My Eyes are Open
People were wandering around the chapel, looking for their usual spots, handing out the occasional glare when they noticed that somebody was sitting in, what they felt was, the pew that belonged to them. Not for any other reason than, week after week, they sat in that very pew. A number of scowls were directed at me. Husbands and wives would then herd their children into pews, usually behind the one they felt claim to, each sitting on opposite sides with said children in between them as a means to castigate more efficiently.
After what felt like an absurd amount of time, everyone was sitting, but the chatter volume hadn’t changed. Kids were crying, parents were attempting to whisper as they yelled at their children, and adolescent boys and girls were talking to one another without even attempting to lower their voices. Somewhere in the background noise was the sound of an organ playing well-known church hymns many octaves too low.
I was in a place I hadn’t been in years. For a reason my mother thought, I was told later, was “a good reason to get Reed back to church.” My older sister’s baby was being blessed which, apparently, was a family event and a not-so-discreet attempt at re-conversion.
A man with a suit finally stood up at the podium, oblivious to the congregation noise which barely subsided, as children continued to cry, and parents still attempted to reprimand them in whispers, only now were also attempting the same on their adolescent kids with harsher, slightly louder voices.
After a few announcements, the man at the podium sat down and a blonde woman walked up from the congregation. Her face was white, which contended against her bright red lipstick and her expression showed a mixture of nervousness and pride. She focused on every step, especially while ascending the three-step staircase leading to the platform where the podium was located, obviously aware of the number of eyes that were focused on her. Before reaching the podium, the sound of an electric motor echoed throughout the chapel as the podium lowered to the difference between her height and that of the man.
When she finally arrived to the podium, she folded her arms and began to pray. Parents in the congregation hurried to forcibly tie their children’s arms in to little knots, and press their heads down into a bowed position. The parents then stared at their children, eyes wide, and waited for the little ones to open their eyes, at which point harsh reprimands were handed out. At one point my mother, who was seated next to me, opened her eyes and glanced at me consciously restraining herself from whatever reprimand she was programmed to deliver.
After the prayer was given and the blonde woman carefully walked back to her seat, my brother-in-law walked up to the platform in front of the congregation, but not in front of the podium, with his new baby in his hands. His eyes scanned the crowd of people and stopped occasionally, making eye contact with specific individuals who then stood up and joined him on the platform, and when he made eye contact with me I caught a glimpse of disappointment as I was no longer allowed to participate in such rituals.
The men made a circle around the baby, all placing their hands on her head as a young boy with a shirt that was noticeably too big for him held a microphone in front of my brother-in-law’s mouth. As the blessing began, the baby’s cries did as well, and the lauder the baby cried, the lauder my brother-in-law spoke into the microphone so that the congregation could hear him.
He told the little baby to rely on prayer throughout her life. Told her to “talk to God,” and “listen to Him to talk back.”
I wondered if I had cried so many years ago when the same thing happened to me. I wondered if I was told to talk to God and listen. I remembered trying to talk to God when I was younger. I remember closing my eyes and waiting, always disappointed when He never talked back. I thought about my younger brother and all his psychological issues. I thought about all the medication he takes because he actually does hear voices.
As the blessing continued I looked over at my mother. Her eyes were closed.
