Before entering the hallowed halls of Jehovah for the first time,
Voltron and Nelson had to not only practice our reverent facial expressions
(which we did much in the way that a movie protagonist amps him or herself up
in the mirror before asking someone out on a date, trying out potential
introductory phrases or coy smiles, except for in our case, we were
workshopping the patented praise-song hand-raise accompanied by the serious
head-nod and upward gaze) but also had to nail
the wardrobe. Voltron opted for a Ned Flanders, khakis-and-green sweater look
while I went more in a teacherly direction: ever-so-slightly high-waisted (in
other words, not high enough to be high-waisted on purpose thus falling
somewhere in the mom-jeans fit area) black pants that billow out awkwardly in
the hip/mid-thigh region and an innocuous, cream-colored sweater. Perfect attire for not only avoiding a display of sexuality but for also actively repulsing others around me with my body.
It was in these getups that we first infiltrated the new
scene of our undercover atheism, ready to get to the bottom of this
institution. Unfortunately, I did not immediately get a chance to test out my
character as, upon arrival, Voltron was whisked away by a stalwart, no-nonsense
woman who we shall refer to as Frau Blucher, and I was left in the parlor to
wait as Frau and other members of the committee interrogated him to ascertain
his godliness and piano abilities. From the parlor, however, I was able to come
to several immediate conclusions about the nature of this establishment. For
example, two tiny, tacky chandeliers on an enormous ceiling bespoke the failed
attempt at cultivating an atmosphere of grandiosity and luxury for the lord;
the card table on which the Operation Christmas Child pamphlets were fanned out
foretold a
neediness-only-exists-far-away-and-neediness-consists-of-lacking-toiletries
philosophy of service; and the claw-foot, rigidly upholstered, rock-hard divan
on which I sat prophesied that the mean age of these particular churchgoers was
probably something around 70.
The latter hypothesis was bolstered by the subsequent
arrival of Big Geezy. Coming in at a solid 4 foot 10, this ancient woman ambled
into the parlor as her ride to and from church that night, John Arbuckle (the choir
director, yet to be introduced…will come later), sped quickly through the
sitting area, waved a hello, and darted away to attend to official, secret
church business. She introduced herself and plopped down next to me on the
divan, and within 5 minutes I had learned the bulk of her life story. Here’s
the upshot: everyone she’s ever known or loved (two husbands, 9 brothers and
sisters, other relatives) is dead. She lives in a 5 bedroom, 3-car garage home
of loneliness. She can barely see 5 feet in front of her, yet somehow succeeded
into getting her driver’s license renewed. As she told the story of that most recent
trip to the DMV, her weak, bony legs dangled off the couch not reaching the
floor, and her shiny gold slippers fell off one by one onto the carpeted floor
revealing gnarly toes withered and bent to one side as if a great wind had
blown them permanently in the same direction. Fearful of seeming rude by
staring, trance-like at her feet, I concentrated now on her face, but was
seized with the desire to run my finger over the deeply corrugated skin of her
upper lip. HOW CAN SKIN BE SO LOOSE?
We spent an hour together waiting for the great
pianist-finding-committee tribunal to end and choir rehearsal to begin, in which
time I developed a warm feeling for Big Geezy. Between her lamenting having
prettied-herself up for her driver’s license renewal appointment, insisting
that “the man in the DMV would have treated me better had I spent all night
drunk in a car and walked in that morning stinking of alcohol” and her singing
an ode to the beauty and excellence of rocking chairs (“I could rock and rock
and rock all day.”), I decided that she needs to be our church friend. Think of
the amazing parties we could throw in that giant house and how grateful she
would be for the company of whomever in the world decided to show up. We could
paper the whole town with invites, open the doors, and watch magic unfold. The
objectives for our undercover operations are shaping up, but number 1 on the
list is to befriend Big Geezy in a serious way.
In the coming installments: recap of the sermon entirely based
on the movie Gravity, get-to-know-the-choir,
and hunting out the insidious shadow people.
No comments:
Post a Comment