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Show Blue Run/70 congregation's eyes wide on my rebirth The organist looked at me goggle-eyed, about to pump the organ's pedals. Strange to think of it now, Jesus, I mean. That the central act of the world's central religion is about death and mutilation-total human sacrifice. Sundays at First Baptist, Brother Dell'd summon the deacons who carried trays of grape juice, little shot glasses filled with bitter drink. Then came the trays of saltine crackers. I don't know, maybe it's a meal you're not supposed to like, one that should make you gag a little when it goes down. Take this, my blood, take this my body-transubstantiation, Joey calls it, but the whole mess seems pure-D cannibal to me Give me some space here, let me go. Because Brother Del baptized me with all those blank faces out beyond the baptismal glass. Some fine day, I remember thinking, his scrunched up face looking at me up above the water. Why is it men get such a kick out of holding you down, their eyes locked on yours, waiting for you to give. Forgive me all this. My mind then the house that burned to the ground, my wedding dress, the one Dee'd bought for me with O.W., the lace I wore that day in front of the big glass window that overlooked the crook of river, Joey standing between me and my groom. I remember how light looked through the veil, the gauzy blue sky, how Joey said I do, I do take this woman, sweet boy. I picture it burning, the fine ash no eye will ever see Jimmy put a red push-point through this exact spot in his map of the world-the center of our lives-Lonoke, Arkansas-where we moved after the house burned and we got Jesus. Spring came-I'm sure it did. Forsythia bloomed. I missed a period, then another. My hair turned O.W.? The piece of ceiling that fell on his chest maybe burned some sense into his heart; he got Jesus and ended his career as a Greyhound charter-bus driver and horse track gambler. He got on |