Imprints
I’ve never had religion in my life, but I’ve been fortunate to meet many people in recent years who are very tied to their beliefs. I have a lot of respect for them, and they span all faiths… they are Muslim, Catholic, Lutheran, Buddhist, and everything else. Some are just people tied to some feeling they have, or some friendship they have. I’m more the latter category. I wrote this story a few days ago, and it’s still undergoing minor revision, but I’m in love with it. **Please pass it along.**
Samantha Wolinski, Imprints
Lila Aves plopped herself on veined linoleum floor in the church basement, removing her hot pink, hooded bubble coat to reveal a short limbed, dark haired 6-year-old. Coat thrown and abandoned several feet away in front of locked room 39, Lila proceeded to remove her gloves, a slightly hotter pink, by holding up each finger with her opposite hand and curling those being undressed one by one into her palm until all that remained was a fist surrounded by tentacles knit in some Asian factory. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb, yank. Other side. Pinky, ring, middle, pointer, thumb, yank. Lila pressed her warm fat palms into the cold floor. She wished she could press her face into the floor too; the air was so hot in the church basement. She’d done it once but then Ashley came and told her all the things that could be living on the floor that she couldn’t see, and could even make her sick. Ashley was eight and went to a special school for science somewhere else in the city, so Lila saw her as a reliable source into the matter of what could ruin her perfect attendance record.
Lila didn’t resent her parents at all for sending her off to Sunday school so early every week. She lived nearby, only two blocks away. There was a CVS with two big sycamores next to the parking lot, part of a swamp, Nick’s slate house with a big yard, and only one street to cross with a button so the cars had to stop and let her go. She wasn’t allowed to walk any further or anywhere else alone, although she’d ask now and then to go with Nick or Meghan or Melanie to Friendly’s just a block further. “It’s not you, it’s all the other people we’re worried about,” towering Mr. Aves would crouch on his knees to tell her time and time again. Despite him trying to show understanding by reducing his size, she’d usually continue to feel frustrated and stare at the oriental carpet below her feet until the interconnected diamond wave lulled her to a deep level of content. No other oriental carpet could give her this feeling; she’d tried all seven in the house on different occasions. For this reason she would attempt to contain all confrontation to the living room.
Lila presumed God disliked tardiness, as this was true of everyone else who had control over her life. Mrs. Aves would always bring her early to school and the teachers would already be there to let her in. She had recently learned that teachers don’t even live at school and actually just got there even earlier than she did! She was told that God lived in the church though. She couldn’t imagine having her home rushed by her Sunday school class at eight in the morning. Most of the kids didn’t want to be there, even though it was way better than normal school. There was no real work, just coloring and stories and all the fun parts of normal school, but in God’s house’s basement. Lila found it funny that she also had a fun room with toys, and crayons, and two bikes in the basement. She wondered if this was why her parents made it that way. It made sense that all the things she did in Sunday school were about God and his friends. Lila figured if everyone came to her house every single week and used her art supplies and told stories, some of it should and would inevitably be about her. It only seemed right to show up early and have breakfast with him. She pulled a waxy looking banana from her right sweater pocket and two foiled chocolate chip granola bars from the left. She always had two. If God ever actually came out to say hi, she figured she might as well be prepared to share with him. Santa came out pretty often, and apparently Jesus did too although she hadn’t actually ever seen him. Logically, God should pop into a mall or at the very least make an appearance in his own house eventually. She used to always bring apples for God and herself, but after going to the doctor in order to solve the mystery of her frequent lunchtime stomach aches, Lila leaned she was allergic to apples. “Seriously? Who’s allergic to apples?!” she wailed. Mrs. Aves scooped her up from the back seat and carried her teary daughter into the house. Lila liked the way her mom’s grey streaky hair feathered up against her cheek and stuck to her tears. Upon returning home, Lila was deposited in the living room. She sat and stared at the oriental carpet for twelve minutes, examined the pattern the yarn on the edge had imprinted in her palms for two minutes, then proceeded to the kitchen to find an orange. She liked to try and pull off all the skin in one big piece.
Lila was nervous about Sunday school for the first time ever. She had finished her breakfast and neatly placed the second granola bar on the floor, one linoleum square from those that she was occupying. She pushed her hands into the floor again. Her palms felt like after she made cookies. Roll the dough, drop it on the pan. Roll the dough, drop it on the pan. “Don’t lick your hands, you might get salmonella.” Lila had no idea what salmonella was, but she’d already licked her buttery sugary hands. She liked salmon enough, so it couldn’t be too bad. Maybe she’d turn into a salmon and her parents would have to bring her to school in a big rectangular aquarium, like the koi live in at the sushi restaurant. She could sleep in lion-pawed bathtub, but she was scared of the drain. “Maybe mom could put a plate over it.” Lila removed her hands to look at how her flesh had filled in the veined pattern sprawling over the linoleum. “How can I mold to different things?” As this thought left her mind, the nerves crept back up, stretching over her cerebellum into consciousness. She was scared God might be upset about the weekend before. It had been on her mind all week. Her parents and her Sunday school teacher, Ms. Rose, said she didn’t do anything wrong, but she was convinced God must be at least a little upset over the whole ordeal.
The week before, Lila’s entire class sat together, along with a lot of kids who didn’t even go to Sunday school class. She sat on the end. Lila liked to go first. If Lila didn’t go first she would get nervous, and shake, and cry. Maybe she’d even get asthma and not be able to go at all. The plumes of incense that filled the first few rows of deep-grained pews were enough to choke her, let alone the nerves she seemed to get from extended waiting. She didn’t pay attention to the priest the entire time. Father Roberts was a nice man and not too boring, he kind of looked like the man on the granola bar wrapper, but she could only focus on her hands and suppressing her nerves. She smooshed her right palm over the gold-embossed “Holy Bible,” counted to one hundred and twenty and peeled it off to reveal the inverse. She did it again. Push, count, observe. Push, count, observe. Sometimes she’d switch hands.
Mass ended and everyone folded out, line into line, merging into traffic jam. Lila led the lines of other 6 and 7-year-olds out through a heavy door on the side. She waited in front of it and watched all of the other rows trickle out, like the fourth and fifth graders got off the risers after singing the holiday choir concert at school. Ms. Rose came and pressed her back into the door, which was probably twice her size. Lila went through and waited to meet the priest, so she could tell him everything she’d done wrong that week, so she wouldn’t go to Hell. She found it confusing why she could only tell God things through a priest… she told God things all the time and she was sure he knew. She felt like he knew at least. If coming over to play in God’s basement wasn’t enough, and this was how everyone else thought she wasn’t going to go to Hell, then so be it. She didn’t know exactly what would happen but she had rehearsed in front of the toothpaste-spattered mirror exactly what she was going to say. She wrote a list of all the bad things she’d done and decided on a few, as to not take up Father Robert’s valuable time. She could tell all the rest of them to God on her own time like she usually did. Father Roberts called out to Lila, she came and sat in his office with him. “Why don’t we do it in the box like everyone’s parents?” Lila wondered. It was quickly explained by Father Roberts that he wanted to see Lila and all the other children in person, so they could see that he and God were not judging them and would forgive them.
Lila gathered her thoughts. She wanted to seem articulate and smart, even though she knew her vocabulary was nothing beyond that of any other 6-year-old. “I was mean to my sister and pushed her over but she was ok and I got her to stop crying. I borrowed Jennifer’s pencil and forgot to give it back, and it broke in my backpack so I keep pretending I don’t have it. I stole seventy-five cents from the car to buy cheetos at lunch last Tuesday. I lied about washing my hamster, but I think he’s happier now because he smelled really bad and now he doesn’t.” The kind Quaker-faced man told Lila that all over her confessions were very honest and he was proud of her. Lila was proud too, especially when he handed her a red clicky pencil to replace Jennifer’s broken one.
Lila was relieved. She spun to exit the office when Father Roberts drooped a large hand over her shoulder, signaling her to turn around. Lila looked behind her, expecting to see a smiling face. Rather, she greeted a serious one with a single hand raised, ready to hit her. Lila began to scream; adrenaline plowed through the door of the priest’s office for her. “He’s going hit you guys! The priest wants to karate-chop me!” All of the children stood still, struck with confusion. Father Roberts exited his office as what Lila had exclaimed had penetrated their thoughts - the hallway immediately activated into chaos. Thirty screaming first graders huddled, bumped heads. None could exit the heavy doors, although many tried and piled up like platelets against them. Ms. Rose charged and scooped the screaming Lila into her arms, kneading her knuckles into Lila’s back, pleading that she calm down and let the priest explain what had just happened. She pulled an apple from her pocket and offered it to Lila, but she refused quietly and politely. Lila sat on the floor, sniveling into her sweater and removed God’s granola bar leftover from that morning. She trusted Ms. Rose, even if she didn’t know she was allergic to apples, and stayed put. She stared at the man on the front of the wrapper as Ms. Rose somehow managed to get all of the children seated. Father Roberts and Ms. Rose spoke quietly in the corner. Ms. Rose called Lila up and asked everyone to watch what the priest was about to do; she promised Lila she would stay with her and that no karate-chopping would occur under her watchful eye, and the eyes of the first-grade public.
The man got down on one knee in front of Lila, as Mr. Aves did on the oriental carpet in the living room, and quietly apologized for not telling her what would happen. He was earnest and looked her through her eyes, into the pit of her stomach. She could feel his eyes in there, looking back into himself, through her. “I forgive you. God does too, everything’s ok.” She handed the father God’s granola bar, and he slipped it into his pocket. He thanked her. He told her he was about to wave his arm around a little, but she shouldn’t be afraid. He stood up, this time looking as if he was about to cast a spell. He said some words Lila didn’t understand, his hand swept over her body, into her space, but never touching her. It felt like a force field was being built around her. He told her she was forgiven, and that God loved her. He thanked her again for forgiving him. Lila stood still as Father Roberts returned into his office. She slowly became aware of everything around her again. Kids lining up, parents starting to come and wait for their children, the churchy smell, Jesus hanging out down the hall.
Ms. Rose arrived to open room 39 and let Lila in. She was still the only one there; no one was due for another fifteen minutes still. Lila claimed her space above the jungle-patterned rug and walked up to retrieve the eight-pack of sparkle crayons as Ms. Rose illuminated the fluorescents. “Why can God and Santa both watch you all the time? Are they the same person?” “No, Santa just knows if you’re good or bad. God sees everything, even the things that are just in the middle of good and bad.” Ms. Rose explained kindly while thumbing through biblical coloring sheets. Lila had asked this question at least twenty times by now; she still didn’t really get it. Ms. Rose was still kind to try and explain, she wasn’t mad. She wasn’t even frustrated. Lila suddenly wasn’t embarrassed anymore and pulled the banana peel from her right pocket to throw in the hall trash, and the extra granola bar from the left to check on it. It was gone. She checked the linoleum square in the hallway, four from the door and two from the wall. It wasn’t there either. “It’s about time he came for breakfast. I was starting to worry about him.”
short stories writing love music God Religion childhood perspective confession friendship love acceptance learning faith granola bars quaker apples body soul skin adults oriental carpet repetition
