Leaning forward, I found the star I scratched into the pew four years ago. It has mostly faded along with the other drawings made by other kids, but as I thought of digging my nail into the wood to bring the star back to life, I caught my mother side-eyeing me, and I obediently put my hands to my sides and looked towards the altar. Two girls, whose black Converse shoes stuck out beneath their glowing white robes, stood beside the priest as he spoke. He raised his arms in praise like it was instinct, and half-sang, half-moaned a nostalgic hymn.
Lord have mercy.
And suddenly I woke up to his voice, and raised my arms in response before my parents even looked at me. We mimicked the priest, as all of us were conditioned to do for years. The pews became a scattered ocean of arms. In front of me, a baby raised her arms as well, reaching for her father as he quietly ignored her.
Lord have mercy, I mouthed.
The priest put his arms down, as did we. When he sat down we followed suit, and I sighed even though the wooden pews offered hardly any relief. A different man approached the podium, adjusting the squeaky microphone as he opened his bible, but as my parents and the other parents and the grandparents leaned in to absorb in his words, I leaned back and scanned the huge room. I stared at the stained glass. I stared at the candle by the altar, which burns to show that God was present. This time however, the little flame flickered lazily on the wick.
Then I glanced over at Jesus on the cross, moaning in agony on the plain walls. I stared long and hard, right at the nails that pierced his palms, which made me rub my own the longer I looked. When I looked at my hands, there was still purple nail polish clinging onto what was left of my nails, still partly bitten from last weekend. Thinking about that weekend, my shoulders tensed and I sighed as I saw myself sitting on the floor of that hall, next to James and Harrison and the other kids in my class who filled the stagnant quiet of the room with questions. The adults told all 20 of us to stay put, wait until the peer leaders came up to us. Before we could ask anymore questions, a Chinese bootleg of Frozen played on the TV’s, and suddenly most of us forgot what was happening.
—Look, Harrison said. Elsa’s braid phases through her shoulder there. Top quality animation, that is.
James squinted their eyes. How can you see that through the shit quality?
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I eyed the adults blocking the doors before quietly pulling it out and checking the screen.
Are you coming back from ur catholic camp trip tmrw, texted Emily. Like whats up.
I quickly put my phone away as one of the doors opened and Angela the peer leader tip-toed her way to a girl near me.
—Okay, what’s going on? she asked, but Angela smiled and put a finger to her lips.
—I told you it’s a secret. Come with me.
Then the girl was pulled away, and then there were only 19 of us. The adults stood guard by the exits, watching us, and I pretended I was still watching the movie as James and Harrison’s cackling overpowered the other voices.
—Okay but like—James pointed at the screen—how the fuck does she know how to build a castle all of a sudden?
I shrugged. Harrison filled in my silence with, Why are you focused on that when she made a whole dress out of ice?
Someone tapped on my shoulder. It was a peer leader, an older boy with round glasses and a shaved head. I’ve talked to him at school, but I could never remember his name.
—Your turn, he said with a warm smile.
I obediently stood up and followed him to the exit. One of the adults, a kind Italian man who used to be my CCD teacher before I switched to my current teacher, waved at me. The rosary wrapped around his hand swung and almost got caught on the door before it closed, and the light of the room vanished as I stood under the night sky.
—Hold still.
What little light there was on the campground was snatched away as a dark blindfold wrapped around my head. I stood still as commanded, so still that when the peer leader grabbed my hands, he had to pry them from my body like they were rusted stuck.
—Follow me, he said. And uh, I’ll try not to run you into anything.
I nodded, and followed blindly.
At some point the cold night air faded away, but there was still a chill running down my spine. I heard the muted whispers and murmurs of other people in a room. It suddenly felt too warm and I wanted to wriggle away from the grip that bound me, but something cold and hard pressed against my hand, and a voice spoke to me.
—This is your heart when you turn away from Jesus.
A soft thing was pressed into my other hand.
—And this is your heart when you accept Jesus.
This went on for a bit as various things were put into my hands, and that voice spoke of my heart and soul in connection to Jesus and God; how disfigured and awful they were without them, but could morph into something beautiful in their presence. But there came a point where I no longer listened to my voice, and instead I tried to listen to the other voices instead. They muttered the same words, probably to others like me who had no other choice but to listen and walk blindly into a strange place.
And then the voices stopped, and the hands that were guiding me pulled away. I froze. Someone whispered but it was too far away. There was nothing for me to hold onto. As I reached for my blindfold however, someone pushed me, and my back was pressed against a hard surface. Before I could understand anything, my arms were lifted up, my fingers forced apart. I stared into the darkness of the cloth, not understanding but accepting. Then something was pressed into my hands once again, but it was different this time. The thing was small and sharp and it was being pressed into the palms of my hands and my leg twitched, about to kick whoever was doing this, but I held back, and the pain went away, and all was still and quiet, until I felt the warm breath of a man whispering into my ear.
—Jesus sacrificed Himself for your sins. What will you do for Him?
The blindfold was taken off. I blinked, but caught sight of a candle on the ground. Then two, three, dozens of other candles that lead my eyes to an altar with a huge mirror. And when I finally looked at myself, up against a wooden cross in my blue hoodie and black jeggings, my bangs barely hiding my wide eyes, I only gazed quietly until I was pulled away.
I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth.
I didn’t remember standing back up with my parents as the priest started the credo. I didn’t even realize I was saying it with everyone else, even as I thought of last weekend’s retreat. Again I looked at Jesus on the cross like he would suddenly come to life and answer my questions, but I knew I would never hear him.
He was crucified under the Pontius Pilate; he suffered death and was buried, and rose again on the third day…
I said it all just to say it, just like the rest of them, the familiar drone of our chanting echoing into the empty space above us.
