Faith Among the Starving
Tears began to roll into my eyes; embarrassment burned my cheeks as I practically ran to the front. Eyes stared at my presence, glued to my every move. The soles beneath my shoes rubbed quickly against the carpeted aisle. Rows among rows, of course we were the first of them all. The choir stood on the stage, swaying like the wind, lifting the spirits of the people sitting in prayer. Some bowed their heads in deep prayer, wishing for one thing or another. I watched my sister turn her head back and forth rapidly, looking at all of the people who were already here. She was just waiting to be in her row and settled. The priest looked my way before he spoke, but his expression stayed the same. Finally, I wheeled in my sister to her handicapped seat, which only had enough room for her, so I gazed around the church for an empty seat. No seats, my luck of course. The only seats were the remaining row in the far back. So, I darted to the back where a row was almost deserted. I kept my head down as if I committed a crime the entire way. I was winded before I got back to the seat.

Church meant too much for my sister and I to miss. The presence of God allowed our small family to continue holding our head high. What my sister and I refused to see was that we lived in a rundown house with crushed floors and dreams, scarce food and parents, and a freezing attic with two mattresses sitting on the filthy floor. We used to call it our “little secret.” Teachers, family friends, and church members always suspected our home wasn’t stable. However, our father was trying his best. He left for weeks at a time, but he needed too. He kissed us farewell and left us to fend for ourselves. We could never tell a soul because if we did we would be taken away. We were frightful of being sent to live in a foster home, or worse, our mother. A nice home without my sister is nothing but windows and walls. I always stood in front of the mirror for a couple minutes in the morning before my sister woke, and would smile. I slapped the brave face onto my skin and it wasn’t allowed to come off, ever. This is why I need faith, it helps me let down my guard for just an hour and let me breathe and believe.

The priest finally cut off the choir, smiled and began his sermon. He always saved his sermon for the end, and I could once again feel the burning tears cover my eyes. We were so late that it was almost finished. I knew my sister Kayla was thinking the same. He spoke but the words faded in my mind. Already missing half of the mass, I began to think.

What if somebody knew how bad our home situation was? Would anybody care, or would they pity us from afar? I guess I cannot make that decision. What if we get separated? Kayla needs me and I need her. Now I frustrated myself, all my conflicts jumbled into my head with no exit to be found. I thought of wheeling her in to church today, before we argued about life, that’s why we had been late. I had made a mistake and everything I thought I knew she felt was wrong. She knew things were bad, but I always made it seem not as bad as it was. Like sharing the attic as our bedroom didn’t seem bad because as a child I told her it was so we could always share the shooting stars. Still being a kid, she still believes the little tales I tell her, but she knows sometimes they aren’t the real reasoning.

I looked back on what happened an hour ago and I almost chuckled, because the way we lived was so sad. This morning I scrounged for food, looking for the littlest things to give her. I knew the farmer way down the road would have fruit and things for cheap. Taking the five dollars I had left from our savings, I ran down the road with the winter wind whisking through my hair. I completely forgot to mention to my sister I was leaving. Every morning and every night I have to carry her up and down from the attic, her wheel chair remained at the bottom. We once tried to build a little elevator but we only got yelled at by our mother.

When Kayla was little, she was in a car accident with our mother. It left her paralyzed from the waist down. The medical expenses went through the roof and that’s when our nice bedrooms, house, and roomy backyard were foreclosed. It was like losing a life we’ve always known. Our mother was overridden with guilt and anger. Both of our parents lost their jobs and our father went to work as a trucker. My mother packed up her bags and left one night when our father was on job. She left us a note, but I never showed it to Kayla. Since then, we have both been paranoid of people leaving us. It’s our reflex to assume we have been left. And that happened to slip my mind as I busted out the door this morning.

An hour ago she was screaming my name, “Kate, Kate! Where are you? Please, please, please come back.” I heard her through the door with two oranges, bread, and jam in my hands. I was baffled, I didn’t know what to do, but I always have to do something. I ran upstairs and saw her puffy eyes and rosy red cheeks and nose. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. She sat there on her bed breathing heavily, but knowing I was here to stay.

I whispered into her ear, “I will never leave, never ever.” I looked at her and smiled and said to her face, “I went to get some food and now it’s okay.” Still her face didn’t seem alright. She looked angry and upset all at the same time.

“It’ll never be okay!” she slammed her hand on her mattress. “We’re trapped, don’t you see, oh wait no you can’t because you can walk and be free.” I stared into her eyes, depicting everything she felt in this moment. I laughed and she squinted her blue eyes back at me.

“You're not trapped, not at all, we live lives of adventure and mystery. We never will know what will come next for good or bad. We're both free, and one day we'll fly together.”

She looked at me and then said, “Help me get up, please.” We argued a little more getting ready and on the way to church, but coming late was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She was frantic as we approached the church doors, I wanted to hurry but I was feeling faint. I guess that was because I didn't eat enough, again. Kayla's needs come before mine and that includes her need to eat every meal provided. All I know is that is has been a long time since I have had a full, filling meal.

The priest continued, when I looked up, it seemed like he was staring at me. Sadly I had no idea what his sermon was even about. I tried to focus and listen but my head felt heavy and my eyes needed to shut, and then I crashed into the floor.

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I saw the priest walking over with water. “Had a little bit of a fall, didn't you?” He said almost laughing at what just happened.

“Sorry, I don't know what came over me,” I softly whispered.

“Here, eat this,” he handed me some fruit and crackers. “Were you feeling light headed?”

“Thank you. Um, yes. I didn't have a good breakfast this morning.”

“But surely you usually always eat breakfast?” The priest asked but he already knew the answer.

Now, I was in tears, letting out every secret I have ever kept. The secrets about my mother, father, sister, and food struggles just spilled like milk being knocked over. He sat there patiently waiting for me to finish and attentively listening to every word I spoke. When I was done, he invited my sister and me over for dinner. Obviously, I accepted the invitation.

I pushed my sister to the table and I sat down in a chair more comfortable than the mattress at home. Kayla stared at the steaming food and I could tell the only thing she wanted right now was the tender steak. We talked, laughed, and finished the food like angry wolves. We had not a single scrap of food left. The priest had laughed at the way we ate, but we didn’t seem to care. , I looked out the window and into the beautifully lit sky. I knew that telling those secrets I held in for so long only let out the bad Kayla and I were trying to rid our lives of so desperately. The truth and secrets that disappeared invited the good into our lives.