Don't Speak

Chapter One

So much for “We’ll still be besties,” I thought as Nadine’s phone went to voicemail again. We’d spoken twice since I left Mount Pleasant. She’d been busy all summer with the church— or so she said. Every time I thought about it, I was pissed. She was still at home, with everyone we grew up with, starting junior year and leading the youth group we created in church. Meanwhile, I’d been stuck here for months, mostly keeping to myself. It was different in Mount Pleasant; we’d all known each other since we were sucking on pacifiers, plus Nadine was my girl; we always had each other’s backs. Now I’m in a big city with a bunch of strangers—except my parents. Ugh. How pathetic. They’re the whole reason I’m in this mess anyway. Dad got a job offer here in Austell, and within no time our house was on the market. And, of course, neither of my parents seemed to care that uprooting and restarting high school halfway through is social hell. They were too busy celebrating. Not only had dad gotten a promotion, but a bigger city meant a bigger house for mama; she couldn’t wait.

We hadn’t been in Austell long when we started going to Mount Zion; I’d gotten saved just last year at Living Waters, the church we’d been attending since I was a baby. I’d always felt freedom there, and a sense of peace. But ever since we moved to Austell, I haven’t felt the same. Even though I never try to hide my displeasure during service, my parents are always trying to get me to be more involved. I think they truly believe that after a while I’ll find one of the plethora of groups to my liking, or at least fake it, so they keep finding reasons for me to go.

I’d tried to give the place a chance in the beginning; I mean, I did get a bigger room and a better allowance. A walk-in closet and money to fill it up never hurt, but the house was too big for three people and with dad’s hours getting longer by the week, it just seemed to get emptier. The three thousand square feet just began to feel obnoxious—especially considering we moved during the summer when I’d typically be drenched by water balloons and surrounded by laughter while Nadine and I worked as volunteers for vacation bible school. With just me and mama, this house was just too quiet. All I could hear was her recording lessons for the African American Lit class she was teaching online that summer. She’d agreed to teach the first summer session at her hold university remotely, which gave her something to do for half of the day and left me bored out of my mind.

After a month of playing phone tag and ultimately just resorting to texting, I finally got a call from Nadine after she’d finished with vbs for the day.

“Let’s FaceTime so you can give me the tour, girl!” she said. “I know your daddy was promising to go all out for your room. I wanna see the delivery.”

“Nadine,” I said, exasperation dripping from my tone, “we haven’t spoken in forever, I’m two steps away from a looney bin, and you want a house tour?”

“Oh, girl, stop,” she said. She’d always been soft-spoken, so even when she reprimanded someone, it came off in a loving way, rather than a strict one. “It can’t be that bad. You’re right outside the city, you’ve got a plethora of bookstores to explore, and even more great things to do. You could get an internship and get some experience for when you start applying for college. Remember God is greater than the ups and downs.”

Lying on my bed, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let Nadine’s words wash over me. I remembered the service we attended when we first heard that phrase. I’d typically been timid in church; I didn’t want any attention on me, but I’d heard the Lord saying that day, “Did you come here for other people, or did you come here to worship me?” Pastor Michael had preached about going where God calls us to go. He’d said that most of the great journeys in the bible were riddled with tests and challenges, particularly David’s, but God was greater than the ups and downs. Afterward, Nadine and I prayed together. She led the prayer and asked that God give me peace about where he was calling me to go, and sure enough, I felt the holy spirit so strongly that I couldn’t hold back. I began to praise with all of my strength and the fullness of my voice, and I didn’t care who was watching or who heard me, or how I looked. I only cared that I could feel God there with me in that moment. Lying on my bed, remembering that moment, I brushed the tears that had fallen out of the corners of my eyes away.

“Amen,” I said, trying not to sound like I’d just been crying. “It’s just so hard.”

“I know,” Nadine said. “Have you tried reading It’s Not Supposed to be This Way by Lysa Terkeurst?”

“No.”

“You need to read it!” she said emphatically. “Pastor Mike was hesitant at first because it’s a little mature, but I think we’re going to read it in Anointed Futures.”

Thanks for the second stab to the heart, I thought. Anointed Futures was my teen group at church, and at the mention of it, more memories came flooding back. How could Nadine not get this? How was she able to just keep going after we’d both cried and promised to FaceTime every day? If she’d been the one to leave, would she be handling things better? I’m sure her parents wouldn’t allow their own fears about her wandering around the city by herself to hold her hostage in the house all summer long. So, maybe she could handle it better. It seemed like she already was.

“You still wanna see the house?” I asked flatly. My bed had gotten quite comfy and I didn’t feel like getting up.

“Actually,” she said, “I’m getting hungry. I’m gonna go get some dinner. I’ll try to call you after.”

“Okay,” I said, hanging up the phone. I couldn’t believe I was actually happy not to talk to Nadine, but somehow her encouragement felt dismissive, and I wanted something more than a one-line quote from an old sermon and a book suggestion. I wanted someone to sit beside me in this wilderness.

~

Of course, Nadine never called me back, and our conversations became more and more scarce, as did our texts. After a few more months, I got into a rhythm of doing my own thing, which typically included reading, yoga, social media, or my craft store. I’d gotten pretty good at making jewelry, nothing huge, just little necklaces and bracelets that I sold on Etsy for some extra spending cash, which I really didn’t need because where the heck was I going? My parents were still acting like I would die if I went anywhere without them unless of course that anywhere happened to be church or school. So, instead of going out to actually do something, I was sitting around the house in the middle of the week. I’d just finished another order, this one was for a bracelet with a symbol of the message Nadine had reminded me of, God is greater than the ups and downs, (G > ˄ ˅). After scheduling a USPS pick up, and leaving the package on the front porch, I decided to find something good to read.

I stared at my mom’s bookcases and thought that there were never enough books. I’d searched my bookcase, and both of my mom’s, and I couldn’t find one book I hadn’t read. I started over at the top of Mom’s bookcase and ran my finger over the spine of each book just to make sure I wasn’t overlooking anything. A soft knock on the door broke my concentration.

“Nothing to read?” Dad asked. I fought hard not to roll my eyes. What now? He was mostly out of town with this new position, and when he wasn’t, we only ever said generic pleasantries to each other.

“Nope.”

“Well,” he said with a sigh as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Your mom and I are going to mid-week service at church. I think the teens are meeting for volunteer night if you’d like to join.”

My shoulders dropped as though they were lifeless, and I let out a deep sigh. Most of the people in my class went to MZ, and a lot of them volunteered. Primarily because of Ben. Everyone knew Ben Michaelson: the Jesus of Austell. He wasn’t just a jock, he was a volunteer, a tutor, a mentor at school and church, and son of the most prominent family town. But I didn’t feel like blending in with the Ben worshippers.

“How about you drop me off at the bookstore on the way instead?” I asked.

“Come on, Kelsey,” Dad said. “I think this is a good opportunity for you to get out of the house.”

You would be an advocate for getting out of the house, I thought. Six months in a new town and you’ve been here for maybe two percent of it. What was the point of moving, again?

“So is going to 2nd & Charles.”

“You know what I meant. You’ll be able to interact with people your own age. I’ll make you a deal: come to church with us for a couple of hours, then I’ll take you to the bookstore.”

“Why do you insist on making me go there?”

“Why are you so opposed to it? You loved Living Waters. You were involved in everything.”

“Okay,” I said, the “and?” was dripping from my tone, but I wasn’t brave enough to say it. I just waited for him to hear it in my tone and present his argument. Apparently, he was waiting for me to explain myself, because his only response was to take a deep breath of his own. I didn’t have the patience for a battle of wills, so I finally spoke up.

“This isn’t Living Waters.”

“I’m gonna need more than that, so until you’re ready to tell your mom or me what the real problem is, we’re going. All of us. As a family.”

“Fine,” I said. There really wasn’t any point in arguing. Ultimately, I’d end up at the church, and I was starting to get tired of even opening my mouth. My parents seemed to just drag me from place to place like I was still a newborn incapable of holding its own head up, let alone forming its own thoughts, opinions, or desires.

~

As dead as I felt while listening to the praise team belt out “The Blessing”, I had to admit that their lead singer, Michaela, could sing; she seemed to be moving everybody else in the church. All around hands were lifted, eyes were closed; people swayed and sang, or bowed and prayed. It made me wonder what was wrong with me. Every time I stepped into this church, I longed to feel that connection, that disregard for any and everything around me, that hyper-focus on the bliss of connecting with the Holy Spirit. And every. Single. Time. I fell short. What did I do? I wondered. What should I do to get the feeling back? For the time being, I just stood in the crowd and tried not to look like some ridiculous combination of a lifeless vessel and a pissed-off atheist.

It’s amazing how much you can discover about people when you just sit back and observe. Everything they desperately try to hide just comes bubbling to the surface, eager to befriend anyone who’s willing to take notice.

I guess that’s one of the things that made it so hard to connect in this church; I could see behind that Sunday best mask, and I didn’t mind accepting what was beneath it, but I couldn’t stand that they weren’t willing to do the same for others. They were so bougie; it almost made me physically ill. I looked around the room and everyone I looked at had some secret sin that they just pretended didn’t exist; meanwhile, the whole church knew about it and gossiped to anybody who would listen—which was the whole rest of the congregation. Like last week when Michaela and Pastor Joel returned from their quick honeymoon.

“His divorce from Veronica hasn’t been over for a full month yet,” one member whispered.

“Hmm,” another one responded, “You know what that means.”

It was like every member of the church felt like they were the sole person on earth who was allowed to make a mistake, and if anybody else did they should be publicly shamed, burned at the stake, or at least spoken of disrespectfully behind their backs. What happened to his mercies being new every day? Or, his grace being sufficient? I don’t recall that coming with a stipulation or qualifiers or a list of exclusions. I don’t think God is sitting in heaven checking each individual’s repentance application each time they sin like they’re applying for a freakin credit card, but every move I made in that sanctuary felt like another negative strike on my file. I was afraid to slouch, or refrain from worshipping (even though my heart wasn’t truly in it), or (God forbid!) scratch my ass, which was growing itchier by the second.

“The Lord wants us to have an intimate relationship with Him,” Pastor Norah said from the pulpit. She began to preach passionately while I sat stiffly on the pew, frozen between my parents like some sort of fish stick. I almost wanted to chuckle, at least the pessimistic part of me did. How long had I yearned for that, sought it out, fought for it? When we’d first moved here, I was eager to find a new church; I wanted anything that would bring me some sort of connection. But each time we tried a new congregation, I felt empty all over again. Eventually, I quit getting my hopes up. And what about the people surrounding me? Is their connection genuine? I thought. Surely, I can’t be the only one in the midst who feels… nothing. What if I am? Listening to Pastor Norah’s passion, and the passion of those around me, I willed anything— even tears, though I hate crying in public—to break the stone that seemed to be creating a barrier between God and my spirit. Nothing came.

~

“It’s nice to see you joining our teen volunteer group, Kelsey,” Pastor Norah said, as she gave me a hug. “We’ve been hoping you would come and join us for a while now.”

I smiled politely, not knowing how to respond.

“Ben,” she said, looking across the room and guiding me toward a large group of teens. “Come here for a second. I want you to meet Kelsey, she’s going to help us out tonight.”

“I know Kelsey,” Ben said smiling, “we’re in astronomy together, right?”

It must’ve taken me at least thirty seconds to respond, and I know I looked like a gaping buffoon, but I couldn’t believe he’d said that. We only had one class together, sat on opposite ends of the room, and I never thought he even looked in my direction.

“Um, yeah I think so,” I finally managed.

“Well,” he said, “come on back. I’ll show you where everyone’s at.”

The church was completely bare and already looked beautiful. With over three thousand square feet there was room for everyone: babies, teens, young adults, and seniors. Anybody would be able to come and be saved. After he introduced me to the rest of the group, Ben handed me and Geneva (a girl from our astronomy class) our rollers, and we got to work.

Once we got to the nursery, I grabbed a can of paint, and went to the wall on the far side of the room to give myself a little space. Which Geneva wasn’t having.

“So why you so quiet? She asked.

“I dunno,” I replied, feeling like I’d just been smacked upside the head with a silly stick. First of all, the girl walked like a ninja. You had no idea she was coming; she just appeared. Secondly, nobody I’d ever met was so blunt.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a smirk, “I’mma get you to come outta that shell.”

Not knowing if I should be grateful or intimidated, I just rolled with it.

“How do you like our class?” Geneva asked, breaking the awkward silence “I wanted to take Chemistry next semester, but the stupid guidance counselor haggled me into taking Astronomy.”

Mrs. Sawyer is a brute, I thought, as I continued brushing the sky-blue paint on the wall.

“It’s driving me insane,” I said. “I don’t understand a word Mr. Keshler is saying.”

“Legit,” Geneva said. “I’m hoping Sawyer doesn’t put me in stats next semester. All I want is one semester where I don’t have to work my ass into the ground.”

I guess she noticed my surprise at the way she openly cussed in church because she quickly reassured me. “Don’t be so scary, girl. It’s just us back here.”

“If you need some help, I can tutor you,” Ben suggested.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said.

“Bruh, say less. I’m gonna tutor you. Okay?”

What else could I say?

~

“So, how’d it go?” Dad asked as we walked back to the car.

“Pastor Norah mentioned that you might be able to find a good tutor in the youth group,” Mom chimed in.

For two people who never seemed to care about how I was going to adjust to things before they decided to put us in this situation, they were a little too invested now for my liking.

“Are we still going to the bookstore?” I asked, sliding into the backseat of dad’s Audi SUV—one of the alleged perks of his new position.

“Really, Kelsey?” Mama said. “Can you explain one reason, or give me one thing that makes that makes this so horrible?”

“I didn’t say it was! I just don’t understand why it’s being forced down my throat like some veggies I don’t wanna eat. You make me feel like I’m four years old again. ‘No leaving the table until all your brussel sprouts are gone, K.”

“Watch it,” Dad said. “This isn’t some punishment, Kelsey. I know this is hard for you, but things are going to be a lot harder if this attitude doesn’t change. Now, I’ll take you to the bookstore because I promised I would, but I think your mom and I deserve an apology for that little outburst.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, more to the floor of the backseat than to either of them. “Can we just go home?”

Dad looked questioningly at me in the rear-view mirror as though he was ready to dish out another lecture.

“Please. I just want to go home.”

“Okay.”

I was exasperated with the whole situation. Sure, I’d had a decent time with Ben and Geneva, but this was all happening too fast. I had two parents trying to force me into this new world that made me question my own faith—which I’d formerly been grounded in, and everyone else around me made it seem so effortless. So natural. But I’d practically been invisible for six months, then suddenly I’m sticking out like such a sore thumb that Geneva was making it her personal mission to “pull me out of my shell” as she put it. I was getting sick of being poked, prodded, and molded to conform to a form of Christianity that I couldn’t understand, and hadn’t been given the time to process. And neither of them—two well-educated adults with graduate degrees and working in the tops of their fields—couldn’t get that I was pissed at them because they’d made me abandon my world to make theirs a little comfier. I was even more pissed that my compliance wasn’t enough; they were forcing me to be happy on their terms. Fine, I’d give up the old, I’d welcome the new, but I’d be damned before I let them in on anything else. They’d probably take that away too.