I stood there on that wooden deck as the Florida sun engulfed me with sunshine. Students filed past me as if I were a ghost. Their heads bent down in sympathy and disgrace. I was thankful they didn’t look. My back held straight with all the defiance and strength I could muster. I stepped outside my miserable little world and rose unwittingly toward the puffy white clouds. My contact with the here and now was severed.

My friend Gracie shuffled by and lightly touched my clenched fist. It was truly an act of tremendous courage. She knew if she were caught conspiring with the guilty she would suffer right along with me. My chin stuck up almost as high as the flagpole quivered with humiliation. A rampant river of tears tried desperately to escape. I held them back.

Quiet filtered the heated space of my shame. Slowly, so very slowly the tiniest tear started to travel down my taught face. I prayed for the slightest breeze to blow away my failure. The gulf breeze was obviously taking a siesta. The air was pungent and acidic.

There were two separate entrances to the classroom and I stood there on the seldom used one as the parade of my peers slithered by me. Their silence and disgust washed over me like a summer rain storm. I wondered if one of them would gladly trade places with me. I pretended to be Lot’s wife. A salt statue feels no pain. The army platoon of non-lookers ended. I stood alone.

I heard the students shift uncomfortably in the hard wooden seats. The lesson inside began as my lesson outside melted my sense of stability. I realized that breathing was a natural function and I did not need to force the issue. I dared myself to look down at my chest to see the slight rise and fall of my existence. I could hear voices inside the classroom but quickly shut the invisible door of my mind.

I silently wished to become the graceful seagull and fly far away. My mind traveled the sky as my earthly body stayed glued to the deck. The pandemonium inside my head cluttered my thoughts. A lump within my windpipe threatened to explode and start the onslaught of tears. If I allowed one tiny, salty tear to escape my control would be shattered. I went back to review the episode.

I was first pew second student from the center aisle. Gracie was crunched next to me. The pressure was slight at first and then so quickly sprang forward. I held my breath. I crossed my legs. I panted ever so slightly. I wondered about the sweat since the church had the air condition on high. I felt the warm liquid drip down my inner thighs. My battle lost against the forces of nature. My white cotton panties could only hold so much moisture.

It was a small amount, or at least I thought so. If I was lucky no one would notice. I could get up after prayer and stroll nonchalantly back to class. Eventually the accident would dry and so would my pants. I could go to the restroom and toss them in the can or flush them down the toilet. Destroy the evidence was a great thought. I lifted my head from my folded hands and looked directly into her eyes. I was caught.

My mind goes somewhat blank at this point. I don’t remember many of the words or comments just the hand on my shoulder and the statement that turned my life upside down.
“You stand out here till you dry and then you can come back to class. You will be used as an example. This will show the others about disrespect in the house of God.”


So there I stood for the whole world to witness my shame. I wondered how long it would take for my white cotton panties to dry. And then I wondered how long it would take for such humiliation to be erased from my life? It felt like hours standing there in the hot Florida sun on the wooden deck leading to my classroom. My mind drifted to fantasy.

At some point in time I was ruled acceptable to enter the room and continue my studies. I entered the room with all eyes averted from my presence. My physical body sat in the chair but my tattered soul flew away and went into hiding. That was Tuesday.

On Wednesday with Gracie crunched right next to me first pew second from the center aisle, heads bent in prayer it happened again. I heard the sound before I felt the splattering. It was not like mine. Mine had been silent and slow while Gracie’s was turbulent and thunderous. I reached over without lifting my head from prayer and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t cry Gracie. Just don’t cry.” I whispered.