Circus

It was a big church with a big steeple and a big sanctuary; whitewashed and numbly modern in the way anything from the 90's tried to be modern, with practical cushioned chairs and generic low-pile carpet and stage lighting and enough room toward the front to stand a group of teens in a semicircle while a pastor gesticulated and slapped their foreheads. Spotters (parishioners who catch those keeling over, presumably overwhelmed by the holy spirit) lined up behind each youth who, in turn, toppled into a trust fall as soon as they were palmed. Unfortunately for the room, I did not take the hint and stood there like the simple beast I am as the man blew plosives into the microphone and put a hand on me. It was mildly embarrassing for everyone. When the spotters had no body to catch they fumbled their hands, unsure of what to do. Impossibly, the scene grew more awkward when the man asked how I felt and put the microphone to my lips. Now everyone knew I was a spiritual carcass, possibly evil, and an idiot who said things like "great" in the presence of the heavenly host, who was busy whirling my peers into a frenzy on the floor. I do not recall much else about that night other than the brisk air washing away the desperation of that place, like stepping out of a river.