I used to hate going to church. It was boring when I couldn't run and do what I wanted. I had to sit still and be quiet and I hated it.
The best part of Sunday was when the service was over. All of the little kids got to go play in the garden of Eden.
It wasn't the real garden of Eden. It was a metaphor. The garden of Eden was supposed to teach us about the Bible, but the best part of the garden was planting flowers and vegetables and throwing dirt. I loved it. As I got a little older, I wasn't allowed to play in the garden anymore. I had to go to Sunday school.
Sunday school was better than church, especially because we could play with glue and paper and beads. But I missed the garden. We weren't allowed to throw dirt in Sunday school. One time, I threw beads instead of dirt and everyone started laughing and throwing beads at everyone else. It was almost like being in the garden again.
Then, I threw a bead that hit a girl in the eye. She started crying and that's when the church people yelled at me and everyone else for throwing beads. They made me apologize to the girl I hit.
I didn't want to apologize. I didn't mean to hurt her, it was an accident. And saying sorry was really hard because it was embarrassing to admit I did something wrong.
"I'm s-sorry." I sobbed to the girl.
She sniffled and said that it was okay. Her name was Esther and I remembered seeing her in the garden, eating the pea pods that grew there, but I never saw her throw dirt or beads at anybody.
When we grew a little older, a little more aware, things got different.
Fewer and fewer people wanted to play with me. I was bossy and I was upset no one liked to play with me because I was bossy.
I hated feeling like no one liked me, but I hated telling people I was sorry. I told myself I didn't care that they thought I was bossy. So, I played by myself and read by myself and did everything by myself. There was only one other person that played by themselves, and that was Esther.
Esther was the girl in the back of the class that didn't raise her hand. She sat in the seat behind me, content to be quiet and observe the class from the background.
I wasn't so quiet. I liked to raise my hand, I liked to be right, I liked to win because it made me feel good. So, in some ways, I was Esther's opposite. She never strayed from her B and C grade average, while I studied the Bible religiously for my As. She didn't find value in gold stars or teachers' praise. As for me, I loved getting the gold star and I liked it when the other kids got jealous of me. It made me feel good.
And so I didn't understand why people were content with just a passing grade. If they didn't want a gold star, what did they want?
Some people just wanted to play with their friends. A big part of me wished I was like that. Who needs a gold star from an adult when you can play with all your friends at recess?
I didn't have friends. I was too strange. I did weird things, like curl into a ball and cover my ears until I was calm. I cried when I lost, I cried when I forgot. Nobody else did those things.
And there were a few people that just hated class. They fell asleep out of boredom. They broke rules and cussed at the teacher when the teacher scolded them. They didn't like school and I stayed away from them because they were scary.
Esther didn't fit in either category. She didn't have friends, and she wasn't tired or angry. She was content to be ignored and I didn't know why.
We gravitated together. She didn't care that I acted strangely and I didn't care that she was quiet. We became inseparable. She didn't like playing, so at recess we just swung on the swings and talked sometimes.
Esther was very funny. I didn't know she was funny until we talked to each other on the swings.
"Esther, who do you want to marry?"
"I don't know. I don't want to kiss anybody except my dog."
I giggled. "But what about getting married?"
"I don't know. I don't even like anyone except for you."
That made me feel special. "We should be bridesmaids at each other's weddings."
"Or I could just marry you!"
I laughed out loud and she giggled. "I wish," I said. "Too bad you're not a guy."
"Yeah," she said wistfully.
