Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

Melanie Jennings
laughter and the gurgling sounds of the water. It was done. Pastor
took off his glasses and wiped his forearm across his eyes. He often
got carried away by his emotions and his own talking. He said one
last word about welcoming the new brother into the fold, and we
knew that was our cue to slowly drop our hands to our sides and
bow our heads, as if to rest a moment in silence and respect before
stampeding up the slope to the waiting barbecue Uncle Lloyd had
been stoking all morning. I had a terror for water snakes and I was
antsy with looking here and there for the shiny suckers. Vena was the
first to start moving toward the shore. The light freckled her white
dress as she passed beneath the oak tree. We could all see her drawers
but kept it to ourself. The few men in attendance went to Jerry and
shook his hand. He stood still in the same spot he’d just got dunked,
a wide grin on his face.
Like Jerry, I stood mesmerized. I had been to baptisms before,
but there was something about the way it was so hot out and how each
color and sensation seemed to sting with clarity. Everyone moved
toward the shore in a crooked line with wet shirts and shorts clinging
to legs and bodies, and I remembered the pilgrims trekking through
the parted Red Sea. I watched the crowd ease out of the river and stood
smelling the barbecue and the wet roots that lined the shore.
“Hey.”
It was Jerry. I didn’t want to turn to see his face. He would be
different from me now, good and pure. I turned and faced him where
he still hadn’t moved from his dunking spot. His hand spread out and
covered his eyes from the sun and I thought about the water snakes
again.
“Let’s go back,” I said, looking up toward the shore and Vena’s
yard. “You know the water snakes is all the time on me.” I could see
everyone in the yard moving into Vena’s house to help with the food
and the borrowed church tables.
“Uh-huh, okay,” he said.
I turned then and could hear him swishing behind me as I moved
my heavy legs under the water. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder
and suddenly he was hugging me from behind. I could feel everything
as if he’d gotten a gift for touch from being baptized. All my senses
rang out like the stroke of noontime bells.
“You gonna do it?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” I said, standing stock still, thinking about my baptism
questions for God, my spiritual inventory.
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