In and Out Of-

In and Out of- 

By: Micah Rauchon

She looks up at the mural that stretches the length of the sanctuary, covering the ceiling; a painted Jesus looks down on the Virgin Mary holding his infantile body. The tulle of her dress rubbing against her bare legs, red lines being left in their place. She traces her fingers over them. 

The man in white’s words drift as she remembers the feeling of freshly mowed grass below her feet in the yard back home. The leather cover of her grandfather’s books. P-L-A-T-O, the cover reads. Her teacher was shocked when she told him she was reading it, she didn’t understand why. Her favorite stuffy lambie waits at home, resting on her bed till she returns. The toys stuffing leaking out more everyday from a tear in its side. She’ll tell her all about the wrinkly old man in white. 

The adults tower over her small body standing from the pews, she's brought back to the present as her mother’s hand fully envelops hers. Peering through the shade of her bangs she watches as the man in a white robe begins to speak. The bodies towering over her bow their heads and she joins in the motion, closing her eyes. For the first time in her five years of life she feels an electricity surging throughout her body, beginning in her chest. C-H-E-S-T. In unison the crowd of hundreds speak- 

“Our father which art in heaven hallowed be thy name,”

Her eyes flutter open at the sound of the words reverberating through the air. She looks around to see eyes filled with tears, a squeeze of the hand is passed between them all. She receives pressure from her mother who watches as she passes it to the stranger, an older woman to her left, who upon feeling the little one's gesture opens her eyes and smiles, releasing her hand briefly to move the hair from her eyes, before holding on again. That was when she fell in love with you. When she felt the so-called grace she had been told you would give her. You were her first love, and her first lesson of how much love would hurt. 

Hi god. My mommy taught me to pray today. So I’m here to say hi. I told lambie about the- I don’t know his name. He wears white and stands behind a big wooden block. And he has a book. I want the book too. Papa has a lot of books. I read them too. Big ones with lots of pages. I’m learning to spell. Look, I can spell my name. M-A-S-O-N. And I can spell your name too. G-O-D. And your son. J-E-S, uhm, J-E

“Mommy, how do you spell Jesus?

“J-E-S-U-”

“No, I remember now!” 

J-E-S-U-S. Jesus. See I told you I could do it. I get to go back next Sunday. Papa even said I can get a pretty dress for it. It’s my bedtime now. Mommy tells me you have to pray every night. Oh right, ok. Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep if I- 

“Die” 

“Thank you mommy.” 

If I die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take. Amen. 

“Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven” 

A bruise forms as the obnoxious boy she’s convinced herself she has a crush on repeatedly thrashes his foot against the rear of her chair. She tugs on her plaid skirt, pulling it down for the sake of purity, in contrast to the girl with long brown curls hiking hers up and passing paper notes to the girl with her hand on her thigh. She wonders how the teacher is missing this. Her back is turned, chalk in hand as lines stretch the length of the room, names of biblical figures appearing one by one on the black surface. She stares ahead ignoring the blue and purple mark forming on her skin and begins to fill in the words before they appear on the board. She continued this until she had completed all sixty six. 

A land of milk and honey appears behind her eyelids. Her father rows a sail boat down a river of white cream. Golden fruits hang from trees leering over her head, just out of reach of her still young body. White horses gallop beside her and a wave of warmth washes over her body. A satisfaction, a glorification envelops her, along with the smile that beames across her face. 

The snap of a ruler against her desk brings her back into the dust filled classroom. She bows her head as she’s reprimanded for her disobedience.

 “A wandering mind is the work of satan.”

 A chorus of jeers and taunts are heard from the room from all except the girl whose thigh is marked with a handprint, Adrian. Her eyes observe her body, scanning up and down, tracing her movements as she walks to the front of the room. This doesn’t go unnoticed by her, who takes the opportunity to make eye contact, neither of them breaks it. Her stomach experiences a feeling she will one day become accustomed to. But for now the butterflies are new and intoxicating. The remainder of the class is spent peering at a poster of the ten commandments while students walk up one by one to recite the book’s order. The boy stumbles on Job and she chuckles, the teacher sentences her to punishment by humiliation. Only she passes the test, perfectly, all sixty six books spoken to perfection. And when she's done a sharp pain is felt on her hand as a red mark appears on the surface of her flesh. She returns to her desk and bows her head in shame. Using her unscathed hand to nurse the wound. Adrian takes the hand, using her thumb to stroke the surface of it. 

“Meet me after class,” A whisper that sends chills up her spine. 

Her eyes remain locked on the back of her head, their hands connecting them as they weave through the crowded hallway. The girls bathroom door flings open as she tells those gathered around the sink to leave, stalls uninhabited. As the final girl exits the door is closed and locked. Adrian turns around to face her. She walks slowly towards her until Mason’s back is against the wall. And then slowly, allowing time for resistance a lip is placed on her lips. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in. An electricity, a surging is felt throughout her body. When she pulls away she swears a halo presides above her head. She turns away and exits the room. 

Hello dad. Hello god. I figure I can talk to both of you at the same time. Or talk to one of you and the other will communicate this with the other. I’m not sure how this all works. Something happened at school today. Jake asked me to the school dance! He kicks my chair during class everyday, it means he likes me. Mom tells me that when boys mess with you it’s because they like you. Did you kick mom’s chair too? I said all of the books of the bible in order and didn’t miss a single one. I knew you’d be proud of me for that. I studied every day. Ms.Kolk was attempting to embarrass me but I proved her wrong. She hit my hand anyway. I believe I may have been disobedient unintentionally. If so I apologize, kind of, I’m still proud of myself. There’s more, Adrian kissed me! The super cool girl I told you about. She kissed me on the mouth! It made me feel weird. Not in a bad way either. I can’t tell mom, mom would freak. But I have to tell you. I tell you everything. I don’t know what to do. Maybe I will tell mom. I’m not sure what the bible has to say about that kind of thing. I’ve never met anyone who has kissed a girl. I don’t know what to do next. Do we go on dates? Do we hold hands all the time? Do I get to kiss her again?  Mom will know. And if mom doesn’t know I’ll ask the pastor. He’ll have the answer. It felt nice though. I hope I wasn’t bad. I’ve never kissed anyone before. You know that because you’re always with me. I’m never alone because you are always with me. Maybe she’ll dance with me and Jake at the dance. I like him, I think. He dresses nicer than the other boys. He brushes his hair everyday. We would look nice in pictures together. Our kids would be attractive, that's important. I don’t know if he’s funny or not. Adrian is funny. She makes me smile a lot. We’ve gotten closer this past month, maybe that's why she kissed me, to show gratitude for our friendship. I shouldn’t ask her about it should I? No mom and pastor, and you of course. I feel better, now that we’ve talked. Now I lay me down to sleep I pray the lord my soul to keep and if I die before I wake I pray the lord my soul to take. Goodnight God. Goodnight dad, I miss you. Amen. 

“Give us this day our daily bread”

In the basement of a church a group of teenagers station their chairs in the same spots they do every week. In the same room completed with red carpet paid for by donors and tithe. She sits beside Adrian for a moment,  before she decides to move away. When she sits again she looks up at her. She averts eye contact, crosses her arms, and folds her legs. Her brows furrow. She’s memorized every motion Adrian makes, spent countless hours studying her every movement, she can tell what she’s thinking from these movements alone. A man, or a boy, stands dressed in a navy blue polo tucked into the belt on his khaki pants. “Welcome back everyone, let's open this meeting with a prayer.” The action is done with no effort, the gesture ingrained into her earliest memories. Bowed heads and clasped hands. This is what she’s been waiting for. A chance to air out her grievances, to alleviate the pain that's been pressing on her chest and mind. People share stressors in their life. Parent’s divorces. Anxieties around academic failure. Stress over prospects of an undecided future. Then it’s her turn. 

“What if a girl who likes another girl wanted to join our church?” The air is drained from the room. A deafening silence takes over the circle. 

“This person, you speak of.” He stares at her harshly, unblinking. Surveying her body in a way many men have before, only it’s colder somehow. 

“They could come to church, but they could never be a part of the church.”

“And why not?”

“Simple. They’re all sinners in the eyes of god”

“How is that simple?”

He reaches under his chair and retrieves his bible. It's run down from daily usage. He clears his throat and pops out his chest as he flips through the pages before speaking. 

“Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts. Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones. In the same way, the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. Men committed shameful acts with other men, and received in themselves the due penalty for their error. Romans 1:26-27”

The book is closed and returned to its original location 

“Now. Is there a reason you’ve brought this particular question into space?”
“I stumbled upon a channel on TV that featured two women, I was confused and curious so I asked.” She lied. 

Her heart sinks, it sinks into the hell she’s feared for as long as she can remember. More than the monsters under the bed. More than being unwanted. More than any fear she could conjure in her darkest nightmares. The eyes resting on her don’t avert, they don’t believe her. They stare as sweat perspires on her forehead. As her fingers begin to bleed from the incessant digging of her nails. 

“Moving on.”   

The next teen begins to speak though they may as well have remained on her as the eyes have not moved. She could feel their judgment permeating her skin and tearing her flesh from within. She has been separated from them. She is now othered. She’s never felt othered before, not in this place she calls home. The feeling hits her like the shoes of the boy who showed her sin. The youth leader stands slowly, painfully slowly as her heart rate increases, and just when she thinks it can beat no faster it increases speed proving her wrong. She can feel the sweat on her hands, suddenly hyper aware of the shoes she chose to wear that day. 

From across the room her eyes lock with Adrian’s. She’s sympathetic, apologetic, and calm. Overly calm. It calms Mason, for a brief moment the rest of the world fades. She hates that she holds that power. A power that should only belong to the man she prays to everynight. A power held by the girl who only days before changed her life forever. The girl who only days before took away a part of her, that she will never get back. A ticket to immediate damnation. 

In the safety of her bedroom black marker is scratched so deeply into the paper it bleeds into several pages beneath it. The wall above her desk is plagued with the cutouts of the vogue magazines she’s spent countless hours staring into. Almost as much time as she spends once a day, like clockwork examining every detail of her still developing body. Her chest too small for her comfort, her waist not quite up to par. The last boy who possessed her pointed out the divet in her left hip, she’s not gone a day without observing it. Tracing her fingers over every imperfection. She wondered how many calories communion held. How calorically expensive was Christ's body. What damage was his blood capable of? 

Tears coat the thin and holy pages covered in marks she placed carefully years ago to allow. Her mother stationed just in the other room lives unaware of the hell conjured in her child's mind. She had spent every day for the past week analyzing every section of her body. Trying to uncover every corner of her brain. For explanations, for answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask. The energy she once put into learning books in order to learn the demeanor of a girl, she now put into herself. An obsession with the devil at the helm.  The sixteen year old scours the pages of her treasured book and creates her own reality within its idyllic fantasy of lies. 

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

“Love is patient, love is kind, it isn’t jealous, it doesn’t brag, it isn’t arrogant, it isn’t rude, it doesn’t seek its own advantage, it isn’t irritable, it doesn’t keep a record of complaints, it isn’t happy with injustice, but it is happy with the truth. Love puts up with all things, trusts in all things, hopes for all things, endures all things.”

The word of god descends from above coating the floor. Banging comes from the bedroom door as instructions to turn the stereo down are drowned out by the pounding of holy pages hitting the pink wool rug. Growing in ferocity, growing in intensity, growing in lust, growing in confusion, growing in hopelessness, growing, sweltering, suffocating, choking, drowning. Her head dips under the water. A white robe of sanctity clinging to her flesh as she is cleansed. As she is relieved of sin. As the son of god who showed himself to her at the age of five is permanently interlaced in her soul. As she is saved. The water drips down her neck as she peers out at the crowd, her wet bangs sticking to her forehead. She looks out as hands smack together in celebration, celebration of her. Her eternal life now born. Despite that, all she can think about, all that occupies her heart, is Adrian. It should beat for him, for this holy figure that watches over her life and yet it beats for her. In the basement of a church she committed a grave sin. In the basement of a church a girl's flesh made contact with hers. In the cloak of night she was transformed into the vision of Eve. She loathed Eve. Revolted by her weakness. Disgusted by her betrayal to her father, her holy father. As she sat on the cold tile in the basement of a church she watched as her hands, now tainted, gathered a small pool of her tears. Sadness? Anger? Satisfaction? She was made a woman at the hand of a woman. What heaven would ever accept such a sinner? She shuts her eyes as her fingers intertwine with each other. 

Hello god. Or jesus. Whoever is listening, if anyone is. I hope you are. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I am flawed. I didn't- No I did. I wanted to, and that’s what makes it so horrible. I wanted to. I didn’t know it was wrong, I swear I didn’t know. I think I love her. I think I do. Perhaps love is an improper word. How do I describe something I’ve never felt? Have you ever felt this way? Could I love her? No I couldn’t. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. I gave my heart to you and you alone only hours ago and in your house I betrayed you. That’s the thing. I don’t think you ever had all of it. I believe a part of it has resided in her for longer than I’ve realized. For longer than I care to admit. I don’t know how much I should tell you. But father, I believe you were there. She touched me, and I liked it. Then the cross on the wall behind me fell as I threw my head back. I believe that was you. I felt safe with her, it’s never felt safe before. I’m sorry I shouldn’t say that. Purify me lord, I beg of you. Grant your daughter this wish. Though I deserve nothing from you, save me. I plead.  I will never see her again. I am yours and yours alone. My heart shall only belong to you. Until the day I return to you. This I vow: I will never know a woman’s touch again. I will never give my heart to another more than I give it to you….Amen 

The door flings open as her mother surveys the damage, pages of scripture scattered across the floor. A pair of scissors lie next to the remains of a push up bra. The word sinner concealed behind the cover of a diary. A shattered girl sits on her bed, beside her a mother’s hand interlaces with hers, the sizes matching now. And as she squeezes and eventually lets go, the spirit leaves with it. 

That summer she will go to a protest. That summer she will scream at a float in a pride parade. That summer she will spew hate from her lips. She will recognize the girl waving a rainbow flag high in the air. They will lock eyes the way they did the day of her first kiss. That summer her heart will be awoken again. That summer she’ll understand the plea her heart had been begging for the whole time. That summer she’ll release the sign she’s holding and grab the hand of the girl she once loved. She’ll be pulled into a hug and watch her family disappear behind her forever as the parade proceeds. And she’ll smile behind tears. 

“And forgive us our tresspasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”

Years later she sits on the roof of her New York apartment, a cupcake in hand with the number 20 in candles on top. Beside her, asleep, is the woman she loves, whom she's living with for the summer. It felt appropriate after nine months of being together. The gestation period of a baby. The moon hangs over them as she looks up, the stars normally hidden from view illuminated brightly. Words she had not thought of in years appear in her mind. They creep in the way the evil thoughts around her body did as a teenager, the way they still do sometimes. Without warning, when her defenses are down. The sensation of returning to a home you set on fire, the remains a pile of ash and dust. The unwarranted thoughts are ended by her own voice piercing the darkness, identifying the words, Isaiah 41:10. The words that once meant the world to her, now reduced to a collection of syllables. These words that once lived in her mind without question now lie in the web of her subconscious. These words that no longer control her. They trigger memories she long had forgotten. She recalls the way he allowed her to fall into a darkness she had never known, a hell of her own creation. How he left her alone with a mind that tore her apart. She recalls how it wasn’t him that pulled her back out again. She sits the dessert beside the woman who became her new religion. She steps away to preserve her lover’s sleep and kneels. A five year old’s voice, decorated in a dress complete with tulle, returns to her. You are the tallest in the eyes of god when you’re on your knees. So she kneels. The way she kneeled in highschool, trying to make sense of her sins. Trying to cleanse herself of the thoughts the church told her were wrong for women to have. Trying to be a woman. Allowing obnoxious boys to enter and exit as they please. She kneels and looks to the sky, heaven waiting behind the clouds, allegedly. So she tries:  

“Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil” 

Hello father, God, Mesiah, Jesus, whatever the fuck you’re going by nowadays. Long time no see asshole how are you? I didn’t mean that. Though you know that. You can read my thoughts, or so they say. So what’s the point of this? This prayer thing. This telephone game we play. If you’re here, constantly, which is creepy by the way the fuck kind of santa operation do you have going on? I turned 20 today. Jesus christ you know that. Right, sorry. Name in vain and all that. I shouldn’t say fuck, wait it’s my thought I can say fuck if I want to. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck, ok that’s childish. 

When did I lose my life? I’m asking you but more so asking myself. Was it the day he died? When he joined you they say. Was it the day she and I, well you saw. I refuse to believe that was wrong by the way, I don’t have shame about it anymore. It took a long time to, to erase the bullshit the people who follow you told me. It’s been three years since I fell out of love with you. Since this relationship was no longer worth the pain that came along with it. Younger me needed you, and you weren’t there. Were you ever there? Have I always been alone? 

She turns her head and watches as her lover flips to the other side.

Do I have you to thank for her? Do you even support this shit? What the fuck are you man? Who the fuck are you? I get such contradictory ideas of who you are and what you stand for. You love all your children unless they’re different. You kill the innocent. You reward the evil. You allow war and destruction and death and pain. You allowed my pain…. For so long. And what you just watched?....... When did I lose my life?...... Was it the day I gave it to you? I’m asking you these things by asking you nothing. I’ve healed much of the damage you caused me. I’ve taken the power away from you and put it back in myself. But even still, how could I have ever given myself to you. To someone, someone who isn’t even real to cause me so much pain. So much suffering. I guess that’s your thing though right. Make people suffer so they need you. Well I don’t anymore. I made this life without you. And yet here I am talking to you now. What does that say about me? …….. I’m 20 today. And I’m just as lost as I was when you dropped me on this god forsaken planet. 

The clouds shift hiding the stars.

Good talk, your holy one. Helpful as always. 

“For thine is the kingdom, the power, the glory, for ever and ever”

The sound of tape ripping echoes throughout the house. The busy feet of movers milling and seething in and out. Picture frames and photo albums are placed into boxes and moved into vans parked outside. A six year old girl is in the same backyard her mother once played in running from her mom. A tiny finger gun is formed as the woman on the receiving end falls to the ground, the small child collapsing on top of her body. Wrapped up in an embrace of laughter and showered with kisses. From her childhood bedroom window she waves at her young family in the backyard she once played in. A shelf, covered in a thick layer of dust and dander stands untouched and unobserved. Behind a row of cleverly placed pictures and knick knacks rests a collection of a life of religion. A gold cross necklace placed as a bookmark in a bright pink edition of the bible. To the right of it are years worth of the same text annotated and marked, the spines falling off. She flinches as her fingers make contact with the book, pages of it having been torn out, blackened out poetry remaining. She draws a pained smile for the little girl who made this work of light from darkness. As her daughter resting on her mothers hip appears in the doorway she looks up and smiles. Her wife looks down at the remains of the book as a wave of recognition shoots across her face. Her lover takes her hand and three squeezes are exchanged as the child reaches over taking the book in her hand. 

A-M-E-N

She walks the length of her childhood backyard for the last time. She feels the jagged edges of the lemon tree that she carved her name into during a game of pirates, marking her territory. Her toes sway back and forth over the soft freshly mowed grass. She lays flat on the ground and looks up at the blue sky decorated with white clouds moving with the wind. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, a hand drawing to her heart. 

Hello dad. I’m no longer confident in the place in which I first believed you to exist. The heaven of milk and honey I made in my mind, the paradise I laid you to rest in.  I’m not sure what I believe anymore, to be frank. But I like to think you’re somewhere where you can hear me. You have a granddaughter, I can’t believe it’s been that long since I’ve spoken to you. She has your eyes, she thinks the same. She’ll point to them and say, GG and I have the same eyes. She calls you GG by the way, I’m sure you would have loved it. I miss you, still. I wonder if you and mom are together. We sold the house, the memories were, well, we’re going to make new memories elsewhere. I ended up marrying a woman after all, not Adrian though she and I are good friends. Her son and my daughter actually have their own little budding romance. My wife and I will have been married for 10 years next month. I forgave myself, and I’m learning to forgive him. Him being, well, I’m sure you can assume who. Look at that, it’s him who needs my forgiveness now. I’m happy daddy, I am. They make me very, very happy. Happier than he ever could have made me. She loves me the way he was meant to. We miss you on this side of life. I hope you’re happy too. I hope wherever you are is as beautiful as those seas of milk I dreamed of as a kid. I hope it’s warm and you’re loved the way someone is meant to be loved. 

“Mommy?” 

“I’m coming honey.”

Amen