Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Lay Your Hands On Me

I didn’t come to the church this morning to find deliverance; this morning, I’ve come looking for Dawn.

Like a respectful ghost I slip into the last pew on the left. By the sounds of it the service has just started. I quietly shrug off my pocketbook and coat; the sunglasses, though, stay on, hiding my bloodshot pupils (and the tender soul they look in on) from the daylight streaming in. I off my cell and remember to tightly cross my legs less something may leak out and give me away.

Dawn’s standing up at the pulpit, churning all that dance floor energy from the night before into some sincere praise-giving. Most of the parishioners are sitting rapt on the edge of their benches, looking eager for redemption. Hmm, is that what I’m doing here at – Christ, is it really only ten-fifteen? - wondering how many rosary-beaded Hail-Mary’s it’ll take to save my soul? I don’t think even the nuns back at St. Lucia’s would believe that. Well, maybe I am seeking out my redemption song, or maybe I’m looking for something to soften the hammering between my ears.

Maybe I’m just wondering what the rev looks like when not dipped in leather pants.

We all stand. We all sit. Oops, make that kneel. Wait, we’re standing again? What the hell! I offer up a groan up to God. Back at the podium Dawn’s doing some call-and-response with the congregation now that I swear it sounds like Latin. Well, to be honest, everything sounds like Latin this morning. I lean forward and try to focus, if not on the words themselves then their innate inviolability, but damn if she’s not more than a little distracting. I like the whole white-vestments/red stole she’s got going on although I doubt it’ll ever displace rubber jumpsuits. This morning she’s got all that strawberry blond hair tied back in a sugar-coated bun which is making her freckles stand out all the more. I can still remember the first time I spotted her down at the club and had the crazy impulse to connect those dots with kisses just to see where they would lead me. And then later, when Julie took twisted pleasure later informing me Dawn was not only a sister but a minister to boot, well, that just splashed gas all over my fires.

For some of us sinners it’s just never enough.

Smiling from her stand, Dawn now beckons us to reach out across the divide and greet each other. Even though there’s no one around me I still make myself as small as possible. This has always been my least favorite part of any service, which is kinda funny when you think I have no problem taking a half-drunk stranger home to nibble on her tit but shake a warm hand and say hi to its owner? Not without at least one apple martini in me first, thank you very much.

Up next are the readings, the common theme being something about forgiveness starting at home. After closing her book Dawn motions our weary asses to sit for the homily. As she speaks heads I can’t help but notice the heads bobbing up and down around me like so many buoys riding the waves. Me, all I can think about are the shots I chased down my beers with last night and really, who could have blamed me? Suze and Toni were off in the corner booth playing Gynecologist, Pamela had the balls to introduce her newest stud to me (as if all the months we spent fucking each other delirious hadn’t happened or mattered) and all Sarah could talk about was Mikki, Mikki, and for variety, um, Mikki. Frannie wasn’t hanging out so you know Lucy was, which meant I finally got some qual time with the woman, if only in the bathroom stall.

Focus, dammit! I’m sure something sacrosanct is being said!

“…as imperfect creatures striving for perfection,” Dawn says, her basso voice carrying all the way back to me, “we need to know what we’re asking for, the difference between exactly what it is we’re craving and what it is we really need. That’s a fine line we often forget which side we’re on. Now why do you think that is?”

Um, because it’s easy to be blinded by all the neon beer signs after midnight or get lost under all those satin sheets? I glance guiltily around to see if anyone else is thinking the same thing.

“…we want our Higher Power to absolve us but then refuse to believe it when He or She does,” Dawn proclaims. “We want forgiveness but forget we have to be the ones to start.”

I sit forward, stretching out to meet her words. Like Mulder I want to believe but man, I got some sins that drag behind me like a ball-and-chain, a proud rap sheet that I took many a long year to amass. I sit back and stubbornly fold my arms across my chest. Absolve myself? She’s got to be kidding. If I’m not going to condemn me for the rest of my life, who will?

“…in the end in turns out that forgiveness is actually the easy part,” Dawn assures us with the cool wisdom of one who’s been there, done that. “Because once we are reconciled we need to let go and we find that often not only can’t we, but in fact we don’t want to. We want to hold onto all our wrongs, keep them close like a security blanket. And why not? It’s what’s familiar to us, it’s what made us what we are, and if we’re not defined by them then what are we defined by? Today’s readings ask us to release them, that’s right, crack open the angry fists and Just. Let. Them. Go. Take them off our tired shoulders and offer them up. What, do you think you’ll break your Higher Power’s back? Don’t bet on it. I don’t care if it’s a God or a Goddess you worship, know that your Higher Power has already forgiven you like every loving parent does their child. All He or She is doing now is waiting for you to show yourself some compassion and come along for the ride.”
I’m squirming on this wooden bench, all itchy inside. So let me get this straight - if I’m responsible for my own sins then I must be responsible for salvaging my soul, too. I want to scoff but am afraid if I open my mouth I’ll just cry. Even though she hasn’t looked at me once and probably has no idea I’m even sitting here it feels like Dawn’s speaking right at me, right to me, as if she’s seen me in action, knows just what I’ve done and still has the audacity to tell me I’m okay.

I tremble behind my shades, thinking I had come here this morning just to check the woman out.

Damn!

* * *

I blink and find that while revelation has snuck into the pew next to me the service has ended. Grandiose organ music is cascading from the choir loft as folks collecting their coats and pocketbooks, check cell-phones to see if God left them a voicemail. Dawn has come off the altar now, shaking hands like a reluctant rock star. She starts down the main aisle, but then backtracks to the side. My side, in fact. Oh, shit. When she reaches my pew she veers off toward me. Suddenly I’m third-grade shy looking for a desk to duck under.

“Hiya,” she says in a voice low enough so only the two of us can hear. “I thought that was you hiding back here. It’s Maria, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” I shake her extended hand and imagine something passing between our fingertips.

“I make it a habit to remember names,” she explains, “especially the pretty ones.”

I laugh my “cool” laugh. “Um, well, there are five of us on my mother’s side.”

“Really? Well, it’s still good to see you here.”

“Yeah? You, too.” I cringe - Christ, that’s the best I can come up with?

“Listen,” Dawn says, “I have to stay a bit, make the rounds during Coffee Time. But maybe after you’d want to do some lunch? I don’t have to be back until the 5:00.”

“That’s all afternoon,” I blurt out.

She smiles. “Yes, yes, it is. That is, if you’ve got the time…”

“Yeah, sure, I do” I say, thinking somewhere the nuns of St. Lucia are smiling.

Bitches.

If you have enjoyed Stephanie Alexis Bonvissuto's "Lay Your Hands On Me", then please be certain to e-mail her at  stephaniealexis8[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

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