Prayer
She never knew how to start. Or where to start.
Dear whoever you are, I feel so hopelessly alone. I need some guidance, if you would care to offer it to me...
I don't know if you can hear me, or if you even care enough to hear my prayer.
I'm too tired to listen, and I'm too old to believe...
Do you even listen at all?
That was her most urgent question. After the past few months of having no one listen to her- really listen, at least- she needed to know that someone, somewhere saw through her calm, collected facade. That someone recognized the tiredness behind each smile, detected the anxiety she still felt every single time she stood before prominent members of Oz society in a meeting room, discussing new policies she wanted to enact, or speaking about other important matters in Oz. She wanted someone to know that most nights she came home, crawled into her vast pink bed and cried herself to sleep. Did someone see that? Did someone understand how utterly unsure and scared she felt most of the time? Did they sense that even when she was in a room full of people, she felt empty and incredibly lonely?
Or, like everyone else, had she managed to fool them (whoever they were) into trusting she was fine?
These were the questions Glinda the Good asked herself as she sat in the church pew at three in the blessed morning.
This morning, as she had for almost every morning for the past two and a half months, Glinda sat in church, bathed in the dim light of the candles that were all around her, hair covered in a dark blue scarf, wearing a plain, matching shift, with her head bent and hands clasped together in prayer. As always, the church was empty- who else would come to pray in the early hours of morning? Glinda, however, appreciated the privacy that the hour provided her. It gave her the anonymity she had been craving for the past few of months since Elphaba's demise and her official crowning as ruler of Oz. With no one else but the occasional priest roaming up and down the aisles, it afforded Glinda the luxury of speaking out loud or crying when she needed to. Glinda had been careless in her faith as a younger woman, and now she was trying to get it right. Although it was a nearly impossible task when she wasn't sure what she believed or even if she believed in anything at all anymore.
Glinda lifted her head from the silent vigil she had been keeping for the past two hours and allowed herself a moment of time to stretch and admire the church in the process. She had always known it was a beautiful church. She passed it every day on her way to business in Oz. However, she noted that the beauty of it was almost more moving in the darkness of morning- the candlelight cast an ethereal light over whatever it touched and it gave the stained glass windows and eerie glow. The vastness of the empty church gave way to details Glinda had failed to notice when she attended Lurlinemas Eve mass every year (an obligatory habit, instilled in her by her mumsie)- the beautiful inscription of words in languages Glinda didn't recognize upon the altar, the dark, lovely wood of the pews, the earthiness and simultaneous loftiness of the stone floors.
While the simple grace and serenity of the church never failed to touch her, tonight Glinda couldn't help feeling bitter. For almost three months, Glinda had been awakening in the middle of the night, dressing plainly, and stealthily and quietly walking the few blocks from her palace to the church and sitting and praying until dawn broke over Oz, only to repeat the same routine the next night.
Yet after all these hours spent in prayer seemed to have done her no good. Her heart still ached every time she thought about her best friend, recalled their last meeting. She still had that same strange sense that everyone else knew a dance she had never been taught in regard to the politics of Oz. While all her colleagues seemed to waltz gracefully through debates about the issues, she still stumbled when giving speeches. She wanted so much to be what Oz needed, but she didn't know how. She still felt an almost intolerable sense of loneliness almost constantly...wasn't faith and prayer supposed to bring you comfort, peace, something to believe in? Despite these promises of peace, Glinda still felt all the grief as if was still a fresh, open wound. She still ached, cried, and worried. Yet she kept coming back to this place to ask all the same things she asked every time and plead with a nameless, faceless stranger to soothe her troubled mind. Her relief was minimal, yet she kept coming back for three months. Three months. Glinda stood up, readying herself to leave. She was feeling suddenly unstable and shaky. She couldn't be here any longer or she might break down completely. Three months.
Three months.
The simple revelation nearly brought Glinda to her knees. Nearly three months since Elphaba's tragic end, three months since she had been named Oz's leader, three months of struggling and sorrow.
Three months and Glinda the Good was still standing.
Perhaps a little worse for wear, but nonetheless, she was still surviving.
She slid back into the pew and and gripped the back of the one in front of her. Maybe it wasn't about healing quickly and not looking back...perhaps it was just about surviving and doing the best you could. It takes time for wounds to heal, time to settle in to new expectations, time to learn these new and unfamiliar dances. It takes time to recover and move on.
Glinda wasn't sure if this was some kind of divine epiphany or if she had finally stopped being so wrapped up in her own sorrow and self-pity long enough to make the revelation on her own. Whatever the case, she knelt down on the hard stone floor, clasped her hands together once more and murmured, "Thank you."
She stood up, brushed off her skirt and walked down the aisle toward the back of the church, letting her hand skim gently over each and every pew. As she pushed open the heavy doors of the church, she was greeted by the most magnificent sight of the sun rising over Oz, turning the sky pink and orange and yellow. It looked...hopeful.
As she marveled at the sight, she pulled the scarf off her hair, shook out her long, golden curls and tilted her face toward the sky.
It was a new day.
Author's Note: This came to me on a simple whim. Please be kind enough to tell me what you think! I love feedback.