What I’ll Lose by Phebe Jewell

The lady in the pink dress wants to save me. Her soft eyes wet, she reaches for me, hungry to share her joy. She steps closer, hand on my shoulder now, and pulls me to her. But I don’t like people touching me without asking. Jesus is knocking at the door of my heart. Let Him in. Everyone at the Holy Redeemer Revival wants me to say yes. I step back. What if He doesn’t like what He sees inside?

This summer I can’t wait to get to church camp. Everyone will stare when Dad and I pull up to the gravel chapel parking lot in his convertible. Everything about him seems brand new – his dark beard, flecked with gray, mirrored aviator sunglasses. It’s the first year Mom isn’t taking me to camp. Dad drives faster than usual, one hand on the wheel, the other offering a cigarette to his lips. I’ve never seen him smoke so many cigarettes in a row. Chain-smoking, Mom calls it. He’s going through a midlife crisis, she said when I asked why she wasn’t coming with us. How does she know his life is half over?

All around me shining, happy faces. Let Him in. Eternal Life. Cindy is already up at the altar, standing between the woman in pink and the preacher. Come on up, silly. What are you afraid of? Let Him in and join me. Say yes and be reborn. My right foot moves toward the front, and a shiver goes through the crowd. Holy holy holy. My left foot stays planted, unable to move forward or backward. If I’m born again, who am I?

Maybe this year I’ll find Jesus. Maybe Jesus will find me. Dad says good things come when you’re not looking. Mom and Dad met in the Safeway parking lot. He had a flat tire and was climbing out from under the car when she walked by, holding a bag of groceries to her chest. They started talking, and as Dad always says, one thing led to another. Where will this summer lead? Mom’s going to pick me up in two weeks. When I get back from camp, Dad will have moved out. Mom says it’s only temporary, but I know it’s for good. Who will I belong to?

Cindy says her sister’s a sinner, shacking up with a boyfriend, smoking pot and having sex whenever she wants to. Cindy seems okay leaving her sister to burn in hell. If I had a sister, I wouldn’t want to leave her, not even to sit by the right hand of the Lord. It’s always been just me, Mom, and Dad. Would I have to let them go?

Come on, Cindy waves. Jesus is knocking at the door of your heart. Let Him in. If I say yes, will Cindy and the woman in pink be my family? Everybody wants me to join them, to be born again in the Blood of the Lamb. Standing on the other side of salvation, they touch each other, weep, laugh, as if they are all of one skin. What would it be like to melt into each other?

The piano bangs out the refrain of “Amazing Grace,” and the congregation links arms, swaying as they sing. I stand still. Breathe in, holding Dad as he drives home alone. Breathe out Mom, laying out Dad’s clothes next to his suitcase. I sit back down in the pew. The room is a blur, except Cindy, hugging the woman in pink, looking right through me as if I’m not there.

Phebe Jewell 

Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay Altar covered with a red damask cloth and bearing two white candles in wooden holders and a wooden cross. The ten commandments are in gold on a wooden plaque on the wall behind.