Annie
It’s no easy feat to hold a tune when there’s a demon behind you. Sister Maria is laid out on the floor in the back room, an elder praying on either side of her. I don’t need to be in the room to know what’s happening. The demonic attacks are a regular occurrence.
I keep my eyes forwards and try to bring some extra volume to my voice. So does Sister Ava beside me, although she sounds like she’s singing an entirely different song. When I sneak a glance at her, I notice spit gathered in the corners of her mouth. She usually ducks out into the kitchen for a drink after the public talk, but since no one is going near the back room today, she’s gone without.
The song comes to an end, and Sister Ava holds the final note—off-key—for a few seconds longer than everyone else. It makes the young sister in the next row giggle. A throat clears, and the room falls silent for prayer. I bow my head and close my eyes.
A moan cuts through the silence, and I can’t help but look over my shoulder. Brother Oliver has Sister Maria pinned to the ground with his knee, his prayers growing more urgent. Mum jabs me with her elbow, and I whip my head forwards, pressing my eyes shut and wishing I could cover my ears as well. The brother on the platform does remarkably well under difficult circumstances and keeps the prayer nice and short. Finally, there’s a collective murmur of amens followed by the relief of conversation filling the room.
‘Poor Sister Maria,’ Mum says, tutting. ‘I might drop a hot meal over this afternoon. I can’t imagine she’ll be up to cooking.’
A four-wheel drive pulls up at the door, and the driver jumps out to open the boot. The back seat is laid flat, and a moment later, a disorientated Sister Maria is helped out to the car. Her daughter isn’t allowed to go with her, so Sister Jane takes the crying girl to the far end of the Kingdom Hall to pray. The boot is closed, the car pulls away, and everyone resumes their conversations.
‘Annie.’
I turn to find Brother Oliver, one of two elders in our congregation, standing at the end of the row of seats. He’s wearing his favourite blue suit and trademark smile that never quite reaches his eyes. My hands immediately turn clammy. ‘Hi.’
‘Can we have a private word in the back room?’ he asks. ‘You can bring your mum along if you like.’
I glance at Mum, who’s also managing to smile—even if it doesn’t quite fit the moment.
‘Happy to sit in,’ she says, ushering me in his direction.
My feet obey. Only my feet.
All eyes land on me as we head to the back of the hall. The glass doors slide closed behind us, indicating that the conversation is of a more serious nature. No one can hear us, but everyone can see us.
He doesn’t sit, so I don’t either. Instead, he turns to face me, ready to impart his wisdom. ‘It’s been wonderful seeing you regularly at the meetings,’ he begins. ‘I know year twelve can be very demanding, and there’s always pressure from teachers to put your worldly studies before your spiritual needs, so well done on keeping your priorities straight.’
The only person putting pressure on me right now is me. I want to do well. I want to feel like the previous thirteen years of school weren’t a complete waste.
I’m waiting for the ‘but’. He hasn’t brought me in here to point out the things I’m doing right. He could have done that out there with everyone else.
‘Annie’s very smart,’ Mum says, pride in her voice, ‘and she enjoys school, but she’s more focused on getting baptised at the next assembly.’
Brother Oliver nods slowly, then focuses back on me. ‘I wanted to ask you what you think about the skirt you’re wearing.’
This I wasn’t expecting.
I glance down at the black pencil skirt that I picked up at a thrift shop in Turram a few weeks ago. What do I think? I mean, the fabric’s a little itchy, even with stockings. It’s fitted. Perhaps that’s the issue. ‘To be honest, I haven’t really thought much about it.’
‘It’s a very popular style among the sisters right now,’ Mum adds.
‘I won’t pretend to be up with the latest fashions,’ he replies light-heartedly. ‘What I will say though is that it’s worth sitting down in the skirts when you’re trying them on to see where the hem ends up.’
Length. This is about the length. The skirt sits well below the knee when I’m standing and slightly above when I’m sitting. But who’s looking at my knees when I’m seated?
‘We must consider everyone in the congregation when selecting clothing for the meetings,’ Brother Oliver continues. ‘There are many young brothers who need our help staying focused on the talks.’ He says this last part with a knowing smile.
‘Did someone complain?’ my mother asks nervously.
He meets her gaze. ‘No, no. Everyone was focused on the spiritual food on offer this morning. But since I gave the morning talk, I had a unique view from the platform.’
It’s his complaint. He noticed.
I take a small step back, shame swallowing me.
‘We appreciate you bringing it to our attention,’ Mum says.