Sunday Morning

Bicycle leaning against blue wall
Photo by Carl Nenzen Loven on Unsplash

It was a mostly Jewish neighborhood but up on Main Street there was a clapboard church with a sign out front: Jesus Saves. I had heard of Jesus and I was saving up for a new bicycle myself, so I leaned my old bicycle against a tree and climbed the front steps and tried the front door. It was unlocked, unlike the Essex Savings Bank across the street where I had an account with $32 in it. I stood there on the threshold, hesitating, until I heard someone say, “You are welcome.” So I said, “Thank you,” which was the first backwards thing among a host of backwards things I saw and heard as I tiptoed in and took a seat in the last row. Which would have been the first row if everyone turned around and faced the sunny summer Sunday outside. But they were all facing the darkness up front. And when my eyes adjusted I saw angels on the walls and ceiling, and people standing and people kneeling, and people waiting in line to go up front where a man in a white robe deposited something into their mouths. Then they made these signs on their heads and on their chests like the third base coach in baseball, and pretty soon someone was tapping my shoulder because it was my turn now to go up there for the deposit. And that’s when I ran outside and down the steps and started pedaling as fast as I could back into the sun.

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