(ty for reading ik this is late, but i'm grateful for ur time nonetheless :D vote if u do so wish)
aquaphobia (n.)
aq·ua·pho·bia
An irrational or disproportionate fear of water.
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We stopped going to church when I was nine.
Not altogether, of course. We just turned into casual Christians who only went for Christmas, Easter, New Year's, and the occasional Good Friday.
(Church was simply under the Good Korean Son contract, and always had been, so removing it didn't feel like much of an emotional disaster for me. It was hard to tell a nine year old about an all-powerful god dying for their inevitable, sinful contributions to the darkness of mankind for you when the kid could barely comprehend the dual identity crisis of Superman.
But I digress.)
However, it wasn't the leaving that really mattered. It was why.
My parents had their differences but one thing they always agreed on was once you agree, you cannot un-agree. Your word was your word. My mother loved her church friends, loved volunteering for the banquets, taught for Sunday School, befriended all the pastors and their wives. My father—when he could come—would serve the lunches, talk with the deacons, intermingle with the Korean and English ministry alike.
"Are we going to church today?" I asked, when 11:15 struck the clock and my mother was still in her pajamas, typing emails on her computer.
She clicked to another tab and said, "No."
"Why not?"
"We're not going to church much anymore, Angel."
"Why not?"
"Because."
"Because?"
She sighed. The computer shut and she turned to me, leaning down with exasperation.
I frowned. "Why not?" I asked again.
"Something bad happened," is all she said. "Something bad happened, so we're not going there anymore."
I pressed her for many minutes for a reason, for an explanation. Why all of a sudden? Why now? What happened?
And every time she'd only say, "No, Angel. I can't tell you, I just can't. I'm sorry."
My mother usually always treated me quite grown, so it shocked me to be reduced to my childish age so suddenly. I stomped away, frustrated at being shut out, at decisions being made without me or my word.
Lucky for me, I had another parent.
He gave the same heavy breath when I asked him why we weren't going to church anymore.
"I'll tell you," he said. "But later."
Later it was. The whole year passed without me knowing, our holiday visits at church blunt. My mother only saw her friends by occasion now, her perfumes and dresses and finer jewelry now resigned to team dinners or secluded parties or pricey birthday celebrations. My father used up Sundays for extra work or REM rebounds. My Sundays were now full of junk food and boredom, homework or the park.
Then, one night, my father came into my room to sit at the foot of my bed, his expression portentous.
"I want to talk to you," he said.
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Buddies
Teen Fiction"My mother once told me there are three, and only three, truly defining moments in your life. One: When you don't know. Two: When you realize you don't know. Three: When you know. This is about the third one." --- Angel Young is going to die. Or at...
