I
hated Sunday morning. All dolled up with slick-um in my hair just to suffocate
from perfume while wriggling around a hard wood pew. Everybody wrapped up
in their "good" clothes, stupified by the drone of a stiff-collared
preacher. I prefer that good ol' devil-chasing, flop-sweating, revival tent
Pentecostal gospel. At least there's a decent show... ethereal lights... colorful
costumes... and hair-raising, holy rolling hysteria. I was baptized at a revival.
Baptized by total submersion. Bathing in redemptive waters, I cast away my
past to be born anew. A white robe with gold trim billowed around my head
as I emerged from the pool. Water droplets and my toothy smile sparkled in
the holy glow of overhead lights. If only the congregation knew what I was
really thinking. Why I was smiling. I was just itching to cry out," I
only asked for a glass of water!"
