by Angie Frese
On Saturday nights, you would tie our hair up with cloth pieces and send us to bed. On Sunday mornings, you would untie our hair and it would fall
into proportional ringlets that synchronized with the lace on our dresses. Then you’d take our hands and take us to church, where we’d sit between
four walls for an hour and let our prayers hit the ceiling. And on Monday, and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and again on Friday, before school,
we’d wake early and you’d take us to mass.
There we were, in our Sunday best, safe in our pews, unaware of the God outside of these walls. I don’t blame you, though; you expected us to believe, but you didn’t any more than we did.
Angie Frese, a St. Louis native, is a creative writing student at Southeast Missouri State University. She is currently finishing her BS in English education.