Page 19 - WTP Vol. XI #6

strange glow on his forehead. “Because, Allison. It’s sacred. And sacred things have to be kept sacred.”
She gripped her stomach. Underneath the growing nausea, she was still hungry.
~
The waiting and the long relaxing of the muscles she tenses out of habit, the settling in her spine that normally burns like fire, is what Allison imagines contractions to feel like. Here, surrounded by the music and the prayers of too many voices, she does not hear the scream of her own
Allison wishes she could return to that moment and could once again feel the kiss of flame that touched her head, a crown on her brow that she did not deserve.
mind but feels the intense pressure of another, the waiting before someone starts the fight. She hears a familiar voice above her and feels a warm hand on her shoulder. The hand is warm like fire, heating the wounds Allison has hidden underneath the sleeves of her t-shirt. These are the planned ones. She feels herself flinch inside her spine, but the feeling does not make it to her body.
“Dear Lord Father God, I pray for freedom for Allison, freedom from sin, freedom from whatever it is she’s going through, Lord Father, I lift up Allison...”
For a moment, she is angry: how dare Carly try to free her from sin? How dare Carly, of all people? For a moment, Allison tests the muscles in her back. They are still numb. Something is holding Allison down, a fear that cannot be shaken by mere thought. She knows. She has tried. From the first time she felt the panic rising, she prayed to rise above it. At best, she can breathe through it. More often, a part of her drowns. Carly is not
the one drowning. Allison is. ~
“If you ever get worried, you can think your way around it. You are smart, Allison. You know the devil is a liar. Pray, and think your way around the fear. Ask yourself
if it is real.” The voice of Aunty Fiona, the office-lady- de-facto-counselor, echoes in her mind. She cannot think her way around it. Carly’s voice drones on, English mixing with the language of angels. Briefly, Allison wonders whether she can still speak in tongues, or whether the hands have choked the Spirit out of her. No matter. She cannot speak. A tear hits Allison’s hand, and she hears Carly’s voice crack.
She hates herself for wishing it was someone else praying for her, and she still can’t break her anger— Carly is standing. Carly stayed on her feet in the presence of God, despite flaunting that she was neverendingly dancing on the edge of acceptable behavior, crossing over and back. It was not the first time Allison was overcome when Carly could stand. Allison wished it was Esther praying. She might understand.
When they were in second grade, their teacher, Mrs. Tanaka, had a migraine, and in a desperate attempt to finish the school day, asked the kids to lay hands on her and pray. Not everyone prayed aloud, though all of their hands touched some corner of Mrs. Tanaka’s back and shoulders, trying not to make her headache worse. Carly said a quick, “Jesus please heal her,” and Allison felt herself gripped by pity, as though there was a ghost of a headache in her, one that she could feel in memory, and when she opened her mouth to speak, words that she did not understand flowed out. Mrs. Tanaka’s head snapped up, and Esther’s hand in Allison’s squeezed her, giving her courage to let the words carry forward. When Mrs. Tanaka said “amen,” she pulled Allison close.
“Honey, if every time I had a migraine God decided to fill a little girl with the Spirit, I would have a migraine every day.”
Allison wishes she could return to that moment and could once again feel the kiss of flame that touched her head, a crown on her brow that she did not deserve. Instead, she surrenders to her imagination, tries to see her way out of the pain and fear and grief that has enveloped every day for months. The turn into the church property is fast and crosses a busy highway. It would not be hard to disappear in the shadows and step in the headlights’ way. There is the possibility it will not work. There is the possibility it will. Allison is less interested in what will happen to her
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