Waiting for Superman

"And so God wants us to ask ourselves: are we truly happy with who we are and where we stand in life? Do we live to please him? Do we rinse the dirt of our sins off of our hands?"

My father's voice rang out through the church, echoing once it reached my spot in the furthest pew. My mother and sister sat up front every Sunday, forcing their masks on for every member of the congregation. I chose not to sit up front because I hated lying to those people, some I'd even considered to be my adoptive family. After all, thou shall not lie. Or something of that nature.

I became to engrossed in my own thoughts to pay attention to his closing statements; the pews were too stiff to sit in for long periods of time, especially at one of his sermons. He was always so passionate and so involved to the point where his veins would pop out of his neck and the elderly ladies would fall to their knees, crying, holding their hands up. When I was younger, all of it fascinated me. I thought the only relationship important was the one of my God and myself. As I grew up, I realized that there wasn't a God. Not in the way that I was used to, anyway.

If there was a God, why would he punish my mother for wanting to escape my father's wrath? If there was a God, why would my best friend, Cherrie, be condemned to Hell for falling in love with a girl? If there was a God, why did my father get to be a hypocritical asshole?

As if to answer my question, the sunlight streamed in through the painted glass, making me heave a sigh.

"Was I that boring, sweetheart?" My father asked, squeezing my shoulder lightly, looking up at the small crowd gathering around us.

I faked a smile, standing up. "No, Daddy, just thinking."

"That's my girl," He boasted, moving his hands to my the place where my shoulders and neck met, squeezing lightly.

I laughed along with the women as they cooed over 'how much I'd grown' and how 'beautiful I'd become since the last time they saw me,' which was last Sunday. I didn't understand how I could change in such a short span of time, but they seemed to think I had transformed from the ugly duckling to a swan. I think, though, that I'd always be the ugly duckling.

The church doors opened and Cherrie was sitting on the steps, bright red hair shining in the Alabama sun. Upon seeing my father, she stamped out her cigarette, offering him a smile. He gave her one in return but left before he was pulled into a conversation with her. He wasn't going to be seen talking to the town abomination, and if I was smart, I wouldn't be, either. I guess I wasn't very smart.

"Hey, Cher."

"Gracie girl! C'mere," She giggled, patting the seat next to her.

My mood sort of brightened when I sat next to her, wrapping an arm around my knees. "You know, you could have come in and sat with me."

She waved a hand as if to dismiss the idea. "Nah, wouldn't want to catch fire because I'm a faggot."

I smiled sadly at her, bumping my knee against hers. "Hey, I don't think that."

"But everyone else does, lovey. I'd just kind of rather not getting you pulled into anything."

"It's what I'm here for, bitch."

She giggled. "Slut. Ready for tomorrow?"

I groaned, leaning my head against her shoulder. "Second day of school. Why Courtland High wants to start on a Friday and make us go back on a Monday is beyond me."

"Go Knights!" She muttered, laughing softly.

"Gracie, what are you doing out here? Your mother and I need help with the food. You're welcome to join us, Charlotte."

I got up and glanced at Cherrie, chewing on my lip. She stood up, looking rather uncomfortable. "Uh, Cherrie, sir. And no thank you. I've got to get home. School tomorrow and all."

"As you should," He smiled at her, his expression hardening when he turned to me. "What did I say about her, Gracelyn?"

"Dad, there's nothing wrong--."

He gripped my arm tightly, pushing me forward, towards the recreational room where the food was being held. "I suggest you go help your mother, Gracelyn. Not a word of this until we get home. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, rubbing my arm when he let go of me.

My sister glanced up at us, but only shook her head before she went back to what she was doing previously. I didn't say anything as I helped sort the meats onto a platter, watching my mother carefully. She didn't look as young or care-free as she used to, which I contributed to my Dad. Before he started preaching and took on the stress of the entire town, things were different.

Everything was better. I wish I could go back to that.