I'm think I'll hide under the church. I'll have to be mute and very quiet. I lie on my stomach and can hear the shifting of leather soles on the pine floor and a chorus of nearly surpressed coughs. It's tight but I have room to turn over onto my back if I want. The floor is old and slices of light find their way through the shrunken pine planks. I can see through them just a little and up to the bottoms of shoes, sometime socks and once, just once, a patch of cotton panty as knees spread and knelt after communion. But I closed my eyes. I didn't want to commit a sin while lying under God's floor. After mass I would squeeze my way out toward the back of the church, run around to the front and pretend to be coming out of mass with the rest of them. This way I felt connected to them and didn't mind so much that I would walk home alone to the empty house or worse a house with the broken people who kept calling me their child....
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| May, 1981. Still lost. |
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