Alabama in the winter reminds me of the depressed feeling you get after the holidays, the gray that seeps into your bones and makes you feel shallow and slow. Whenever I am here I tend to go off on my own and drive around with the windows down, letting the frosty wind paint my cheeks pink and burn my nose. It gets icy here, but not in the blue and twinkly way where the ice demands to shimmer as bright as the sun. No, it gets icy in a gray slushy kind of way. I somehow always end up parked at the church right beside the old school. I turn up the heat and stare at the frosted window panes-the cold that blankets the world in an eerie fog, crippling even the tree branches. Looking around and seeing the stillness- the dead trees, the sunless sky, and the small, sad graveyard- throws me back in time. Suddenly I'm the little girl with tight braids running around the back of the school, living in a glass cage. My parents would take me to Alabama every winter to visit family. I would spend my days in Sunday school, while my parents mingled around the church, hovering like ghosts. My knees were always bent on creaky tuffets, praying with white knuckles and tight eyes, hoping to blend in with the crowd. I played the part of a good Christian girl- wearing the signature tight lipped smile, pretending I had nothing to say. Innocence and naivety were my greatest weapons, and I used them so well. 

But I grew up. The sense started to break through and now I have new hair and fresh wounds and it’s easy to see that I am not the girl I once was. I am not the girl who regularly prays anymore. I put on my best performance in church- my pageant smile fooling everyone but me- and break like stained glass as soon as I find a moment alone. The cracked part of me fighting for freedom and peace, but struggling with the confused little girl who fought for love. For a while there were two sides of me competing for dominance. One that pined all the problems in the world on religion, like it was a simple solution, and one that desperately wanted to hold onto the gentleness and kindness I was taught. Broken parts of me tore pieces apart in order to find hidden answers on how to move on gracefully without ruining what once was. I relentlessly tried to unlearn everything Christianity instilled in me- I wanted to distance myself from the people masquerading as saviors and those who used faith to ostracize. But a small part of me also wanted to stay sheltered and keep religion gilded for a more comfortable life.

But God, I was tired of fighting for both. I lost both battles and bleed myself dry. I couldn't remember what I used to fight for, and so eventually it felt better to give in to the part of me hoping to leave religion and my past behind. I nailed the casket shut and moved on with my life. But as I am sitting here in the parking lot, staring at the steeple, I can't help but let the tears fall. Because although the beliefs I once carried with me proudly are now buried under the hummock of ground. I am haunted by the girl I once knew so well. The echo of the end follows me everywhere.