summerstorm

3

dear nora, 

in february, mom got me to go to church. that was strange in itself, but i yielded and put on my church clothes and braced myself. but plucking up wasn't enough. 

i've never thought it to be so extreme out here in our little town; but when they started putting hands on me, i stopped breathing. 

everybody was praying. some of them were talking in some made-up tongue. 

"lord jesus, please take this child into your lovin' arms and cleanse her of sin. wash her in jesus name: we say to homosexuality - begone in the name of lord jesus!"

i think the worst part was that they were all touching me. all those voices surrounding, i felt like i was living in a twister out west. i ground my teeth and closed my eyes. google says i was dissociated. 

lived like a zombie after that, not getting back my sense of self until i was in my room with the door locked. i noticed the picture of you that i keep on my nightstand was missing. and then suddenly the locked door didn't feel so shut. and then i think i dissassociated some more. 

i dug out our old walkman from when we were seven from the back of my closet. and from under my covers, i cried all night. wishing you were here while thanking some invisble force that you weren't.

i think mom feels bad, in a way. she's not made me go back since then.

when she's gone, i take out the walkman and listen to good old fashioned lover boy  on repeat. it does make me smile, sometimes. 

and i'm praying to some otherworldly force - wishing i could be that for you.
 

love
atlas