REDEMPTION
GOOD FRIDAY
Destination: Wicker, NH. No service. The nearest Walmart is approximately a 30-minute drive. It’s basically the middle of buttfuck nowhere, where I grew up. I don’t have very many fond memories of my childhood. My parents were closed off, emotionally, we had the bare minimum. My sister and I had the necessities, but beyond that, everything else had to be free or very cheap. We didn’t have a lot to do. We were sick of each other by the end of each one.
The landscape whizzes by as I look out the window, towering buildings and busy people transition to the calm of fronds sweeping in the wind and birds chirping in the blooming trees. Spring painted the landscape with new life in all forms. It reminds me of spring weekends with my sister picking flowers and braiding crowns in the grass, and catching the baby frogs in the creek.
I’m snapped out of thought as I hear the rocks hit the wheel well as we pull up the winding driveway to my childhood home. Time has left its mark on the house. It looked like it exhaled a sigh and never inhaled again. The yellow siding comes into view along with the white trim and broken lattice. I can see the decals I painted and installed with my dad. My mom picked out the color for the house, a bright sunflower yellow. Now the yellow doesn’t shine as brightly as it once did. The wraparound porch had a hole in the floor, silently begging to be repaired.
I step out of the car and grab my duffel bag. I make my way to the old screen door, the inside door wide open. I found my mother in the kitchen, a glass of wine poised in her hand like a prize. A pat on the back for half-assing every dinner she’s made for this family. Glad to know she isn’t driving. “Hey sweetie, give me a hug.” My mom quickly pulls me into her embrace. I reciprocate the gesture with less enthusiasm, stiff as a statue. My mom lets go. “How’s school? Work?” I give short replies. “ Both are good.” She nods, bringing her wine glass up to her mouth.
Her breath already reeked of wine. She turns around and tends to the stove and without looking back at me she says, “Well you’ve definitely… changed since the last time I saw you.” She always had to make some backhanded compliment. I roll my eyes. “So have you.” I see her smile start to falter. “Go find your father, he’s been missing you.” She smiles again and watches me walk out.
I go seek out Dad down in the garage, at least he tries to get along with me. He’s cooped up in his workshop like he always is. If he’s not in the garage he’s doing little side projects on the house. The garage smells like pine and wood glue. My dad looks up from his current project, “Hey kiddo, you’re back.” He turns his gaze back as I speak, “Yeah, hey.” We never really talked a lot. “You look…” I can’t read the expression in his eyes. It’s like he recognizes me but at the same time… doesn’t. “It’s kinda funny, you look a little like me.” He studies my face a little more. I don’t know what to think, much less what to say. My dad continues with his work. “Thanks Dad” I turn to walk up the stairs.
I push open my childhood bedroom door and study the room. Nothing much has changed. I drop my luggage and get dressed for the evening mass, even though I don’t really want to go. I thought it would be in my best interest to try to get along with my family, even with the rough start. My bow tie sits stiffly on my neck, my shirt feels scratchy against my skin, and my shoes squeak as I walk along the floor. I make my way down the stairs. My mom is also in her Sunday
best. She looks me up and down, “You’re really going to wear that?” The emphasis she puts on that last word fills my body with anger and anxiety all at once. I frown. She knows she can’t control what I wear anymore. Been like that for years. It was a nice try though. “I’m fine wearingthis, Mom.” She frowns. I can still make this work, she’s not impossible to appease.
The drive to the mass was quiet. Mom sat with a stony face in the driver's seat while I shrank into the passenger seat. Maybe if I make myself small enough she’ll forget why she’s mad. This doesn’t seem to be going as well as I thought it would. But she has to know I’m trying. I’m trying to get along with her. The church was packed, and everyone was dressed in their Sunday best.
The church was muggy and humid, my dress clothes stuck to my skin almost immediately. I sat down in a pew next to my mom and gained my bearings. The podium sat up front and the crucifix was fixed on the wall behind it. A frail body pinned to a giant cross, His eyes, fixed on mine. A chill goes up my spine. I break eye contact and look around. I notice a few eyes staring right in my direction. Do they recognize me? I feel eyes burning holes into my back. The pastor speaks of sacrifice and how the lord has died for us and we should be grateful. My mom looks over at me, I’m assuming she thinks I should be grateful for her. All I feel is spite.
The ride back was uncomfortable and awkward. My mother has a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. I can tell words are teeming on her tongue, threatening to break the barrier of her mouth. I cautiously watched her swallow back the ball of poison she was about to sling with her tongue. I was safe, for now. I shrink into my seat once more to try to take up less space.
I holed up in my room for the rest of the night, not something unexpected from me. I don't really like being downstairs and around my family. I took this opportunity to do something I haven’t been able to. When I moved out I was in a hurry and I left a lot of my childhood stuff behind. Might as well find my art from K-12 while I’m here so I can take it home with me.
My closet was a museum full of pieces of my childhood, they felt almost distant and ancient. They all bring up foggy memories of my childhood. Sunday school, early Sunday breakfasts, catholic middle and high school, the bullying, the fighting, my sister's hospitalization, and the ever-imprinted sound of my parents' footsteps are ingrained in my mind. I could always tell what kind of mood they were in.
Maybe looking through my closet wasn’t the greatest idea. I find pieces of art throughout my school years and hole up in my hiding spot. I have a small wooden door in my room that leads to another small room. Growing up, sometimes I needed an escape, to disappear. It was exactly how I left it. Soft, thick comforters, pillows, and star-shaped string lights were the choice decorations in my paradise. I felt like a kid again, just trying to escape the screaming matches between my parents and sister. Or if my dad is looking for me. I curl up in a ball and hug myself with a blanket and close my eyes, wishing for a better tomorrow.
HOLY SATURDAY
Night terrors plagued my sleep throughout the night. Proven by my soaked shirt and big wet stain on the fitted sheet of my bed. I claw my shirt off and throw on a new one. I check my phone, and the screen reads, 5:00 am. Fuck. I don’t think I’m going back to sleep. I rolled over and scrolled on my phone until my eyes felt heavy enough to keep closed. My eyes fluttered back open when the soft morning light warmed my face. I get dressed and make myself as presentable as possible to find out that my sister has joined us for Easter.
Once everyone is seated for breakfast my mother speaks, “It’s nice to have a full house again,” she peers down at all of us, “now we can talk about…” she looks over at me. My dad looks around nervously and shrinks into his chair. My sister's jaw hangs slightly slack, I can see her brain loading from the look in her eyes. So I dare to provoke the beast, “Whatever could you mean, mother?” She looks over to make eye contact with me. “You know what I mean, are you sure you're not confused? I mean I keep seeing these articles online and-" The audacity.
“Whatever you are about to say I don't want to hear.” I bark. “What about kids?” I make eye contact with my sister, pleading for her to say something, but all I can get from her is a pathetic, “Mom..” My dad cuts in, "That's enough honey.” My mom rescinds and we spend the rest of breakfast in an uncomfortable silence.
My sister and I decided to spend most of the day in the woods after breakfast. My parents own about 10 acres of land, including the land the house is sitting on. The rusty chain link fence in the backyard served as a gateway to paradise. There is a steep hill that leads to a vast lush forest, including a winding creek. Each summer we’d spend all day every day exploring the forest, building dams in the creek, and little stick forts in the trees. The creek carved its deep veins throughout the woods.
I always loved how the sunlight cascades through the branches and leaves, leaving intricate patterns of shadows on the leafy floor. The sound of the creek bubbling was always soothing to the soul, and catching frogs is always fun. Damp grass squeaks under our feet as we slowly make our way down the creek, to our main fort downstream. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with my sister. We used to fight a lot, now it’s more just tension because she tries to keep the peace but she ends up just pissing me off. Why is my existence such a controversial topic? It was making me mad just thinking about it. Maybe she’s different now.
”I can't believe she’s still on her bullshit.” I can't contain my bubbling anger. My sister furls her bows. “You know she’s trying her best.” I roll my eyes “No she’s fucking not! You heard the snide remarks she was making. It’s literally been a decade and she still can’t see me for who I am. It’s.. painful…” I cross my arms over my chest and cast my eyes down to the ground. I pretend the ladybugs crawling over a log are particularly interesting. “It’s painful for her too though-“ she tries. “Ugh, it’s always about her feelings too. I’m her kid! She should love and support me no matter what! And she, a devout Christian, only gives conditional love. Not very devout of her.” I spat. My sister narrows her eyes. “Whatever, don’t be late for mass, she’s trying so you have to as well.” And she walks off in a random direction, probably to cool off. I need to cool off as well.
I turn around and walk in the opposite direction from her. I wanted the chances of us crossing paths to be almost null. I follow the creek down for most of the day. The warm beams of light cast on my skin with a gentle touch. The wind whistles through the leaves making a tune to numb the thoughts in my head. I walk until the ache in my legs forces me to rest. I take a seat on a fallen tree and look up at the sky. It’s hard to see the sun through all the tree branches and thick foliage. I spot the sun, the size of a pin. I shiver. I don't think I can feel the sunlight anymore. I look around, and I don't know if I recognize where I am. I can't find any familiar landmarks. And then I see something extra unfamiliar.
It's the stone walls we have mapped out but I walked in the wrong direction to see them. My sister walked towards the stone walls. It’s on our map. Curiously, the walls are making circles. Arches overlapping over and over, twisting in nauseating turns. It looks repetitive and hurried. In the middle, a tall structure made out of sticks. I think I would’ve remembered constructing something so intricate. This must’ve taken hours. It almost seems…inhuman.
I carefully stalk closer to see more detail on the alien structure. Twine, twigs, and branches intertwine to make a big arched wall, about 15 feet in the air. Definitely not something kids could make. I feel my heart rate spike as I take stock of the details of the creation. I walk around, a giant crucifix is erected in the earth, and a fire pit in front of it. Dead doves circle the crucifix as some sort of sacrifice. On the woven wall “She will be redeemed” is written over and over. The words overlapping, stretching, and shrinking, whoever wrote this wrote it feverishly. There was a picture nailed onto the cross too, a little kid, who looks exactly how I looked when I was younger. I stood, frozen, unable to really process what was in front of me. My muscles screamed at me to move, I dragged my heavy feet and forced my body to turn around and run.
My legs ignited as I pushed my body forward, and pounded my feet into the Earth at lightning speed. My heartbeat drums in my ears and my eyes begin to sting. I didn't know what I found, but my body knew to get away from it.I navigated my way back, trying to memorize the map we created as kids. I didn’t stop running until I saw my house come into my field of view.
I somehow found myself staring down at the drain of my bathtub. The hot water stings where I got cut with branches and trees frantically fleeing whatever… ritual I found in the woods. My legs ache from the strain. I watch the dirt and blood streak down the drain. Someone knocks on the door.
“We’re leaving in 10 dude.” My sister's muffled voice comes through the wooden door. I turn the shower off and rush to get ready. An outfit is already laid out for me. A short-sleeved yellow button-up, a black pencil skirt, and a pair of heels. I ignored the outfit and put on my own. The church was more crowded than yesterday. The church's tall arched windows cast a rainbow across the pews. The air carried the heavy scent of incense. As we walked towards our pew I could feel more eyes burn holes into my back. I started to break into a sweat, my temperature rising, and I had to take off my jacket. I sat down and took stock of the room. About a dozen people had their gaze trained on me, faces emotionless, stoic, pupils dilated as big as balloons, like camera lenses trained on me. I whipped around, face burning. That’s definitely not normal. I look over at my sister, “Bro everyone is staring at me,” I whisper. “What are you talking about?” She whispers back. I turned around again, and their faces went back to normal. Maybe I was seeing things?
The sermon begins, the organ swells, and the priest talks about stillness and silence. This day is a day of reflection. Something I don’t think my mother could comprehend. I look over at her, pious and devout with her ungodly bright platinum blonde hair. Pride is one of the seven sins. Her entire existence is an oxymoron. I wonder how she doesn’t violate the basic sanctities of the faith.
My gaze is caught by the details hanging on the back wall. The crucifix seems to be the same as yesterday, but it almost looks like the fingers and toes are twitching. The shadows of the ribs are shrinking and growing, a movement. I think I'm going to be sick. Is there a real living breathing man on that cross? My mind is swimming at that point. I swallow back the building acid, I need to at least try to figure out if there’s someone in danger. I hang back at the end of the line at the end of the sermon. I make sure I’m the last person in line leaving, and then I pivot and make a beeline to the back of the church. The priest and deacon were at the front doors of the church, so I had the advantage. I set my eyes on my target, trying to be inconspicuous. I look at His face, the lines of pain and agony look too real. I can almost see beads of sweat on his body. I’m stopped by two men in matching garb with the rest of the church, understudies of the deacon and priest. “This is off limits.” I’m turned around and ushered right out of the front doors of the church. My family is waiting in the car. I put on a brave face.
I don’t have the stomach for dinner. I head straight up to my room and try to make a plan. A plan to… I don’t know. I could just leave. But what if I was overreacting? Maybe it was sacred and no one could go up to the altar because it was almost Easter? I can’t wrap my head around it. That can't have been what I saw. I stumble into my room to find a small leather box on my bed.
Inside was the Celtic ring my grandma gave me. I hold the ring close to my chest. Suddenly I hear a sharp *rap* *rap* *rap* at my door. I throw the box on the floor and kick it under the bed, I hold the hand that wears the ring behind my back, and I open the door. “Are you okay?” My mother queries, she purses her lips, and studies my face. “I’m just feeling a little nauseous, Mom.” I give her a small smile to reassure her. I don’t know if she quite buys it. I’ve spent so much time avoiding her I haven’t been smth to get a good look at her face. It looks more angular, and... tight? It’s almost like she has her hair in a ponytail way too tight.
Her smile is too wide, eyes too big. “I think I’m going to take off early tomorrow morning.” My mother’s smile drops. “You’re going to skip church?” She looks hurt. “Yeah, Mom, I think I’m too sick for Easter. I don’t want to get y’all sick.” I try not to show my desperation for my excuse to work. My mom's eyes start to well up with tears. “I just want you to be saved…” Her mouth hung open with those last few syllables, her jaw sliding open with a *click* *click* *click*, she took a step back and slammed the door shut, doorframe rattling from the sheer force.
I lurched forward to grab the door handle but I was too late, the door locked with another *click*. Fuck. I was trapped. I tried the window, but it wouldn’t budge, I banged on the door. My sister’s voice floated through the door. “I told you to get along with her.” She was chastising me through the door. “I just told her I wanted to leave!” I cried. “You can’t leave, you haven’t been saved yet.” !? “What the fuck are you talking about??” I hit the door. Silence. I hit the door again. “Answer me!” More silence. It was a lost cause. I sink to the floor, my back against the door. I check my phone. No data, and I don’t think I’m getting the wifi password any time soon. I can feel my heart leap in my throat. My breathing becomes shallow and rapid. I’ve been essentially kidnapped by my family. I crawl over to my bed and drag myself in. I curl myself into a ball, try to make myself as small as I can. I cradle the hand that bears my grandmother’s ring, and close my eyes.
EASTER SUNDAY
I wake up to the sound of my door unlocking, I look out the window, and it’s still dark outside. My mother speaks to me in a cold tone. “Get up.” I turn to face the wall. “I’m not a kid anymore, you can’t tell me what to do.” My mother moves across the room and snatches my jaw in her grip, she squeezes. no“You. Are. Not. In. Control. Here. Do you understand me?” Her nostrils were flaring, eyes impossibly wide, cheekbones angular and gaunt. Her stare pierces through my soul.
This is not the woman who raised me, she is someone worse. She releases my jaw, satisfied with my reaction. “You WILL act appropriately today.” Her eyes hold some sort of poison. How motherly. She flits across the room and whips the door closed, making sure to lock it in her wake.
After what seemed like hours, my mother let me out of my room. I waste no time, I barrel down the stairs and make a run for the front door. It unlocks, my heart fills with hope, but I go to open the door, and it won’t budge. I slam my shoulder into the door, harder and harder, *bam* *Bam* *BAM*. I run to the window, but it won’t budge, and I can't undo the lock. “You can’t leave, we haven’t gone to church yet.” She says with a small smile. “Come, breakfast is ready.”
The table was covered in food. Orange juice, bacon, sausage, pancakes, scrambled eggs, toast you name it. High towers of cut fruit. The lighting is warm and inviting, and the room is decorated in complementary pastel colors. Sheep, bunnies, and butterflies cover the wall in a flurry of color.
Streamers criss-cross across the room. It reminds me of Easter when I was a kid. My dad hangs his head, he can’t make eye contact with me. My mom has a hand on the back of my sister's neck, claws like a dragon barely piercing her throat. She doesn’t really seem to be there. Her eyes are facing my direction but it’s as if she's looking through me. Her long hair drapes her face, and she moves slowly like a sloth. My mom stares me down as I tentatively make my way to the only open seat. I pile on small portions of food on my plate, hoping to appease my mother, play the part she wants me to play so badly. I pretend to eat, taking small bites and pushing food around my plate. I don't think it’s outlandish to not trust her cooking right now. I anxiously play with the ring on my finger, spinning it round and round letting the feeling ground me. “Take a bite.” My mother sings, she smiles, and clasps her hands together. She makes eye contact with me and narrows her eyes. I look over at my Dad for help, he’s also playing with his food. He looks over at me once and shakes his head. He’s scared of her too. I don’t have any options. I tentatively take a small morsel from my plate and place it in my mouth. This seems to appease her. That’s not a good sign. I get up, “May I be excused to the bathroom?” announce. I spin around, and the world tilts. I catch my head with my hands and close my eyes, trying to make the spinning stop. My adrenaline kicks in, my heart races, my breathing becomes shallow. I lose balance and catch myself on the corner of the table but I’m already on my knees.
I woke up in the back of a car with my sister. My vision is blurry and my brain is foggy. My joints ache, especially my shoulders. My body itches too, especially my scalp. Platinum blonde curls surround my vision. The same curl pattern as mine. I get nauseous. I look down. I get even more nauseous. I’m wearing a pink frilly dress and heels that are too tight. My waist is shrunken, tightly tied in a corset. I feel like I can’t breathe.
I look outside, the sky is dark and cloudy, with a tinge of red, the sun is either setting or rising. The dark trees whizz by. My mom’s in the driver's seat, her eyes focused on the road. My sister is slumped over in the front seat, she's in the same outfit as me. We both look like carbon copies of my mom. I try to move, my legs are free but my hands are tied behind my back.
My shoulders and neck screamed from being in the position so long. I try to make a noise but my throat is burning. All I can let out is a pathetic squeak.
My mother yanks both of us out of the car, each of us at her side. Her grip of steel tightened around my bound wrists and she herds us inside. Fellow churchgoers pile in like zombies, they fill the pews one by one. The church is filled with pink, blue, and yellow. The grand stained glass windows fill the room with a red tinge. My sister is left at the front pew to watch. She hangs her head in shame. My mom drags me up in front of everyone. I anxiously wait as people file in, I try to escape my mother's grasp when I feel her grip relax, but she always catches me when I’m about to break away. When did she get so strong?
Freakishly strong. I managed to get my fingers in the right spot to fidget with my ring. It brings me a little focus. As the last of the churchgoers file in and sit down the priest and deacon take their place behind me. “Today is a day for celebration, for he has risen.” He pauses in thought. “He went through so much.. he slaved.. he labored.. he DIED, for our sins, and we all praise him. We abide by the 10 commandments and show him our love. We live by the bible.” I feel his gaze burning into my back. “But some of us make mistakes. And when we make those mistakes we seek forgiveness from our lord and savior. We go to confession and we repent! But not all of us know the errors of our ways.” My heart drops.
The clinking of pressed rose petal beads and the murmur of prayer fill the room. Everyone has a rosary in their hands. I feel my own fingers grasp for beads that I don’t have. Everyone is taught how to pray the rosary. The Apostles’ Creed, Our Father, Hail Mary, that used to be my favorite as a kid. My nostrils fill with the scent of incense, the priest walks around and wafts the aromatic smoke, as he walks around he maintains eye contact with me, like a predator stalking its prey. He walks up to me. “Of the father,” he reaches for my forehead with a bent finger. *thunk* ”The son” He moves his fingers down. *Thunk* ”The Holy Spirit” He reaches for my left shoulder and then my right ”She will be saved” His face breaks into a creepy, impossible smile. He falls back outside my field of vision. Then I hear a peculiar noise. The sound of something dragging, grinding, quiet at first. The churchgoers change the tune of their prayers. They all start chanting in unison. “She will be saved.” I hear that soft rumbling again, a little louder. I feel bile at the back of my throat. My mother's grip tightens. “She will be saved.” They hummed. The rumbling grew louder and then stopped again. My mother covered my eyes with her free hand. I have a small sliver of vision through her fingers, and what I see makes my blood run cold. A man carrying a cross on his shoulder. Bloodied hands and feet, face cast down at the floor. The people keep chanting, “She will be saved.” My mother joins in with her own version. “You will be saved.” She coos in my ear and rubs my shoulder. Some mascot resembling God’s son drags his load forth, down the aisle, and the people just watch. His devoted worshipers stand and stare. His punctured feet leave a trail of blood as he drags his battered and bruised body across the church. As he grows closer, he lifts his head, and hollow eye sockets greet mine. Gaunt face and frail body. I squeeze my grandma’s ring in my hands. His face is inches from mine. His breathing is labored and wheezy. He trembles and shakes from the pain. He reaches his bloodied hand up to my forehead, his hand stutters, and brushes his bony thumb over my skin. Goosebumps travel all over my body. He whispers:
“You don’t need to be saved.”
.
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.
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I wake with blurry vision. My head is pounding. Enclosed in my fist, my grandma’s ring, a perfect circle burned into my hand from where it sat. I slide it back on my finger. I ease myself into a sitting position, my body aches badly, and my wrists are bruised and sore. I feel a wetness on my forehead, I reach up to touch it and look at my fingertips. Blood.
Authors Note: If you got this far, thanks for reading! This is a passion project my mind cooked up while I was watching CreepCast, and I worked very hard on it.