose to be the ones that developed first. His hair was bone straight, reaching a little below his ears because he hated to cut his hair, even in High school. I waved up at him. "Hi, Tommy. Do you want to go on the swings with me?"

Tommy stared me down before looking away and blushing a little. "I guess so," he replied, as if playing with me was the last thing he wanted to do and began to walk out of the church.