A/N: V. IMPORTANT WARNING: Contains religious themes. Not necessarily my
views. If you are likely to be upset by such subjects, do not read. Flames
for that subject will not be tolerated. For anything else, of course, it's
cool.
Here's the dealio: this is a multi-chaptered songfic to Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes." There are five planned chapters.
Of course, I do not own Lizzie McGuire or Shakira. Groove on, children.
~
Somewhere in between my descent into Christianity and the purchase of my prom dress I started noticing people that weren't me. Sandwiched in between Jesus and pink taffeta was a reality slap, and boy, did I feel it.
"Well, what did you expect?," Kate had asked, shuffling through dresses on the rack with me, matching silver crosses around our necks. "As Christians, we have to learn how to be more giving. That's why we're volunteering at the soup kitchen Saturday, by the way. I have it in my Palm Pilot." She tapped her purse, said Palm Pilot and a pack of Virginia Slims rattling inside it.
"It's just like, an epiphany, you know? For once in my life, I feel like - "
"Shit!," She cried, sucking on her manicured finger. "Where the hell did that pin come from?" She looked at me sheepishly. "Sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?"
"Nothing," I sighed, looking at the dresses again. Nothing was appealing to me anymore. "Never mind. Wasn't important."
"This would be really cute on you," Kate said, holding my future homecoming dress up to my body. I bit my lip and played with my cross. I didn't feel like shopping. I didn't feel like going to homecoming.
"Sure," I said half-heartedly. "It's cute." Since Kate and I became Christians, I had fallen more and more into a disinterest in clothes. Kate, however, seemed to be even more intent on them. Actually, she was more... everything. God made Kate happier. I just felt sullener.
And so now here I sit at the kitchen counter, one day later, doodling on my English notes and chewing pretzels, softly and slowly, the slow feeling of worry hanging over me.
Matt walks in and we don't acknowledge each other. Lanny follows and I am suddenly horribly on guard. I only breathe quietly, trying to match his silence.
You're a song
Written by
The hands of God
Don't get me wrong
This might sound
To you a bit odd
"What? No missionary act this time?" Matt rolls his eyes. The deeper his voice gets the deeper his thoughts go. Something about Matt changed with high school. Maturity? Honesty? Drugs?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say carefully, staring into the words I've written. Lanny's silence is baring a hole in me.
"Be careful, Lanny," Matt pulls two bottles out of the refrigerator. "She might try to convert you." I put my pretzel down and dare to look up at Lanny with soft eyes. He just looks at me plainly. I'm not a complicated soul to be read. There's nothing beneath my surface he can dig for. I'm suddenly totally and completely empty.
I don't understand what Lanny says like he doesn't understand that I'm trying so hard.
"Catch you later, sis," Matt salutes and makes a mockery of the word "sis" so that as he leaves the room with Lanny's body trailing behind him, I can left with the silence and the pain of knowing that I'm a sham. I clutch the little silver cross and close my eyes.
"Hi, honey," Mom greets me as she walks in with a bag of groceries. She puts it down and tosses her keys on the counter. "Kate called earlier. How did shopping for your dress go?"
"It was okay," I reply, working up a smile. "I found a dress. It's in the bag in the hall, if you want to see it."
"I'll look at it later," She smiles and starts putting away vegetables. "What are you working on?"
"Just studying," I close my notebook and stand up. "I think I'm going to my room, okay?"
"Okay, sweetie." I have learned to avoid conversations with my parents. Short, polite, and respectful. No questions.
I pass Matt's room on the way to mine and I listen vaguely to Matt's one-sided conversation. It doesn't hold my interest and I throw myself into my bedroom. Everything remains the same when I've changed so much. My bed feels too small.
Why is it that God is never supposed to leave me, yet I feel so alone all the time now?
The phone rings.
"Jesus freak, it's for you!," Matt calls, and I pick up with receiver.
"Hey, Liz," Kate says. "I was wondering... do you think I should go with Ethan to homecoming? Because, you know, we go way back, but I really think we've grown apart and I don't really know what he's up to and I feel bad..." I hear a quiet 'Oh, please' distantly and someone hangs up. Matt. "Do you think I should?"
"Um," I bite my lip. "I guess. I mean, Ethan's still really nice. Are you thinking of someone else?"
"Well, no..." It sounds like a yes.
"No...?"
"Well, kind of," Kate sounds hesitant. I feel impatient.
"Who?"
"I can't tell you..."
"Why not?"
"Because I need to... research a bit," Kate said briskly. "Look, I'll call you back later, okay? Claire's beeping in." She paused. "She's such a popularity monger. Don't worry. I'll get her off my case. Bye." I listen to the dial tone for a minute.
I listen as Matt and Lanny leave the house. Good, leave the house. Leave me here. Leave me here so that I may wallow in self-pity and confess it all on Sunday. There is nothing I would rather do.
Here's the dealio: this is a multi-chaptered songfic to Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes." There are five planned chapters.
Of course, I do not own Lizzie McGuire or Shakira. Groove on, children.
~
Somewhere in between my descent into Christianity and the purchase of my prom dress I started noticing people that weren't me. Sandwiched in between Jesus and pink taffeta was a reality slap, and boy, did I feel it.
"Well, what did you expect?," Kate had asked, shuffling through dresses on the rack with me, matching silver crosses around our necks. "As Christians, we have to learn how to be more giving. That's why we're volunteering at the soup kitchen Saturday, by the way. I have it in my Palm Pilot." She tapped her purse, said Palm Pilot and a pack of Virginia Slims rattling inside it.
"It's just like, an epiphany, you know? For once in my life, I feel like - "
"Shit!," She cried, sucking on her manicured finger. "Where the hell did that pin come from?" She looked at me sheepishly. "Sorry, sweetie. What were you saying?"
"Nothing," I sighed, looking at the dresses again. Nothing was appealing to me anymore. "Never mind. Wasn't important."
"This would be really cute on you," Kate said, holding my future homecoming dress up to my body. I bit my lip and played with my cross. I didn't feel like shopping. I didn't feel like going to homecoming.
"Sure," I said half-heartedly. "It's cute." Since Kate and I became Christians, I had fallen more and more into a disinterest in clothes. Kate, however, seemed to be even more intent on them. Actually, she was more... everything. God made Kate happier. I just felt sullener.
And so now here I sit at the kitchen counter, one day later, doodling on my English notes and chewing pretzels, softly and slowly, the slow feeling of worry hanging over me.
Matt walks in and we don't acknowledge each other. Lanny follows and I am suddenly horribly on guard. I only breathe quietly, trying to match his silence.
You're a song
Written by
The hands of God
Don't get me wrong
This might sound
To you a bit odd
"What? No missionary act this time?" Matt rolls his eyes. The deeper his voice gets the deeper his thoughts go. Something about Matt changed with high school. Maturity? Honesty? Drugs?
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say carefully, staring into the words I've written. Lanny's silence is baring a hole in me.
"Be careful, Lanny," Matt pulls two bottles out of the refrigerator. "She might try to convert you." I put my pretzel down and dare to look up at Lanny with soft eyes. He just looks at me plainly. I'm not a complicated soul to be read. There's nothing beneath my surface he can dig for. I'm suddenly totally and completely empty.
I don't understand what Lanny says like he doesn't understand that I'm trying so hard.
"Catch you later, sis," Matt salutes and makes a mockery of the word "sis" so that as he leaves the room with Lanny's body trailing behind him, I can left with the silence and the pain of knowing that I'm a sham. I clutch the little silver cross and close my eyes.
"Hi, honey," Mom greets me as she walks in with a bag of groceries. She puts it down and tosses her keys on the counter. "Kate called earlier. How did shopping for your dress go?"
"It was okay," I reply, working up a smile. "I found a dress. It's in the bag in the hall, if you want to see it."
"I'll look at it later," She smiles and starts putting away vegetables. "What are you working on?"
"Just studying," I close my notebook and stand up. "I think I'm going to my room, okay?"
"Okay, sweetie." I have learned to avoid conversations with my parents. Short, polite, and respectful. No questions.
I pass Matt's room on the way to mine and I listen vaguely to Matt's one-sided conversation. It doesn't hold my interest and I throw myself into my bedroom. Everything remains the same when I've changed so much. My bed feels too small.
Why is it that God is never supposed to leave me, yet I feel so alone all the time now?
The phone rings.
"Jesus freak, it's for you!," Matt calls, and I pick up with receiver.
"Hey, Liz," Kate says. "I was wondering... do you think I should go with Ethan to homecoming? Because, you know, we go way back, but I really think we've grown apart and I don't really know what he's up to and I feel bad..." I hear a quiet 'Oh, please' distantly and someone hangs up. Matt. "Do you think I should?"
"Um," I bite my lip. "I guess. I mean, Ethan's still really nice. Are you thinking of someone else?"
"Well, no..." It sounds like a yes.
"No...?"
"Well, kind of," Kate sounds hesitant. I feel impatient.
"Who?"
"I can't tell you..."
"Why not?"
"Because I need to... research a bit," Kate said briskly. "Look, I'll call you back later, okay? Claire's beeping in." She paused. "She's such a popularity monger. Don't worry. I'll get her off my case. Bye." I listen to the dial tone for a minute.
I listen as Matt and Lanny leave the house. Good, leave the house. Leave me here. Leave me here so that I may wallow in self-pity and confess it all on Sunday. There is nothing I would rather do.