Rich Boys Don't Have Hearts

6 | SENIO

SUNDAY MORNINGS is the Lord's morning, they said. The sun is bright but not too hot, it paints the sky a light blue like that of what you see in a child's bedroom. Sometimes I like to think this world is just an accessory, another piece to fit something great, although I don't know what purpose is the piece for yet.

I'm in my Sunday's best. My dress goes below the knees, and my black heels are not too high. I lift my hand when I stepped outside the car, it is glove-covered; and goes well with the blue of the sky.

I don't even know why they insist on modest clothing every time I enter a church. It wasn't like wearing something above my knees will send me straight to damnation.

"Ready dad?" I ask him, just as he stood next to me.

He nods, giving me a small rub on the shoulder before he spots one of his colleagues standing at the entrance of the ancient cathedral. He leaves me alone, standing with my back straight and my head held high.

This was just a fundraiser. A way to raise money to show that they wanna help the poor and be godly at the same time but I of all people know that isn't true.

Who needs God when you have this much money anyways?

I start walking, careful of the stone steps as I pass by people whom I knew, the rich liked to be with people of their own, they knew each other's backgrounds like the back of their hands.

I could already hear the children singing, it is a calming tune.

My heels don't make a loud sound as I enter the Cathedral. Its ceiling is high, glass panes at the very top so that sunlight could seep through. There were intricate paintings on the walls, telling the story of the life of Jesus. Right at the middle, hanged a statue of the Lord and Savior, broken and beaten at the cross but his eyes still shining. I never knew why it shined.

They don't even do the sign of the cross as they enter. They don't know their own religion very well.

The priest greets everyone. "May the Lord be with you."

"And with your spirit." I mumble, in unison to everyone else.

A voice clears beside me, "I'm surprised to see you here."

It was the voice of Bennett Jackson.

"I'm surprised you're even talking to me." I reply, keeping my voice low. Words echo in this cathedral like gossip.

"As I said, Rockerfeller. I don't hate you." He shrugs.

"Fair enough." I nod, although I do hate his smugness. "Why are you praying to the Lord?" I question.

"I don't." He simply says, before looking at me. "I'm Jewish."

"Funny." I let out, my voice blank.

"At least you know your religion, I suppose?" The choir sings again, I ignore the chills down my spine.

"I could very much say it is a part of my concealed character, Madame." Bennett mocks, he then glances at me and chuckles. "I suppose? What's all this fancy talk?" He hasn't seen me outside Venisde, I get why he's asking.

"It's like a switch." My gloved hands sit in front me, I stare at the glistening diamonds on my fingers. "I'm simply what my father needs me to be in these gatherings."

This time I glance at him, hoping he shares the same sentiments as I do. He doesn't, but there was familiarity in his eyes. "I guess I am what my mother needs me to be too."

I gave him a small smile. "You aren't." He was trying to relate with me, but I knew Mrs. Jackson was a very nice lady, his relationship with her just did not equal my relationship with my father.