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My First Time in a Pentecostal Church
Two atheists try out a new experience.
“Mmm, four times, baby. Wow, that has to be a record or something,” I say, giggling and getting up to look for my underwear. “Can you check the time?”
“Yeah, it’s 6:55… 6:55! Shit, we have to leave for that goddamn church in five minutes!” Kenny, my boyfriend — and a recovering Jehovah’s Witness — knows the deal: I want to go to church for the first time, to experience something new, to write about it. “Maybe we just shouldn’t go,” he says, beckoning me back to bed.
“No, no, no no no, we’re going to church. And I need you there with me. Get dressed!”
I fumble around my closet for something that looks chaste, and settle on a navy blue corduroy jacket and a floor-length, hand-me-down, grey skirt I’ve never worn. “Are you wearing a tie?” I yell across our small, one-bedroom apartment.
“Fuck no, I’m not gonna dress up for those people.”
“Well at least wear long pants.” Churchies probably wouldn’t appreciate the Praise Seitan tattoo on his calf, a clever vegan pun, complete with a pentagram made of forks.
“Will you toss The Zombie Survival Guide in your bag, in case I want to do some light reading during the service?” Kenny asks, and we’re off, with 20 minutes left to…
