You teeter down the sloping center aisle, occasionally bumping into a pew, the Berber carpet fwooshing under your shoes. On your left and right sit people dressed in dark, formal clothes. A lady with a hearing aid in her ear and a walker within arm's reach is playing jaunty, old Christian hymns on the piano. You'd like to play the piano with her. Your dad gently grabs your arms and steers you in the opposite direction.
Three large steps lead up to a stage with a woodgrain pulpit. To the side is an eleven-by-fourteen inch picture of your great grandma, Lindy, with her eyes smiling big and her arms wrapped around your great grandpa, Phil. The colors around the room are dark and bold, the entire room flanked by stained glass windows of Jesus performing miracles and holding up two fingers.
Your grannie Melody speaks to everyone, and so does your granddad Phil. Your uncle Paul makes everyone laugh when he tells a story about your great grandma Lindy and says, "That's your cue." Your mom speaks, too, and her lower lip becomes a straight, square line, like yours does when you're sad. Your dad didn't speak, but he let you spiel your one-year-old spiel to everyone in the pews giving you smiles.
