𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐚 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘸𝘴 - 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦

The church was bathed in soft, golden light as the afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass windows.  It cast colourful patterns across the worn pews and the bowed heads of the congregation.  You fought to stifle your laughter as you noticed the rainbow pattern projected by the sunlight, dancing across the back of the town mayor.

Your mother gave you a subtle nudge, her way of telling you to keep quiet.  Moving from Silicon Valley to a small conservative town in Texas was the very definition of a downgrade.  Your father's work had forced the relocation, and at first you didn't mind it.  But blending in with the locals and adopting their ways was definitely not part of the deal. Then again, when your dad's job— your family's livelihood, depends on pleasing the townsfolk, that's what you have to expect.

Churches weren't all so bad.  You remember some in the Valley that were all inclusive and didn't care that you were gay, but something about the parking lot full of Fords and the old to young attendee ratio told you that this church was not one of them.  You wondered why your parents would subject you to the torture of a homophobic church, but that was until you saw her.

And torture has never looked so good.

You sat in the back, as you always did, you weren't entirely sure if it was a choice on your end or if it was the church goers not approving your family yet.  Either way you didn't mind. 

Your arms casually draped over the wooden bench. Lorraine was in her usual spot near the front, her hands clasped neatly in her lap. She wore a modest white blouse and a pale blue skirt that ended just below her knees.  Around her neck, a delicate silver cross hung, resting just above the modest neckline of her blouse.

Your eyes were drawn to her, as they had been every Sunday since you first walked into this church almost a month ago. She was the picture of piety, the good Christian girl everyone wanted her to be.  Yet there was something in the way her gaze would flicker back to you, brief and hesitant, like she was afraid of being caught, that told you that she wasn't what this town wanted her to be.

You wondered how important it was to her that she sat in the pews at the front.

The preacher went on and on, his words never reaching you as your focus remained on Lorraine. Her eyes met yours again, and this time, she held it. There was a moment of something—a connection, an understanding that passed between you, electric and undeniable. She looked away as quickly as it happened, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

You leaned back, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips.  She was trying so hard to maintain her composure, to be the perfect daughter of the church.  But you knew better. You knew there was more to her than the prim and proper exterior she showed the world.

The service ended, and the congregation slowly rose to their feet. Your family remained seated as your father gave smiles to onlookers who wouldn't even spare him a glance.

Lorraine stood up, straightening her skirt with a her careful hands. You watched her, noting the slight shake in her fingers as she gathered her things and made her way towards the door. There was a tension in the air between you two, something unsaid, something waiting to be acknowledged.  But you let it go, for now.

————

Two Weeks Later

The days had passed slowly, each one blending with the next as you replayed that moment over and over in your mind. You hadn't seen Lorraine since the previous Sunday.  You avoided the places you knew she might be, not out of fear, but because you wanted to give her space.  Whatever had happened between you two was intense, too intense for someone who lived in this town their entire life to process quickly.

But now, two weeks later, you were back in the same church, sitting in a different pew, few rows ahead. Not sure if it was due to an increase in your family's social acceptance in the town or your fondness towards a certain girl.

Your eyes inevitably are drawn to the front where Lorraine sat few rows back from her usual pew. Her posture perfect as always, but you noticed the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the edge of the pew just a little too tightly. The cross necklace on her neck missing, and you could feel the weight of it in your jacket pocket, heavier with each passing second.

It had been an impulsive move, taking it. You hadn't planned on it, but when she had stood so close to you, her breath warm against your cheek, her voice trembling as she whispered words she wasn't supposed to feel, you couldn't resist.  You'd lifted it from her neck as you kissed her, like all the religious guilt she'd feel for what she's doing with you will vanish with the lack of necklace on her. A kiss that was meant to be quick but had turned into something more—a tangle of lips and emotions that neither of you fully understood.

The memory burned in your mind as you sat there, the necklace hidden away in your pocket, a secret you held close. You could still feel the softness of her lips, the way she had hesitated, then surrendered to you completely. It had been a moment of weakness, or perhaps a moment of truth.  You weren't sure which.

You stood up slowly, the church now nearly empty, and made your way towards the door. Lorraine was still there, her body present by her mind far.  When she noticed you, her breath caught, and she quickly looked away, her hand subconsciously moving to the spot where the necklace used to rest.

Or so you assumed it was subconscious. You considered approaching her, returning the necklace, maybe she wanted it back.

But then you thought better of it. Some things were better left unsaid. As you walked past her, you allowed your fingers to brush lightly against hers, a brief deliberate touch that made her stiffen.

You kept walking, out into the cool afternoon air, the necklace still in your pocket. You didn't look back, but you could feel her eyes on you, watching, wondering. Maybe she would ask for it back. Maybe she wouldn't. Either way, the connection between you, created in that brief moment of stolen intimacy, was something neither of you could deny.

Your parents were talking to you, but you weren't paying attention. Your thoughts were consumed by that necklace, by what it represented, by what it meant that she hadn't asked for it back. Was she waiting for you to make the first move?  Or was she hoping to forget that moment altogether?

But maybe, just maybe, some questions didn't need answers.  Maybe some moments were meant to linger, unresolved, leaving a mark that neither time nor distance could erase.

Some things were better left unsaid, but that didn't make them any less real.  And as you walked away, the cool metal of the cross pressing against your palm, you couldn't help but wonder if Lorraine was thinking about that night too—if she was missing her necklace, or if she was missing something more.