
Little Secrets
I danced around the room, unable to contain myself. I remembered his exact words he had spoken as I watched him in the golden box. He had called me his queen. I stopped mid-twirl. How did Tod know how to communicate with me? He had a sort of confidence about him that told me he knew I heard him when he spoke. We had always had a connection on earth. Did that connection carry on into the heaven? No, it couldn’t have. Alana said that all my connections were severed as I left the earth. So how was he still so sure. I thought of the definition of faith. It was believing in a promise, without a guarantee. I remembered. I had promised I would always be there for him. Was he relying on this faith now? He must have been. Only faith could make him that sure.
I wandered down the stairs to the first and second floor of the mansion. This was the part of my house that looked exactly like the church. I entered the narthex and sat down on the green couch to rest. As I sat, my leg was poked by something sticking out of the cushion. It was a strange sensation to know pain, and not feel it. To recognize it, yet be untouched by it. I stood up and looked for what had poked me in the back of my calf. A corner of a folded paper was sticking out under the cushion. I pulled it out and slowly unfolded it. Ali’s handwriting jumped out at me. Ali? How could she be here? How could she possibly be here? I read what was written on the paper that was somewhat crumpled as though it had been there for years before I had noticed it. I began to read aloud.
“Walk through the front door
Into the narthex
Cold tile floors on my bare feet
Turn to the open sanctuary doors
Feel the green caper like grass against my skin
A choir sings above the congregation
As words to a hymn are projected to the video screen
The laughter of children floats through the hallway
From the nursery
My teal dress twirls around my knees
As I sway softly to the music
Wrapped in my own embrace
I step lightly down the stairs
Following the smell of a covered-dish lunch
As I walk into the fellowship hall
People are eating, laughing talking
Still in their dresses and suits"
At this point, my voice cracked, ever so slightly, but I continued reading. She was describing the church the way I had seen it. As beautiful. As safe. As a home. I continued.
“Through the window
Children play on the sandy playground
But as I go to join them
The light dims
The talking stops
The music quiets
The people fade
An empty church on Monday evening
The energy of Sunday morning
Etched into the glassy silence
Here, I’m home”
I was crying when I finished the poem. I realized now, why it was there. She had said years ago, when she wrote the poem, that she was going to give it to the church, but no one would know. I understood what she must have meant when she had said it. I tried to remember if she had ever said anything about other notes and things she may have hidden in the church. To my dismay, I could not think of a single one.
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