In Hopeless Cathedrals
She over-did it on the eye shadow again. Teal eye shadow. She looks like a tramp.
But — he looked at the trim on her dress and the bow on her high heels — it actually matches her outfit. Maybe it’s not so bad. It probably depends on what the other women wear. It’s spring, he shrugged to himself. Teal might work. It’s too late to ask her to redo it.
Craig was always particular about how his family looked at church. This is a weekly event, after all. The highlight of the week, when the family could — would — come together in praise and worship. His wife, Kirsten, was a volunteer for the Parish social committee, and was known to have the best banana bread for the post-worship pot luck. These days, no one else bothered to bring banana bread — it wouldn’t get eaten. It’d be a waste. As that wretched bitch Gina Writtenhouse found out three weeks ago.
Fuck Gina Writtenhouse.
His two boys were miniature models of himself, complete with a short haircut, crisp suit, and professionally polished brown loafers. Their suits were all a variation of tan; but he made sure that they weren’t exactly the same cut and color — he didn’t want to look like they were trying too hard.
Michael, the oldest, had been a disappointment lately. Acting out when he shouldn’t, interrupting the adults, whining. He was setting a terrible example for his younger brother, Adam. Though Adam had done well in mimicking his father’s mannerisms, and wasn’t really a cause for concern.
“Michael!”, Craig snapped in a sharp whisper as they entered the church, “don’t walk ahead!” He needed the family to stay close together so that the community could see…well, how close they were. One unit, acting of the same mind.
“Oh, there’s Gina,” Kirsten said as they passed the first few pews in the back. She pointed to a group gathered around the bulletin table at the back. “I’m going to go say hi!”
Yes, there’s Gina. And she wore that cream-colored dress that makes her look frumpy. A short dress, so her legs show; some points earned there. But all wrong at the waste — cut for a pork chop. Kirsten would be a solid Ten standing next to her. The teal eye shadow was definitely the right choice. “And I love this dress on you!” he could hear Kirsten say with her stage-crafted, exaggerated charisma. Nice, Kirsten. Nice.
Dave Crentell called out to him from a side pew, because the Crentells don’t sit near the front, nor the center. Craig would be a good sport and pay Dave a visit. He’s a good client, after all. Plus, Craig caught him ogling Kirsten when they walked in. It’s always good to run a victory lap.
“Boys, go take our seats and wait for your mother and me. We’ll be along.” He leaned in, with a slight angle toward Michael. “Behave yourselves.”
Like a dog trainer, he watched them with a commanding eye as they walked a straight line past the rows of families sitting and socializing, waiting for mass to begin. Walking statues, they stepped in unison, with voiceless, blank faces and downcast eyes. They stepped into the pew — their family’s pew — and sat, staring straight ahead. They looked good. That made him look good.
Some glad-handing, pats on the back, forced laughs, and a selection of the following:
- “Let’s grab a beer sometime.”
- “I could probably come over and get that mower working for you.”
- “They grow up so fast.”
- “Captain of the travel team.”
Kirsten was already in the pew by the time he sat down. They boys were as rigid as Ancient Greek architecture. He had them all trained to follow his cue — no one stood, sat, or knelt before he did. When the singing began, his language of hand gestures and snapping glances conducted them to maintain a volume that was appropriate for proper worship. “You need to be heard, but you shouldn’t be boisterous. No showboating in church.”
Their seats in the pew were among the most envied, and Craig’s in particular was the best seat in the house. Not because of the view, but because it was directly under the gaze of Jesus. Quite literally, the down-cast eyes of the crucified white figure looming above the congregation were pointed directly at the seat that Craig occupied every Sunday. It wasn’t something people talked about; but it was something everyone knew.
Did it mean he was in God’s favor more than the rest?
Yes. Yes it did.
