Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Charade (08/14/08)
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TITLE: Showtime | Previous Challenge Entry
By Hannah Jones
08/19/08 -
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Still brooding I spotted my letter of redundancy poking out from underneath the toaster. With a sigh I chucked it into the recycling bag and stomped upstairs, slurping my tea. Banging the bedroom door open I noisily started to move about, painstakingly searching for the perfect outfit. An outfit that announced, ‘Even my wardrobe is sorted,’ I mused as I pushed hangers around.
“Any tea for me, love?”
I turned around and saw Mark peering sleepily at me. Returning to my scrutiny of the wardrobe, I snapped back, “Kettle’s boiled.”
With a melodramatic sigh and grunt I heard Mark stalk downstairs. Four different outfits and several long critical looks in the mirror later, I returned to the kitchen for breakfast. The pile of bills sat unopened on the breakfast table. Exactly where they had been the day before. Mark was slouched in the chair, idly reading yesterday’s paper.
“You’ve had at least half an hour to start sorting them out you know,” I informed him, pointing accusingly at the paperwork.
“Pay with monopoly money, is it?” He sarcastically replied without glancing up.
I gobbled the rest of my toast in silence. Mark read the paper.
“Time to go,” I announced standing up. “ Put some clothes on. I’m leaving in two minutes.”
Mark rolled his eyes at me and strolled upstairs.
I grabbed the car keys and headed out, remembering my Bible on the way. I always leave it in the hallway. It looks good when someone from church drops by. I slipped into the driver’s seat and revved the engine loudly. Eventually Mark appeared and had barely shut his door before I pulled off. He muttered something. I was silent.
Arriving at church I edged into a parking space, took a deep breath and prepared myself. Another Sunday. As we walked towards the entrance I grabbed Mark’s hand and plastered a big smile on my face. I could hear the faint strains of the first hymn from inside. Gill on the door welcomes us with a friendly hug.
“Sorry we’re late,” I whispered, always feeling compelled for some reason to offer an apology and an explanation, “got carried away with our quiet time.”
Sliding into two spare seats I could feel Mark’s shoulder brushing against mine. The effect of the sensation caught me by surprise. Refocusing my attention on the man at the front, I fell into my usual routine. I’d mastered the art of lifting my hands in worship and bowing my head prayerfully to perfection.
After the final blessing Andrea turned around with a smile. She asked how we were.
“Oh very well thank you. Everything’s fine,” I answered cheerfully.
I returned the question.
She said the same.
On our way to find some coffee we bumped into Sara and Pete. They asked us to pray for their son who’s become involved with drugs. Nodding sympathetically, I wondered how they could have parented him so carelessly.
“Can we pray for anything for you guys?” Sara asked.
“No, no, not at all,” I insisted. “Everything’s just fine.”
Getting back into the car, the smile shrank from my face.
Another Sunday. Another show.
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