Altar Call
by Razi Shadmehry
Image by Josh Applegate on Unsplash
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In the beginning, there was fire. Or, a perfect and epic collision of dust, gas, water, and then fire. Uninhabitable earth. A flash of light, an elemental whirl, and then lava became rock, condensation became oceans, and their plates pushed up mountains, stony and silent. The story the Bible tells is not real. No gardens. What we know as Hell was, ultimately, the genesis of all of this.
I don’t say this to my mother. I don’t say it to Ms. Christine either, even though she said we could talk to her about anything, and I believe her because she bought Laura tampons in sixth grade when she was too scared to ask her mom. Still, the truth of Earth’s wrath and fury feels like my business alone. |
Plus, I don’t have many questions about Earth’s creation because I saw a video in school just a few weeks before graduation. It all took a very long time—longer than the five minute video, and longer than seven days. Six, I mean, because God rested on the seventh day. And five, really, because on day six He made animals and Adam, and then Eve from Adam’s rib.
“See? God made boys first, Hannah,” was the second thing Danny ever said to me, after he’d finished crying and crying.
It was Vacation Bible School week the summer after fourth grade. Ms. Christine made us shake hands before the relay games began, tug-of-war up first. He was captain of one team and I was captain of the other.
“May the best man win,” Danny said, which was the first thing he ever said to me.
It was Vacation Bible School week the summer after fourth grade. Ms. Christine made us shake hands before the relay games began, tug-of-war up first. He was captain of one team and I was captain of the other.
“May the best man win,” Danny said, which was the first thing he ever said to me.
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I shook his hand with a tight grip like my mother taught me, then marched back to my side of the rope. Laura’s sleeves were pushed up like mine, ready to stand behind me and pull. Cara squatted, more interested in the field of daisies than field day. At the sight of me coming, Carson kicked her to attention, and then the other kids fell in line too. I took my spot at the front,
Danny took his, and I felt him tugging before the whistle even blew. Finally, my team won fair and square after the tie-breaker, and we had to shake hands again. Danny’s face was red with anger and hard work. I stretched my hand out towards him and he looked at Ms. Christine as though he didn’t want to meet me there. |
"My father who art in Heaven because he died. Car crash, six months after I was born. These things are God's will. When dad's death comes up, my mom says the church saved all of us." |
“Be a good sport, Danny,” she said.
He stepped up to me with his head down. His hand was gritty and sweaty.
“The best woman won,” I said, staring at the crown of his head and daring him to look at me, but he didn’t.
It was just as fair as what he’d said before the games began, and yet Danny burst into tears like a baby. He ran to Ms. Christine.
“Hannah, say you’re sorry,” she said sternly.
“For what?”
Danny sniffled: “You called me a GIRL.”
Our teammates paid us no attention, their matching shirts now a teal mass in my mind. The theme that year was All Aboard, and the shirts featured Noah’s ark filled with lions, tigers, bears.
“But—” I began.
“That’s not very nice, Hannah,” Ms. Christine interrupted.
“He called me a man first.”
“Hannah—” she sighed.
I apologized to the trees over Danny’s shoulder. Water games were up next and I didn’t want to waste time. This was seven years ago, back when I was ten, and still I think it was pretty clever of me, pretty babyish of him, and annoying of Ms. Christine. But I have forgiven her. Danny, I was never angry with. Instead, I’ve been curious.
He stepped up to me with his head down. His hand was gritty and sweaty.
“The best woman won,” I said, staring at the crown of his head and daring him to look at me, but he didn’t.
It was just as fair as what he’d said before the games began, and yet Danny burst into tears like a baby. He ran to Ms. Christine.
“Hannah, say you’re sorry,” she said sternly.
“For what?”
Danny sniffled: “You called me a GIRL.”
Our teammates paid us no attention, their matching shirts now a teal mass in my mind. The theme that year was All Aboard, and the shirts featured Noah’s ark filled with lions, tigers, bears.
“But—” I began.
“That’s not very nice, Hannah,” Ms. Christine interrupted.
“He called me a man first.”
“Hannah—” she sighed.
I apologized to the trees over Danny’s shoulder. Water games were up next and I didn’t want to waste time. This was seven years ago, back when I was ten, and still I think it was pretty clever of me, pretty babyish of him, and annoying of Ms. Christine. But I have forgiven her. Danny, I was never angry with. Instead, I’ve been curious.
My grandfather used to pray over family meals: “Dear Heavenly Father, bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. Thank you for this family. In your name we pray, amen.”
Heads bowed, my brother would squeeze my hand as hard as he could. Every time I opened my eyes, his were open too, waiting for a reaction. None of the adults ever dared to peek during the prayer, so this was my silent suffering.
When I got a little bigger I started squeezing back, but not until my grandfather had passed and it was Nana’s turn to preside over the prayer. We had thirty seconds flat to see who could squeeze hardest before the hum of “amen.” It was fun, eventually, to watch my brother’s face change at the pain of my hand in his.
Heads bowed, my brother would squeeze my hand as hard as he could. Every time I opened my eyes, his were open too, waiting for a reaction. None of the adults ever dared to peek during the prayer, so this was my silent suffering.
When I got a little bigger I started squeezing back, but not until my grandfather had passed and it was Nana’s turn to preside over the prayer. We had thirty seconds flat to see who could squeeze hardest before the hum of “amen.” It was fun, eventually, to watch my brother’s face change at the pain of my hand in his.
We went to Spain earlier this summer to visit my brother who’s studying abroad. He used a little bit of the money dad left him. Nana paid for her, Mom, and me to go as my high school graduation present. The cathedrals were a spectacle. All for the love of God, my mom sighed, but to me they seemed like acts of fear, like God might have mercy on whoever had the craziest ceiling.
“Your father would not approve of me saying this,” my mom whispered at a monastery in Granada, “but the Catholics sure can paint.”
My father who art in Heaven because he died. Car crash, six months after I was born. These things are God’s will. When dad’s death comes up, my mom says the church saved all of us.
My brother loved the naked ladies on the ceiling. My mother scoffed at them when Nana did, but I saw her looking up when she thought nobody noticed. I didn’t look up for long even though I sort of wanted to. What I couldn’t stop staring at, though, was all the stained glass. It colored the pews in a way I’d never seen at home.
“The panels of glass tell the stories of the Bible,” the guide said. “So that people who couldn’t read could still understand.”
I didn’t know there were people who couldn’t read except for babies.
“But also,” the guide continued, “they believed that the quickest route to God was through the light.”
“Your father would not approve of me saying this,” my mom whispered at a monastery in Granada, “but the Catholics sure can paint.”
My father who art in Heaven because he died. Car crash, six months after I was born. These things are God’s will. When dad’s death comes up, my mom says the church saved all of us.
My brother loved the naked ladies on the ceiling. My mother scoffed at them when Nana did, but I saw her looking up when she thought nobody noticed. I didn’t look up for long even though I sort of wanted to. What I couldn’t stop staring at, though, was all the stained glass. It colored the pews in a way I’d never seen at home.
“The panels of glass tell the stories of the Bible,” the guide said. “So that people who couldn’t read could still understand.”
I didn’t know there were people who couldn’t read except for babies.
“But also,” the guide continued, “they believed that the quickest route to God was through the light.”
Image by Jessica Mangano on Unsplash
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The only time Danny ever saw me cry was at camp the summer before high school. It was the last night after a long week of relay races, Bible studies, and worship sessions. Singing along with the worship band was my favorite part of the day, besides breakfast, lunch, and dinner. At nighttime worship, a lot of people cried. I never did, but there was a tug in my chest when the music played.
We were eighth graders that summer, which meant we were first in line at the dining hall, slept in the biggest cabin, and got an extra hour of free time in the afternoon. That day, Laura and I had spent it throwing each other off the blob. We each had two corn dogs for dinner, and then Laura said she had to shower before worship. “But we never shower before worship,” I said, and she said she had to go on stage with Ms. Christine. “To share my testimony,” she added, then grabbed her towel and shut the door. |
I laid on my bed in dirty clothes while Laura showered, and then I showered because she did. By the time I got out, she was already gone and I was fuming mad. I couldn’t think of a reason Ms. Christine would invite Laura on stage and not me. If anything, she should have invited me up and not Laura. I could share my testimony. About how my dad died and the church saved us.
I walked to worship with Cara and Carson. When they asked where Laura was, I only said she went early. I was relieved they weren’t going onstage either. We filled in the aisle next to the boys from our church. I sat next to Danny. I could have left the seat between us empty—we had one extra without Laura—but I didn’t want him to think I was afraid of him, or that I liked him.
“Look how big,” he said when I sat down.
He presented me with a purple welt underneath his knuckles. It was something the boys had been doing all week, giving themselves hickeys. Me and the girls tried when we got back to our cabin, but the marks mostly faded after a few minutes.
“That’s cool.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Kinda hurts,” he said. “But it’s the biggest right now. Will’s is second.”
At the sound of Will’s name, Cara perked up.
“Let me see your hickey, Will,” she said, and climbed over me to get to him.
“Sit down, Cara,” Mr. Sam said. “And you boys stop sucking yourselves.”
You boys stop sucking yourselves made us laugh until the lights went down. The camp pastor came on stage and we cheered. He was a celebrity to us that week, floating around the dining hall at meal times so we could catch a glimpse of him up close. It didn’t excite me to see the pastor from church at home, but the camp pastor felt different somehow.
“Look how big,” he said when I sat down.
He presented me with a purple welt underneath his knuckles. It was something the boys had been doing all week, giving themselves hickeys. Me and the girls tried when we got back to our cabin, but the marks mostly faded after a few minutes.
“That’s cool.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Kinda hurts,” he said. “But it’s the biggest right now. Will’s is second.”
At the sound of Will’s name, Cara perked up.
“Let me see your hickey, Will,” she said, and climbed over me to get to him.
“Sit down, Cara,” Mr. Sam said. “And you boys stop sucking yourselves.”
You boys stop sucking yourselves made us laugh until the lights went down. The camp pastor came on stage and we cheered. He was a celebrity to us that week, floating around the dining hall at meal times so we could catch a glimpse of him up close. It didn’t excite me to see the pastor from church at home, but the camp pastor felt different somehow.
“He’s so cute,” Cara whispered when the applause died down, and I guess that was the difference.
“We’re gonna talk about redemption,” the pastor said. “Y’all know what that means, redemption?”
He discussed sports teams, then coupons, and then our human souls.
“We’re all sinners,” he said. “We’re all unclean.”
If there was one thing I’d ever learned at church, it’s that we’re all dirty sinners.
“Everyone put a hand up,” he said, and we did. “Put a hand down if you’ve never told a lie,” he said, and no hands went down except for the liars. “Put a hand down if you’ve had an impure thought,” he said, and the boys laughed.
I wondered about the hickeys on the boys’ hands and what God would count as an impure thought. I put my hand down when Cara and Carson did.
“We’re all in luck tonight,” the pastor said once all the hands were down. “Because we can all be redeemed of our sins and take the clear path to Heaven if we accept Jesus into our hearts.”
That’s another thing that I’ve learned in church: accepting Jesus into your heart means you can sin all you want. I’m not sure how many times you have to do it for it to work, so I take the opportunity every chance I get—at camp every summer, a couple times a year at revival, and really anytime someone with a microphone asks if I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.
“We’re gonna talk about redemption,” the pastor said. “Y’all know what that means, redemption?”
He discussed sports teams, then coupons, and then our human souls.
“We’re all sinners,” he said. “We’re all unclean.”
If there was one thing I’d ever learned at church, it’s that we’re all dirty sinners.
“Everyone put a hand up,” he said, and we did. “Put a hand down if you’ve never told a lie,” he said, and no hands went down except for the liars. “Put a hand down if you’ve had an impure thought,” he said, and the boys laughed.
I wondered about the hickeys on the boys’ hands and what God would count as an impure thought. I put my hand down when Cara and Carson did.
“We’re all in luck tonight,” the pastor said once all the hands were down. “Because we can all be redeemed of our sins and take the clear path to Heaven if we accept Jesus into our hearts.”
That’s another thing that I’ve learned in church: accepting Jesus into your heart means you can sin all you want. I’m not sure how many times you have to do it for it to work, so I take the opportunity every chance I get—at camp every summer, a couple times a year at revival, and really anytime someone with a microphone asks if I accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior.
“We’re also in the company of true discipleship tonight,” the pastor said. “Some of your friends and campmates have felt the call in their hearts to be redeemed here on stage, out loud and in public so that others can witness their servitude.”
That’s when I noticed the back of Laura’s head sitting by Ms. Christine. I couldn’t believe Laura didn’t tell me she was going to display her servitude in front of God and everybody. I was nervous for her, suddenly. The band came back on, plucking their guitars slowly.
“I’d like to invite you up one by one,” the pastor said to the front row, “to share with us how you’ve been redeemed by God’s love and the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.”
Ms. Christine held a poster board and passed it to Laura. They stood and filed up to the stage behind other kids with poster boards. The music was soft, no words. It was always moments like these—when the band played like this and all of us were quiet—where I really thought I felt Jesus in my heart.
The first kid walked up on stage with his Bible study leader behind him. He swung a mop of floppy hair out of his eyes and held up his sign: I was LOST, it read. He flipped the sign over. Now I’m FOUND. The boy held the sign up to the light like he wanted Heaven to see. The leader patted him on the back, and they walked off stage together.
Next, a girl walked up with her leader. Instead of HOMOSEXUALITY, read the front. She flipped. I chose HEAVEN. There were a couple of claps and “amen”s while she held the sign to Heaven. It continued this way for three more signs, kids my age who had done bad and been saved, and then it was Laura’s turn.
That’s when I noticed the back of Laura’s head sitting by Ms. Christine. I couldn’t believe Laura didn’t tell me she was going to display her servitude in front of God and everybody. I was nervous for her, suddenly. The band came back on, plucking their guitars slowly.
“I’d like to invite you up one by one,” the pastor said to the front row, “to share with us how you’ve been redeemed by God’s love and the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.”
Ms. Christine held a poster board and passed it to Laura. They stood and filed up to the stage behind other kids with poster boards. The music was soft, no words. It was always moments like these—when the band played like this and all of us were quiet—where I really thought I felt Jesus in my heart.
The first kid walked up on stage with his Bible study leader behind him. He swung a mop of floppy hair out of his eyes and held up his sign: I was LOST, it read. He flipped the sign over. Now I’m FOUND. The boy held the sign up to the light like he wanted Heaven to see. The leader patted him on the back, and they walked off stage together.
Next, a girl walked up with her leader. Instead of HOMOSEXUALITY, read the front. She flipped. I chose HEAVEN. There were a couple of claps and “amen”s while she held the sign to Heaven. It continued this way for three more signs, kids my age who had done bad and been saved, and then it was Laura’s turn.
She looked pale but brave. Ms. Christine walked behind her, wiping her eyes. They stopped in the spotlight. Laura’s sign rose and covered her face. In big letters, in Laura’s handwriting: I was RAPED.
I read the words but did not understand them. Again and again, I sounded the word out in my mind. Raped, raped, raped.
I knew what it meant. But I could not connect the meaning to my friend who held the sign.
“What?” Cara whispered.
Danny shifted beside me. More whispers rose across our aisle. Laura flipped her sign. On the back, she’d written: Now I’m sexually PURE.
“Did you know that?” Cara leaned into my ear.
I stared at the word PURE that my friend had written in black marker with her careful left hand, blue chipped polish. She held it up like a shield until Ms. Christine put a hand on her back. There were claps and “amen”s as Laura left the stage.
Cara whispered my name.
Carson sniffled. Danny shifted again. I was filled with a fresh feeling, something ugly, new, and
unadulterated: hatred.
I read the words but did not understand them. Again and again, I sounded the word out in my mind. Raped, raped, raped.
I knew what it meant. But I could not connect the meaning to my friend who held the sign.
“What?” Cara whispered.
Danny shifted beside me. More whispers rose across our aisle. Laura flipped her sign. On the back, she’d written: Now I’m sexually PURE.
“Did you know that?” Cara leaned into my ear.
I stared at the word PURE that my friend had written in black marker with her careful left hand, blue chipped polish. She held it up like a shield until Ms. Christine put a hand on her back. There were claps and “amen”s as Laura left the stage.
Cara whispered my name.
Carson sniffled. Danny shifted again. I was filled with a fresh feeling, something ugly, new, and
unadulterated: hatred.
The first time Danny and I had sex was prom this year. I didn’t tell anyone and I still haven’t. Laura thinks we did everything but and everyone else thinks we only made out. It was the first time I had sex with anyone but I didn’t tell Danny that. I knew he’d had sex with a girl from Eatonton High last summer, though I heard that from other people so maybe it wasn’t true. But he seemed to know what to do, one way or another.
Laura and I went to prom with two boys from the baseball team, but the rest of the youth group chose not to go. Afterwards, Laura told her mom she was coming to my house and I told mine I was going to hers. We texted Cara and Carson to see if they were in anybody’s basement anywhere.
Carson texted: Danny’s. 3808 Downey Rd., Ivey, GA 31031.
As if we hadn’t been to Danny’s birthday parties since elementary school.
“Kegggg,” Cara followed up.
By the time we got there, everyone was already drunk. Cara handed me and Laura a red cup each.
“Keystone,” she said, and made a face.
Laura and I shrugged because we never tasted the difference between any beer.
“Anybody from Pullman here?” Laura asked.
“Yeah, Jon Riley, Rhett and some other guys I don’t know,” Cara said.
Laura was only waiting to hear Rhett’s name anyway, and right on cue he called her over to be his pong partner. She left my side without a word. I knew I wouldn’t see her again until it was time to go, and we might not even go until morning.
“Why does she like him so much?” Cara asked when Laura was out of earshot.
“Don’t know,” I said, and took a big sip of beer.
Laura and I went to prom with two boys from the baseball team, but the rest of the youth group chose not to go. Afterwards, Laura told her mom she was coming to my house and I told mine I was going to hers. We texted Cara and Carson to see if they were in anybody’s basement anywhere.
Carson texted: Danny’s. 3808 Downey Rd., Ivey, GA 31031.
As if we hadn’t been to Danny’s birthday parties since elementary school.
“Kegggg,” Cara followed up.
By the time we got there, everyone was already drunk. Cara handed me and Laura a red cup each.
“Keystone,” she said, and made a face.
Laura and I shrugged because we never tasted the difference between any beer.
“Anybody from Pullman here?” Laura asked.
“Yeah, Jon Riley, Rhett and some other guys I don’t know,” Cara said.
Laura was only waiting to hear Rhett’s name anyway, and right on cue he called her over to be his pong partner. She left my side without a word. I knew I wouldn’t see her again until it was time to go, and we might not even go until morning.
“Why does she like him so much?” Cara asked when Laura was out of earshot.
“Don’t know,” I said, and took a big sip of beer.
Mostly, Rhett made fun of Laura when she made a bad shot and this would make her giggle, and then he would say something mean about her hair or her outfit and that would make her eyes roll, and then they’d sit on the couch and Laura would swing her legs over his lap and that would make him flip his hat backwards, and then finally a bedroom door would shut and that would make the boys laugh and the girls nervous, but what could we do if our friend could do whatever she wanted?
Since that summer after eighth grade, Laura wasn’t shy about sex. We gathered around her like she was a messiah. She was honest with us but kept it brief: yeah, sometimes it hurts; sure, you can just lay there; no, I’ve never swallowed it; yeah, it feels kinda good, I guess. We all had endless questions and limited experience. Laura and Cara knew the most, then Carson, then me.
I’d kissed a few guys and, one time, in a booth at Waffle House after a football game, Danny held my hand for a minute and then put it on his gym shorts. He was hard, which confused and embarrassed me, but by the time I moved my hand I wanted to know more. If he’d done it again, I wouldn’t have minded. I was watching Laura flirt with Rhett and thinking about Danny’s hard penis when he popped up beside me.
Since that summer after eighth grade, Laura wasn’t shy about sex. We gathered around her like she was a messiah. She was honest with us but kept it brief: yeah, sometimes it hurts; sure, you can just lay there; no, I’ve never swallowed it; yeah, it feels kinda good, I guess. We all had endless questions and limited experience. Laura and Cara knew the most, then Carson, then me.
I’d kissed a few guys and, one time, in a booth at Waffle House after a football game, Danny held my hand for a minute and then put it on his gym shorts. He was hard, which confused and embarrassed me, but by the time I moved my hand I wanted to know more. If he’d done it again, I wouldn’t have minded. I was watching Laura flirt with Rhett and thinking about Danny’s hard penis when he popped up beside me.
“Beer’s gonna cost ya,” Danny said. “Well, free for Cara and Carson. Five bucks for you, Hannah.”
I took another sip and puffed my cheeks like I was about to spit in his direction. Danny flinched, surprised. His laughter made me laugh, and then I accidentally spewed a little.
“Hannah!” Cara squealed, horrified like she was my mother.
“Ew,” Danny said, laughing more. “Get out of my house.”
I made myself swallow so I wouldn’t choke or make a bigger mess.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Birmingham, visiting my sister at Samford. Don’t go in their room. That’s the only rule.”
I took another sip and puffed my cheeks like I was about to spit in his direction. Danny flinched, surprised. His laughter made me laugh, and then I accidentally spewed a little.
“Hannah!” Cara squealed, horrified like she was my mother.
“Ew,” Danny said, laughing more. “Get out of my house.”
I made myself swallow so I wouldn’t choke or make a bigger mess.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“Birmingham, visiting my sister at Samford. Don’t go in their room. That’s the only rule.”
"He led me to the bathroom even though I knew where it was. I wasn't shocked when he followed me in, shut the door, and then kissed me." |
I finished my cup of Keystone and then drank three more. I could feel it in my knees that I was drunk. Danny brought me a tequila shot and I gagged but kept it down, and then we played a game where we had to drink every time we heard the word “America” in a song, and the song was all about America so we drank a lot.
“I gotta pee,” I said to Danny when the song ended a second time. He led me to the bathroom even though I knew where it was. I wasn’t shocked when he followed me in, shut the door, and then kissed me. He pushed his tongue in my mouth and it tasted like tequila which almost made me gag again, but mostly I reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of a boy’s body pressed against mine. I could hear the sounds of the party’s peak from the bathroom. I put my hands on his chest and pushed gently. |
“I really need to pee,” I said when he pulled away.
He moved, gestured to the toilet, and kept his face to the wall while I did my business. He turned around when I stood, his face flushed red with alcohol and wanting me.
“I always thought you were pretty hot,” he said.
I was drunk and believed him.
I washed my hands and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pushing his front against my back. It scared me, a little, to feel that he wanted me. But then, the fear turned to anger turned to lust turned to intrigue. I turned around and grabbed his face and kissed him hard.
This took Danny by surprise. To feel that he might fear me made me hungry and so I kissed him harder. He faltered for only a moment and then put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye. He reached for a doorknob.
“Come in here,” he said, a slurry order, and I followed him into his bedroom.
He moved, gestured to the toilet, and kept his face to the wall while I did my business. He turned around when I stood, his face flushed red with alcohol and wanting me.
“I always thought you were pretty hot,” he said.
I was drunk and believed him.
I washed my hands and he wrapped his arms around my waist, pushing his front against my back. It scared me, a little, to feel that he wanted me. But then, the fear turned to anger turned to lust turned to intrigue. I turned around and grabbed his face and kissed him hard.
This took Danny by surprise. To feel that he might fear me made me hungry and so I kissed him harder. He faltered for only a moment and then put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eye. He reached for a doorknob.
“Come in here,” he said, a slurry order, and I followed him into his bedroom.
The second time I ever saw Danny cry was a couple of weeks ago. It was the final night of our last-ever week of camp, since we’re about to head off to college. The band was plucking slowly and the camp pastor, the hottest one we’d ever seen, had finished a long sermon about purity. He was reciting the usual things. If we wanted to undo all the ugliness we’d done and save ourselves a spot in Heaven, all we had to do was walk up and promise our lives to the Lord.
Laura and I stood side by side, showered and in our nice clothes.
“Look at Danny,” she whispered.
I leaned across Cara and Carson to see Danny at the end of the aisle, tears streaming down his face. He had his head upturned, eyes closed, and palms to the sky in worship.
I thought about Danny’s impurities, and my own, and the ones we’d shared all summer. Something heavy thudded in my stomach.
Mr. Sam put his hand on Danny’s back and whispered, Danny nodded, and they walked up front. Danny dropped to his knees, the camp pastor said something to him, and then Danny sat with his face in his hands until the song ended and a line formed behind him at the altar.
Laura and I stood side by side, showered and in our nice clothes.
“Look at Danny,” she whispered.
I leaned across Cara and Carson to see Danny at the end of the aisle, tears streaming down his face. He had his head upturned, eyes closed, and palms to the sky in worship.
I thought about Danny’s impurities, and my own, and the ones we’d shared all summer. Something heavy thudded in my stomach.
Mr. Sam put his hand on Danny’s back and whispered, Danny nodded, and they walked up front. Danny dropped to his knees, the camp pastor said something to him, and then Danny sat with his face in his hands until the song ended and a line formed behind him at the altar.
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Later, at worship circle—where we all circled up and debriefed after worship—Mr. Sam called Danny to the middle. He looked tear-stained and tired, like the boy I remembered from tug-of-war.
“Danny has made the decision to dedicate his life to our Lord and Savior,” Mr. Sam said. I clapped because that’s what we were supposed to do. Mr. Sam turned to Danny and put an arm around his shoulder. He continued: “Danny, I’m so thankful to have you as a brother in Christ, and so proud you’ve secured your spot in Heaven. Let us pray for Danny.” I bowed my head, muscle memory. Mr. Sam thanked God for Danny’s discipleship and for cleansing his impurities. For the first time in my life, I worried that my quiet answers to every altar call didn’t actually count, and I wished I would have cried and wailed and raised a sign to Heaven so there’d be no doubt that I was light enough for God to see. |
Image by Negar Nikkhah on Unsplash
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During the worship circle after Laura was redeemed, I cried so hard I almost vomited. They pulled her into the circle, we began to pray over her, and then she burst into tears and so we all did. Finally, Ms. Christine walked all of us soon-to-be ninth grade girls into the hallway. I was halfway embarrassed and halfway curious who dared to look right at us, so I scanned the room. Danny’s eyes snapped to the floor when I caught them on me.
“Remember when I went to beach camp with Mountain Lake?” Laura asked once we’d all calmed down a little.
We nodded. Mountain Lake was the big, non-denominational church in Macon. Every year, they went to the beach in Florida instead of the lake nearby like we did. Laura went with girls from her travel softball team.
“Well, there was this guy there…”
He was twenty, an intern for the church, and he told Laura he’d teach her how to surf. But that’s not what he did when she arrived at his condo, and she said that when the camp called her parents, her dad ripped his shirt right off his body. There was something about cops, and a restraining order, but mostly the church promised they fired the intern and that was all.
That was all. I hated that guy, I hated that church, I hated that Ms. Christine wasn’t there to teach Laura how to surf instead, I hated everyone who was there and didn’t go with Laura, especially her stupid softball friends who were off with Pullman boys while Laura was knocking on a stranger’s door.
“Remember when I went to beach camp with Mountain Lake?” Laura asked once we’d all calmed down a little.
We nodded. Mountain Lake was the big, non-denominational church in Macon. Every year, they went to the beach in Florida instead of the lake nearby like we did. Laura went with girls from her travel softball team.
“Well, there was this guy there…”
He was twenty, an intern for the church, and he told Laura he’d teach her how to surf. But that’s not what he did when she arrived at his condo, and she said that when the camp called her parents, her dad ripped his shirt right off his body. There was something about cops, and a restraining order, but mostly the church promised they fired the intern and that was all.
That was all. I hated that guy, I hated that church, I hated that Ms. Christine wasn’t there to teach Laura how to surf instead, I hated everyone who was there and didn’t go with Laura, especially her stupid softball friends who were off with Pullman boys while Laura was knocking on a stranger’s door.
And I was mad at Ms. Christine, and everyone at our church, too, and at Laura for not telling me, and at myself for not already knowing. She’d told me that she had fun at beach camp and came home early because she had a bad period. Her period was always bad, so I didn’t think twice about it.
“Thank you for your bravery, Laura,” Ms. Christine said, and the other girls nodded. “Does anybody have more questions?” and the other girls shook their heads.
Ms. Christine said we could talk to her if more questions came up. She also said that we don’t always have to understand why bad things happen, we just have to trust in God’s perfect timing. I hesitated when everyone else stood to leave. If God was always in control, I couldn’t think of anyone else to call on to answer for what had happened to my friend.
“Hannah, why don’t you and Laura go to the dining hall,” Ms. Christine said, forcing me to attention.
She slipped me two tickets to sneak into Senior Sundaes, a late night ice cream party for seniors, which we wouldn’t be for four more summers. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and looked directly at Laura for the first time. Her eyes were red and waiting on me, as if I were the only thing she’d watched all night, and I wanted to collapse.
My right hand, my funniest friend, my fastest friend, my bravest and absolute best friend. Suddenly, there was a crack between us. Ms. Christine shut the door behind her and Laura’s face crumpled. Now that we were totally alone, I knew it couldn’t be me who collapsed, even though Laura now existed on a plane I couldn’t understand. When Laura rushed into my arms I caught her, and together we cried until our shoulders dripped with snot.
“Thank you for your bravery, Laura,” Ms. Christine said, and the other girls nodded. “Does anybody have more questions?” and the other girls shook their heads.
Ms. Christine said we could talk to her if more questions came up. She also said that we don’t always have to understand why bad things happen, we just have to trust in God’s perfect timing. I hesitated when everyone else stood to leave. If God was always in control, I couldn’t think of anyone else to call on to answer for what had happened to my friend.
“Hannah, why don’t you and Laura go to the dining hall,” Ms. Christine said, forcing me to attention.
She slipped me two tickets to sneak into Senior Sundaes, a late night ice cream party for seniors, which we wouldn’t be for four more summers. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand and looked directly at Laura for the first time. Her eyes were red and waiting on me, as if I were the only thing she’d watched all night, and I wanted to collapse.
My right hand, my funniest friend, my fastest friend, my bravest and absolute best friend. Suddenly, there was a crack between us. Ms. Christine shut the door behind her and Laura’s face crumpled. Now that we were totally alone, I knew it couldn’t be me who collapsed, even though Laura now existed on a plane I couldn’t understand. When Laura rushed into my arms I caught her, and together we cried until our shoulders dripped with snot.
Seeing Danny’s body was fascinating and embarrassing. He was sort of my friend, but mostly he was a person who’d been in my orbit since childhood. Whether I was walking into school or church or a basement on a Friday night, Danny was a fixture of the landscape. I saw him often, but I’d never really seen him. His body didn’t look like the men painted on the ceiling or chiseled into marble like I’d seen in Spain.
The first time did hurt, like Laura said it would. I bled a little bit and Danny stopped and said he was sorry. I was drunk enough that I didn’t care and so he kept going. In the morning, I would cry at the thought of his mother being angry at my blood on the sheets, but I wasn’t thinking about that when he told me to get on top of him. Danny looked up at me like he couldn’t believe he’d been chosen, like I was a prize and he’d won. It shifted something sudden and shadowy in me, being wanted like that.
When he was about to be done, he pushed my hips away and told me to get off. I stood to dress so I didn’t have to watch what came next. He said most girls used the bathroom after so that’s what I did, and then we went back to the party like nothing happened. I was sore and burning for a couple of days, but mostly I found it all kind of interesting.
Especially the weeks that followed. Danny was different around me. Maybe he was scared. I could feel him looking at me during church service and when we stood in a circle of our friends at school. I felt untouchable and mysterious, and like I had something over Danny that I hadn’t had before: power.
The first time did hurt, like Laura said it would. I bled a little bit and Danny stopped and said he was sorry. I was drunk enough that I didn’t care and so he kept going. In the morning, I would cry at the thought of his mother being angry at my blood on the sheets, but I wasn’t thinking about that when he told me to get on top of him. Danny looked up at me like he couldn’t believe he’d been chosen, like I was a prize and he’d won. It shifted something sudden and shadowy in me, being wanted like that.
When he was about to be done, he pushed my hips away and told me to get off. I stood to dress so I didn’t have to watch what came next. He said most girls used the bathroom after so that’s what I did, and then we went back to the party like nothing happened. I was sore and burning for a couple of days, but mostly I found it all kind of interesting.
Especially the weeks that followed. Danny was different around me. Maybe he was scared. I could feel him looking at me during church service and when we stood in a circle of our friends at school. I felt untouchable and mysterious, and like I had something over Danny that I hadn’t had before: power.
|
We leave for college next week. Me and Laura are going to Kennesaw and living with two girls from Atlanta. Danny’s going to Samford. Cara and Carson are going to Southern. My brother just got home from Spain and makes fun of Mom when she cries about me growing up, so I try to be nice. Everyone’s doting on me. This morning, while Nana made a big breakfast, Mom tapped on the door and sat on my bed.
“I prayed and prayed for a girl, you know. In secret,” she said. “Your father was terrified of a girl, but I wanted one. That’s why you’re named Hannah. My answered prayer.” Because Hannah from the Bible was patient and trusting and eventually God blessed her. We stood and I let my mom hug me tight. I didn’t ask why my father feared fathering a girl. And I didn’t ask if it was a blessing to be a girl, or just a blessing to rule one. “Biscuits’re ready!” Nana called, and my mom squeezed me another time before we walked downstairs together. |
"Danny looked up at me like he couldn't believe he'd been chosen, like I was a prize and he'd won. It shifted something sudden and shadowy in me, being wanted like that." |
When we arrive at church, we part ways at the center aisle and I sit with my friends like I have since I was twelve. Except today, Laura, Cara, and Carson sit at the end of our usual pew, all full because Carson’s cousins are in town. The girls stand to hug me hello, but now my only choice is to sit next to Danny and two other guys in the pew behind them.
“What’s up,” he says.
“Y’know,” I don’t know what else to say.
I want the girls to turn around and talk to me, but Carson and Laura are whispering side-by-side, and Cara leans over them to bother Will. Danny laughs at his friend and then turns to me, a smirk on his face.
“Are you hot, Hannah?” he asks.
I’m confused. “Not really, why?”
“Nothing. Just—you know what they say about whores in church,” and his flutter of a wink reaches the center of my chest.
Since prom, we’ve had sex three other times—at a party on the last day of school, at a party after graduation, and then the morning after that. This is the first time he’s acknowledged I’ve done something a whore would do. He’s the only one who knows.
“What’s up,” he says.
“Y’know,” I don’t know what else to say.
I want the girls to turn around and talk to me, but Carson and Laura are whispering side-by-side, and Cara leans over them to bother Will. Danny laughs at his friend and then turns to me, a smirk on his face.
“Are you hot, Hannah?” he asks.
I’m confused. “Not really, why?”
“Nothing. Just—you know what they say about whores in church,” and his flutter of a wink reaches the center of my chest.
Since prom, we’ve had sex three other times—at a party on the last day of school, at a party after graduation, and then the morning after that. This is the first time he’s acknowledged I’ve done something a whore would do. He’s the only one who knows.
“Oh, fuck you,” I roll my eyes.
I lean forward and stick my head between Laura and Carson’s, pretending to listen to their conversation. Danny’s friends laugh. I’m sick. I know that all of them have done what Danny and I do. A lot, with girls they call whores. I try to think of a synonym for the word to use for men, but I cannot find one.
The organ tolls. The sermon is geared to us graduating seniors. The pastor, a man I’ve been made to listen to since before I could speak myself, reminds us that we always have a home here, and that church is everywhere, not just within these four walls. The thought suffocates me, that I will be at church no matter where I go.
“Bow your heads, join hands with a neighbor, and let us pray,” the pastor calls.
Mid-morning sun streams in through tall windows. The parking lot is all I can see from my pew. We don’t have stained glass—no color nor medium for the story of Jesus except for what we’re told, or what we choose to read ourselves—but I have always thought our church was beautiful, that if there is a Heaven, there must be light-washed wood and white walls in at least some of the rooms. The Lord’s Prayer begins, and Danny slips his hand into mine.
I lean forward and stick my head between Laura and Carson’s, pretending to listen to their conversation. Danny’s friends laugh. I’m sick. I know that all of them have done what Danny and I do. A lot, with girls they call whores. I try to think of a synonym for the word to use for men, but I cannot find one.
The organ tolls. The sermon is geared to us graduating seniors. The pastor, a man I’ve been made to listen to since before I could speak myself, reminds us that we always have a home here, and that church is everywhere, not just within these four walls. The thought suffocates me, that I will be at church no matter where I go.
“Bow your heads, join hands with a neighbor, and let us pray,” the pastor calls.
Mid-morning sun streams in through tall windows. The parking lot is all I can see from my pew. We don’t have stained glass—no color nor medium for the story of Jesus except for what we’re told, or what we choose to read ourselves—but I have always thought our church was beautiful, that if there is a Heaven, there must be light-washed wood and white walls in at least some of the rooms. The Lord’s Prayer begins, and Danny slips his hand into mine.
“Our father who art in Heaven,” and now Danny’s hand is on my knee. “Hallowed be Thy name,” he slides from my knee to my thigh. “Thy kingdom come,” a sharp breath as he moves further up. “Thy will be done,” and no adult dares open their eyes. “On earth as it is in Heaven,” and I grab his hand and hold it firmly between us on the wooden pew.
My eyes and legs stay squeezed shut until the prayer ends. Danny scoots away from me and doesn’t look my way once for the rest of the service. I wish I were sitting with my friends or with my mom and Nana. Somewhere, my brother sits with his own church friends, and for the first time I wonder if he knows what I know. I want to tap Laura and leave together and tell her about how I am mad about church—about how I cannot decide if devotion and domination sit side-by-side, or are overlaid completely—but we never leave church early and I know I must stay.
My eyes and legs stay squeezed shut until the prayer ends. Danny scoots away from me and doesn’t look my way once for the rest of the service. I wish I were sitting with my friends or with my mom and Nana. Somewhere, my brother sits with his own church friends, and for the first time I wonder if he knows what I know. I want to tap Laura and leave together and tell her about how I am mad about church—about how I cannot decide if devotion and domination sit side-by-side, or are overlaid completely—but we never leave church early and I know I must stay.
Danny is careful, almost fearful when we’re alone in a bedroom together. Nothing like how he is in front of his friends in church. As a teenager, my brother dropped dollars from his allowance into the offering every week, then pulled my hair and pinched my sides till I quietly cried in the pew. Laura never missed a single service after the bad thing happened to her, and even still goes to Mountain Lake sometimes. Her mother nor my mother ever said anything about what happened. Ms. Christine didn’t either, and us girls only ever whisper about it, as if pain is a dirty thing to discuss.
I sit quietly. I burn in my pew. This is another thing I’ve learned in church, that God’s children are all very quiet unless we’re begging Him for mercy. And that we should all be sorry. And that in the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. What I know alone is that there was fire and fury. Roiling, wrathful waves. And after that, obedience. Stony and silent.
I sit quietly. I burn in my pew. This is another thing I’ve learned in church, that God’s children are all very quiet unless we’re begging Him for mercy. And that we should all be sorry. And that in the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. What I know alone is that there was fire and fury. Roiling, wrathful waves. And after that, obedience. Stony and silent.
Razi Shadmehry is an Iranian-American writer from Atlanta, Georgia. She holds an MFA from Northern Arizona University and teaches English Composition at Georgia State University’s Perimeter College. Her work can be found in The Cincinnati Review, Gulf Coast, Split Lip, and elsewhere.
