Cupcake Girls

My younger sister and I stand behind a row of cupcakes at a snack table.

We spent the whole morning decorating the cupcakes. They look good. 

Some are pink, some are blue, the frosting is a little uneven and lopsided in places. 

The traveling prophet is here. The music is loud. We can’t hear each other even standing close by. One of his musicians comes by and takes a cupcake. 

“Nice job decorating, girls.” 

We smile at him but don’t reply. 

It is too loud in here. 

The next song starts. This one is slower. 

My breathing quickens. 

They are going to start prayer soon.

I look at her. 

“Let’s go to the bathroom.” 

She starts to follow me and our Mom catches her arm as we cross the room. 

“You both don’t need to go.” 

We stare into each other’s eyes.

Someone has started speaking in tongues. The prophet will be preaching soon. 

I don’t want to leave her. 

I cross my legs like I need to pee.

“She needs to go!” 

Mom doesn’t hear me and pulls her forward towards the front of the room.

We quickly lose sight of each other. 

I dash into the bathroom and lock the door. 

“The cupcake girls! Where are they? Bring them up!” I hear the prophet say. 

That is us.

I stand shaking in the bathroom. 

I don’t want to go up. 

There are over a hundred people in this room. I don’t want to be in the middle of them. 

My sister is out there. 

I hear a prayer start. 

The wailing of some of the women starts. 

I hate this place.

Someone hits a drum.  

His voice crackles over the speaker but it is dulled through the bathroom door.

The speaking in tongues drowns him out.

I hope my sister is okay. 

I turn the faucet on cold and splash my face. 

The cold water hits my skin sharply. 

I look at my reflection. 

I am very short for fourteen years old. 

I need to find my sister. 

I pause at the door. 

His voice is still going. It is going to be loud out there. 

The trembling starts again. 

The women who put their claws on me are scary. Their breath is rotten from tongues they say are gifted from the holy spirit. 

I pace back and forth. 

It quiets down. 

This is good. They don’t usually speak in tongues when there are testimonies being told.

I slowly open the door. Yep. 

Testimony time. 

I creep out of the bathroom and slowly shut the door behind me with a gentle click. 

“AH! There You are!” His voice booms over the loudspeaker, cutting off the woman who was speaking. He is looking straight at me. A hundred heads, their eyes black in the dark. I want to shrink through the door back into the bathroom. 

“Come up! Come up here!” 

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me. 

My feet feel like they have cement blocks tied to them. 

He starts a prayer. He places both hands on my shoulders. 

It goes on and on.

Under the spotlight, the church goers are shadows around me, making strange noises as they get more excited with his prayer. 

They might be demons. 

If I want to get out of this, I need to react so he knows the holy spirit touched me. 

But I have nothing. Air barely enters my body in shallow gasps. I can’t work up any tears. 

His grip on my shoulders tightens. 

“I sense a bad spirit in you.” 

Crap.

“A spirit of recalcitrance.” 

Shit.

Suddenly, his legs sweep my knees out from under me and he places me on my back on the floor. His hips are on top of mine as his weight bears down on top of me.

“We will cast this spirit out!” 

Hands are grabbing me as the group becomes frantic. Someone calls loudly in tongues. 

He pours holy water over my head.

I am shaking from my core. 

He calls up to God. 

I do too. 

Please get this man off of me. 

Someone hands him olive oil and he dumps that on my forehead and smears it back towards my hair. 

Finally, I start to cry. 

“Cry it out child. You will be released from this evil spirit!” 

I hate you.

He is off me.  He pulls me up, raises an arm and the room goes silent.

He blows into the microphone as he recites a prayer, thanking God for the wisdom to release me from this spirit. 

I shake all over as I cry. 

The oil runs in front of my ears. It is itchy but I don’t move. 

He lets go of me and I immediately sink back towards the wall. Back to the cupcake stand. 

There she is. 

Her hair is coated with oil, like mine. 

That night, I go to her room to sleep. 

“You gave up and left me.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“You abandoned me!” 

I know. I was afraid.

Leave a comment