The Art of Losing Yourself (32 page)

G
RACIE

Elias’s eighteenth birthday must have zapped my sanity, because at lunch on Friday, when I asked him what he wanted for a gift and he said he wanted me to come to church with him, I said yes. He told me he’d pick me up at nine. And, oh, by the way. I should probably wear a dress. I owned one black ankle-length skirt. I did not own a dress.

Courtesy of Carmen, I was wearing one—an A-line number the color of beet root with accordion pleats—on Sunday morning inside The Cross. It was my second time visiting, only this time I wasn’t the only white girl. Elias’s mom, Leah, was there too. We stood on either side of Elias, creating an inverse Oreo cookie that was more caramel than chocolate. The three of us walked into the sanctuary where an usher escorted us to a center pew. I pulled at the hem of my dress.

“You’re fidgeting,” Elias said.

“Probably because I feel awkward.”

“Why?”

“Can you not see me?”

He tapped my knee with his bulletin. “You look good.”

I probably would have blushed had the words typed on the front in big blue block lettering not caught my attention
—Baptism Sunday
. I plucked it from Elias’s hand to get a closer look, but before I could investigate any further the choir on stage started clapping, and the congregation stood to their feet to sing some song about the battle being over. A large woman in front of us swayed with a rhythm I would never possess. To my left, an old man with Nelson Mandela hair (may he rest in peace) waved his hands over his head. Their voices rose like a shout, and I was the observer too afraid to join. After the fourth song, the congregation sat. I let out a relieved breath, and a familiar girl stepped apart from the choir to the front of the stage. It was Chanelle. When she started singing, I wasn’t surprised. Everything about her was perfect. Why shouldn’t she have a voice worthy of
American Idol
too?

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

She sounded nothing like a wretch.

The lady in front of us must have resonated with the lyrics, though, because she nodded so fervently throughout the entirety of Chanelle’s solo that her body rocked back and forth. I peeked at Elias. He watched Chanelle in a way that set off that annoying spark of jealousy Elias’s reactions to Chanelle always seemed to spark. When the song ended and the choir exited the stage, Pastor Zeke stepped behind the pulpit—not dressed in his Sunday finest, but a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt—a splayed Bible resting across his large palm.

I leaned toward Elias’s ear. “And you made me wear a dress?”

He smiled.

“ ‘Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.’ Romans six, verses three and four.” Pastor Zeke spread his arms wide. “Like our sister just sang, we once were lost, but now we’re found.”

Several churchgoers let loose some “amens” and some “mmm-hmms.”

The woman in front of us started nodding again.

And as Pastor Zeke talked about the waters of baptism, I caught myself leaning forward in my seat, as if his words might answer all the questions that had accumulated since Mom first dunked herself in the creek. He finished more quickly than I anticipated. The choir returned to the stage to sing another song. Once they left, Pastor Zeke stood at the back of the stage inside a water tank, holding the hand of a skinny girl who couldn’t be much older than I.

In a voice surprisingly loud for her small size, standing waist deep in the water, she told the congregation about her life before Christ and the freedom she found after Christ. When she was done, Pastor Zeke gripped her shoulders and she pinched her nose. “Based on your profession of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, I now baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Buried with Him in death. Raised with Him in the newness of life.”

He dunked her under, and when he pulled her up—soaking wet, beaming from ear to ear—the congregation cheered and shouted out a chorus of “hallelujahs.” After her, another person stepped inside the tank. He told his story
and Pastor Zeke dunked him. Then another, and another, and another. And as I watched and listened, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to dive in after them or call their bluff.

For the first time in my life, I was trying. Expending real effort. I joined the academic bowl team. My grades were better than they’d ever been. I had friends that teachers and guardians actually approved of. And yet somehow, my anxiety had only grown. The harder I tried, the worse the anxiety got. Ever mounting. Ever expanding. Because I knew the truth. No amount of spit and shine on the outside would change who I was on the inside—the same screwup, irritant-in-the-clamshell Gracie Fisher.

I folded Elias’s bulletin into an accordion, then a paper airplane. I could feel him watching me, but I kept my eyes on my origami. When the service finally ended, I wanted to hightail it out of there. But Leah had to use the rest room and Elias wanted to say hi to Pastor Zeke in the lobby. Since it was his birthday, and since we couldn’t exactly ditch his mother, I followed after him.

“Gracie Fisher,” Pastor Zeke boomed. He had changed from his wet clothes into a coat and tie. “Back at The Cross for some more Jesus. Good to see you.”

“Elias wanted me to come for his birthday.”

“Baptism week is a mighty fine time to visit. We’re all about celebrating new life here.” Pastor Zeke gave Elias a fatherly clap on the shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Eli?”

“Yes sir.”

“You should invite Miss Fisher to dinner tonight. With your mama at work, we’ll have an extra place at the table.”

“Dinner?” I squeaked.

“We’ve been having a birthday dinner for this boy since he was in Pee Wee football. Chicken-fried steak with sausage gravy. Mm-mm-mm!”

Elias looked down at me. “Wanna come?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Come on. Everyone should get to taste Mrs. Z’s chicken-fried steak at least once in their lifetime.” He gave me puppy-dog eyes. “Please?”

I had no idea why he cared. Why should somebody like Elias want me there? I eyed him, thinking about Christmas Eve on the hood of my car and the moment that passed between us before we were interrupted. I’d played it
through my mind a thousand different times, a thousand different ways. If Ingrid had never come outside, would Elias have kissed me? And if he kissed me, would that have answered my question about his mysterious relationship with Chanelle? Several times I’d wanted to ask what they were to each other, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it without sounding embarrassingly interested.

“One last birthday gift?” he added.

And just like I did in the cafeteria on Friday, I heard myself say yes.

G
RACIE

Pastor Zeke lived in a coral-colored stucco home in one of Bay Breeze’s more modest neighborhoods. A fence that had seen better days bordered a freshly mowed lawn. I took it all in from the safety of my car, more nervous now than I was before walking inside The Cross earlier this morning. I mean, it was one thing for Pastor Zeke and me to make small talk inside a church lobby. It was another to step inside his house and eat food at his dinner table—up close and personal. How long before he realized Elias was hanging out with the wrong girl?

Who cares if he doesn’t like you? You don’t need his approval
.

The thoughts rose up inside of me like a pair of old friends. I grabbed for my key, still in the ignition, ready to turn the car back on and drive away, but I forced myself to stop. Take a deep breath. Resist the old Gracie urges. As much as I wanted to deny it, as much as I might even want to undo it, I did care what Pastor Zeke thought. His opinion mattered to me because Elias’s friendship mattered to me. Probably too much.

I wiped my palms along the accordion pleats of my dress and picked up the plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies I made this afternoon. I stepped out into the nippy air and knocked on the front door. Elias answered so quickly, he had to have been watching from the window.

“You’re still in your dress.”

“You’re still in your church clothes.”

“True, but I wasn’t the one acting like I wanted to be in anything but my church clothes.”

“Well, I’ve never been to dinner at a pastor’s house before. I don’t know the dress code. When I tried searching for answers online, Google failed me. I even tried Bing. And nobody uses Bing.”

Elias smiled and opened the door wider. “You could have called.”

I stepped inside a small entryway with walls covered in rose-patterned
wallpaper and framed photographs of what must be Pastor Zeke’s family. The smell of southern fried cooking hung thick in the air.

“Aw, did you bake for me?” Elias asked.

I held the plate away from him. “These are for Pastor Zeke and his wife.”

“Did someone say my name?” Pastor Zeke joined us in the entryway, making the already small space even smaller with his large presence. “Gracie Fisher, it’s a pleasure to have you with us tonight.”

“It’s…um…a pleasure to be here.”

“Oh, is Gracie here?” A woman stepped out from the kitchen wearing a plaid apron tried around her waist, possessing the kind of classic beauty reminiscent of Clair Huxtable.

“Gracie, this is my wife, Gloria. Gloria, this is Gracie.”

I stuck out my hand to shake, but apparently Gloria was a hugger. When she let me go, she took my cookies with a warm “thank you” and then there was this super awkward moment where we all sort of stared at each other.

“The food smells wonderful.” The overdose of nerves had turned me into Pollyanna.

“Thank you, Gracie. I hope it’s as good as it smells.”

“Your cooking is always as good as it smells, Mrs. Z.”

Gloria turned her smile on Elias for a quick moment. “What can we get you to drink, Gracie? We have milk, iced tea. Eli says you’re fond of RC Cola.”

“Water’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Great. Eli, why don’t you show our guest to the table while we finish up in the kitchen?”

Pastor Zeke took my coat, and I followed Elias through a small living area and into a dining room with wood-paneled wainscoting and more wallpaper. On one of the walls hung a large picture of Pastor Zeke, Gloria, three grown girls who looked exactly like Gloria, two men who didn’t look like either Gloria or Pastor Zeke, and a happy baby on the pastor’s knee.

Elias pulled out my chair. “ ‘Water’s perfect, thank you’?”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“Easy for you to say.” Pastor Zeke and Gloria loved him. He was already part of their family. And why shouldn’t he be? He was like the male version of Chanelle. For all I knew, his solo would be next week.

He sat in the seat across from me and set his elbows on the table. “I keep waiting.”

“For what?”

“You to wish me happy birthday.”

“I already did.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I went to church with you. And I’m sitting here right now.”

His dimples deepened. “Is it really that hard for you to say it?”

“Happy birthday.”

“Why, thank you.”

I rolled my eyes.

He laughed as Pastor Zeke brought out my water and a platter of chicken-fried steak. Gloria followed behind, a dish of turnip greens with ham hock in one hand, a plate of cornbread in the other. “Elbows off the table, Eli.”

He removed them immediately.

I sat unnaturally straight and folded my hands in my lap.

Once the pastor and his wife were seated, Pastor Zeke blessed the food. It wasn’t one of those standard, mechanical-sounding prayers I’d heard from Carmen either, but a heartfelt prayer spoken in his deep rumble of a voice. It was so mesmerizing I ended up watching him instead of bowing my head. When he said “amen,” I glanced across the table and discovered Elias watching me, which didn’t at all help with the sweaty palm situation.

“I’m glad you joined us, Gracie.” Gloria passed me the cornbread.

“It’s a pleasure to be here.” As soon as it popped out, I wanted to bury my face in the cornbread. I’d already used that line in the entryway. It was painfully obvious, to me at least, that I had never been in the position of trying to get someone to like me before. It was sort of exhausting. I took the greens with what felt like a very awkward “thank you.”

“We love when Eli brings a guest to dinner,” she added.

I scooped food onto my plate, wondering how often he brought guests. Maybe this was a common occurrence. Maybe I was one of several girls he’d brought by and there was nothing special about our relationship at all. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d misread a situation.

“We’re empty nesters now, so the more the merrier.”

I cleared my throat. “How…how many children do you have?”

“Three daughters,” Gloria said. “Two sons-in-law. One grandson and another grandbaby on the way.”

“The Lord has blessed us with a bounty of children.” Pastor Zeke spooned a generous amount of sausage gravy on his plate and winked at Elias. “And not just biological.”

“We’re sad every time they leave. Like a mama bird watching her babies take flight.”

Elias grinned at Gloria’s heartfelt words. I focused on my meal, even if my nerves kept me from tasting the food. Thankfully, Pastor Zeke and his wife didn’t give me the third degree. I mostly observed the conversation while they participated. We cleaned our plates and Gloria served us homemade pecan pie and the plate of my cookies. Elias brought up the academic bowl team.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Pastor Zeke asked.

Part of me wanted to gush, because I was. My ability to retain large amounts of random information served me well. “We haven’t done any competitions yet. Just practicing with each other. Next week they’ll select the team that will compete for state.”

“You’ll make the team.” There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty in Elias’s voice. “Malik’s the captain, and according to him, you are irrefragably perspicacious.”

Everyone at the table laughed. The words were one hundred percent Malik.

“I have no idea what that means,” Gloria said.

Elias took a drink of his milk. “Don’t feel bad. I had to look it up.”

“I downloaded a dictionary app on my phone so I could carry on a conversation with him during practice.”

Pastor Zeke laughed again.

It produced a warm, funny kind of feeling in my stomach.

“It means she’s smart.” Pastor Zeke shot me a wink. “Malik was paying our Gracie a compliment.”

The warm feeling expanded. Not so much because of the wink, but because of the words.
Our Gracie
. I took a bite of pecan pie, my nerves slowly melting away.