Short story: Looking for Merci

A work of fiction for Queer church kids

Photo by Kenny Eliason on Unsplash

The first girl I kissed tasted like pound cake and sin.

Her lips pressed soft and sure, but mine were limp and confused. Merci put her hand on top of mine and squeezed an apology. Her skin still glistened from the cocoa butter she rubbed in this morning. Or maybe it was sweat. I nodded silently to say it was okay.

We stayed like that, one brown hand on the other, on top of the Bible in my lap. The last little bites of cake sprinkled on a small round paper plate on my other side. A little butterfly danced in the grass in front of us in the empty yard between the main sanctuary and the annex. The organ sent a low and loud hallelujah up to heaven.

Our Sundays, as Merci liked to call them, were special. Today was the most special of all—our jailbreak Sunday that we’d planned for weeks. We snuck out of the youth church and showed up like fugitives at the back door of the kitchen to plead our case to our mamas who both cooked and prepared the plates the church sold after service. Everybody knew the annex was too hot. The AC never got fixed no matter how much they collected for the building fund.

I think it’s because the grown folks wanted us to know what hell felt like so we’d be scared. But they didn’t know hell ain’t always so bad when all your friends were there.

We convinced our mamas that one of us, or both of us, felt sick from the heat. Even did our best begging to get a piece of cake because we felt “faint.” It’s not that we were convincing, they were just too tired to fuss with us. It was the best Sunday we ever had until Merci did what she did to my lips. 

We sat the quietest we had ever been, with our hands still on each other and the Bible. Merci looked at me—kinda of how she always looked, but a little different. Probably because of my hair that grew bigger and bigger and more of a mess. A silk press with no relaxer in the Georgia summer heat was foolish, but you got to look your best before the Lord, even if it didn’t last a day. Merci snatched off her hair tie and shook her hair loose like a wet dog. She sighed big and folded her arms when I took the tie from her. 

“What?” I finally asked, annoyed. 

“They said you like Jeffrey,” she hissed. 

My mouth dropped. “Knock-kneed, Jeffrey? Do not! And who is they?” 

She sucked her teeth and looked away from me. “Don’t matter. They said you like him, and he likes you, and now y’all about to go together.” 

“Whoever said that lies like a snake!” 

Merci gasped. “You can’t say lie in church!” 

“We not in it. We near it!” I protested. 

Merci squeezed my hand and looked me in the eye. 

“Do you like him?” she asked, gently.

Pound cake and sin hit my lips again. This time my lips responded, without me knowing I told them to do that. I kissed her back long enough to know I enjoyed it, but too long for us to deny it when the backdoor to the sanctuary swung open, and the click-clack of dress shoes stood next to us. Merci’s dad glared with a gold offering tray tucked under his arm. The soft white lines on his suit looked like rivers of ice down his body. 

My chest puffed out even though the air in my lungs felt heavy. I turned my shoulder to put my body between Merci and her father with my Bible clutched to my chest. We would face her daddy the same way we did everything on Sunday—together. 

“When I get back, you need to be in my office,” he spoke to Merci in a tone so cold it made her wince. 

“And you,” he pointed at me. “Gon’ back to youth church.”

He marched across the field to the annex that felt like hell. Merci and I exchanged glances. Her eyes were already red with tears. We watched as he disappeared into the building. She grabbed my hand. I gave it one long squeeze. My tongue felt thick like cold grits and blocked all my words. Merci disappeared behind the stained glass door, but my feet didn’t move. My head said to go back to the youth church since I’d gotten in enough trouble for one day. But I just sat there on the bench, on our Sunday, alone. 

A little while later, Merci’s daddy rushed by me without a word back into the sanctuary. The choir started up their usual song to send us on our way. Doors flew open. Big hats and shoulder pads marched through the grass, followed by big men in suits sharp as tacts. Little ones got scooped up with their ruffle socks, and Sunday school pictures crumbled proudly in tiny fists. The big men guided the teenagers away before they got too free. People went on about their business and didn’t notice my puffy face. The kitchen door swung open when most of the cars cleared out. I smelled the familiar scent of white diamonds mixed with fried chicken and spritz. 

“You bout ready to go?” My Mama huffed with both hands on her hips. Her apron was over her shoulder, and she had a new run at the ankle of her pantyhose beneath her long skirt.

She nudged me with her elbow. “Where’s the frik to your frak?” 

“Her daddy came and got her.” 

“Must be an emergency. He came and got his wife, too, before we even started serving. I managed, but Lord I hope they alright. You know they got family that’s been on the sick and shut-in for months now.” 

“Yes ma’am.” I said quietly. Mama stepped back into the kitchen. The heavy slam of the metal door sent another chill down my spine. Pastor would say I should repent, but I didn’t pray a word the rest of the day. 

Every night, I pulled the phone into the pantry and curled up next to the green beans like I always did. I waited and waited for Merci’s call and played with the curly cord that stuck out underneath the door. Merci went to that school with the checkered skirts that didn’t let boys in—much farther than my bike could go. She had more homework than anybody I knew. Then there were her family’s church duties, of course, like mid-week worship, bible studies, and choir. All she had to do made me glad my Mama worked nights. But our nightly calls, where we giggled and giggled until our heads felt light, always happened no matter what. Until now.

The next Sunday, I called Merci’s name in a loud whisper around the church grounds until youth service started. No call came, but I knew she’d be here today. She had to be. Nobody ever got on punishment that bad where they couldn’t come to church. When she didn’t show up to the annex, I escaped. Called out Merci? Merci? in the bathroom and back hallways. Another lap. Then I noticed her mama and daddy’s car wasn’t in the parking lot either. The search ended in the kitchen. Mama was alone, and too tired to fuss, so she put me to work.

“You looking all sad, chile, you miss your lil friend don’t you?” Mama nudged me with her hip. I bit my lip to hide the tremble.

“Well, and don’t you go repeating this, her mama called the kitchen this morning and said they won’t be back. Apologized for leaving me alone today like she did. Somebody was supposed to come help. But, you know everybody who wanna work already working somewhere else,” Mama paused and faced me, concerned. 

“Merci got into some trouble around here or something. Pastor wanted them to stay, but they said they gonna start fresh at a new church,” She paused to wipe the sweat. 

Mama mused about what the trouble could be—the things girls my age get into with either boys, or reefer, or back talkin’. I couldn't hear her. A big hole opened up in my chest. Pain so sharp it felt hot.

“I’m so glad you didn’t get caught up in all that. It’s always the quiet ones. Lord knows what I’d do if you got into some mess,” Mama sighed. 

We went back to work without more discussion. I knew better than to ask more. Every so often, Mama looked over her shoulder at me a little longer than usual. I froze, but the stern stare faded into a smile as she looked me up and down, satisfied that I’d managed to stay away from whatever mess Merci had gotten into. I shook knowing she might find out one day I liked that kinda mess. 

The grease with the chicken started to roar. Mama thanked me for my help with a fresh piece of pound cake and sent me out of her kitchen.

Everything was as it always was outside. I even left a little room for Merci on the bench. The yard. The sounds of the organ. The butterflies. All the same, except none of it mattered without her. The cake was sweeter than usual. The glaze a little thicker. I pushed my lips together to feel the sweetness and the sin, looked up to heaven, and cried out for Merci one more time.