intersections

Sofia drew this picture in my book one morning and told me I should write a story from it. This freaked the shit out of me. I find it difficult to do anything if it is specifically asked of me because all I can think about is fulfilling what that person expects and worrying about failing (failure is imminent due to panic causing severe inability to think). Bottom line: I am somewhat shit under pressure. Here is a 'somewhat shit/under-pressure'* story. Illustrated by Sofia McIntyre.

Really, a cross is much less than the thousands of meanings threaded to it. When it comes down to it a cross is just two straight lines intersecting each other. A large portion of the globe is dedicating their lives to two straight, perfectly perpendicular lines.

Two straight lines, one straight priest. One straight priest and a hunch-back sharing communion after the parish has gone home. A carnal ritual.  I would like to walk through all the world's churches and turn their crosses forty-five degrees counter-clockwise. 

When I was seven or eight my Nana would buy me beautiful white dresses in an attempt to persuade me to attend church with her. She has enormous amounts of faith, my Nana. She has faith in her God and she has faith in a society which is regulated and predictable and safe. She has faith in a society where little girls wear white dresses on outings with their grandmothers.

She didn't know that I hated wearing dresses or anything remotely girl-ish. I would sometimes go with her but I refused to wear the dresses. When I did go my Nana would proudly introduce me to all her friends. She would always say, "This is my eldest granddaughter Natalie" as if being the eldest granddaughter made a difference to my worth.

One Sunday morning my Nana turned up at our house to take me to church. I forgot that I'd agreed to go and I had a friend over. I told her I didn't want to go anymore. The look on her face made me feel so incredibly guilty. Pure disappointment. I don't think I fully fathomed why she looked this way or why I felt so guilty. But I felt awful about making her look like this.

Natalie. Are you coming to church with me on Sunday? 

This is my eldest granddaughter. Natalie.

Natalie doesn't know to genuflect before taking her seat. Natalie doesn't know what the priest would like her to say when she takes Christ's body from him. Natalie is the eldest grandchild. Natalie should lead by example. 

The only part of church Natalie really likes is when the Kapa Haka group from her school sometimes perform. They sound fantastic. They are far more alive than anyone else in the church seems to be. She likes the criss-crossed woven lines of their skirts which intersect at right angles. She warms toward these intersections more than the one which holds a small bleeding body above the altar. You are supposed to love this creature though.

Natalie hates the part of church where the congregation must say, "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you." Natalie refuses to say this. She doesn't think it makes any sense and she refuses to say something so degrading. But Nana notices. Nana makes Natalie say it and after a while Natalie begins to believe it. She hates the white dresses even more. They make her feel like a million tangled lines. 

*Disclaimer: It is edited a little in an attempt to be slightly less shit.