Red Velvet

The gravel grumbled beneath the car's tires as she pulled us into the parking lot - the gospel music she insisted on playing before service quickly dwindled down in decibels - no longer audible as she took the key from the ignition and gathered her purse from the floor.

"C'mon yall," she said simply and exited the car. We trailed behind her, my little brother and I, following the clack of her heels against the sidewalk. Following the many families ahead of us - everybody all dressed up and stringing their children behind them like momma ducks.

My first hug of the morning was from the usher - patiently holding the door open for everybody coming through the doors. "Good morning," or "Welcome," they'd say - the warm air finally engulfing my ashy legs. Momma had tried to get me up earlier but I was too hard-headed, too focused on sleeping and possibly convincing her to skip service just this once. It didn't work. She forced my lavender, poofy dress on me and told me to wash my face, brush my teeth, grab a snack and come on.

I sat miserably in my red velvet pew waiting for the moment I could listen to hip-hop on the car stereo again, but while I was there I decided to look around a bit. Everybody always dressed up all nice, spraying their old lady perfumes and drowning themselves in those smelly, old men colognes and oils, hair and nails did, line-ups done up, ties tied tight, eyebrows plucked and heels high to the heavens like they were really tryna reach their blessings.

Just at the opening prayer people were spewing words in tongues, bobbing around in their pew rows, digging in their pockets to find mints cause they planned on yelling the whole service and we all were pretty close and tucked in these pews and the Lord knows how much morning breath was just not acceptable. It seemed to me that church was more than its pure intentions. In the black community its more of an action word than a noun.

See the women liked to talk about which men were holy and single and men loved raving about which women looked the best in their fitted skirts, and everyone talked on why Lonetta sounded so scratchy today on the mic, and even each other. When the choir came out the room always seemed much fuller, maybe cause everyone was dancing. Even my brother took part in it - shaking his lil bum, mouth wide open singing aloud with the congregation - everyone clapping on syncopation. (I'll admit this was the most enjoyable part) And let's not forget the hype man - the pastor himself.

He was always so extreme. If I could force myself to sleep before he entered stage right I sure would, but with all of the ruckus it was an impossible task. The supreme entertainer he was - he would dance around on stage screaming his sermon while stepping off into the audience. And somebody always gotta pass out like he was some kind of A-list celebrity that winked at them or something. We all suffered the rage and he sweat and spit bullets out at us like we were his personal demons, but once his voice gave out I knew for sure it was over. While everybody collected their dollar bills and change I collected my jacket to get outta there.

My mom's heels clacked behind me this time as I excitedly said, "C'mon y'all!" and entered the car.