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Rearview Mirror Church

By Carly Baumgartner


Featured in Caesura 2020: Imago


Rearview Mirror Church

As everyone bowed to pray, I slipped out the back door. I sat in the balcony to avoid causing a disturbance upon my early dismissal. I looked behind me to make sure all of my girlfriends were following. We walked down the several flights of stairs into the lower level.

The large room smelled of homemade goods, which were perfectly arranged on the tables filling the room. Beautiful platters were laid out every few feet, waiting to be devoured by kids and parents alike.

We received our jobs and table assignments, my friends and me. We always hoped to get the tables next to one another. Today, my cousin and I were in luck: I was at table nine and she was at table ten.

We giggled, grabbed our rags, and joined the other women preparing for the flood of people.

Over the intercom, the sermon concluded. Minutes later, the roar of people approaching grew louder. Attendees of all ages flooded through the several entrances, taking seats at the lined, U-shaped tables. It was first come, first served.

Tables 1-10 were on the women’s side, so I made my way to the east end of the room. This side had both its perks and downfalls. On the one hand, the women talked much longer, making the turnover and workload less. On the other hand, the women were picky. “One cup of coffee but make it half water. One cup of milk. And that baked good like the one on the table behind me.” “Please” (sometimes).

Despite their clearly uppity attitudes, I much preferred it to the men’s side. Serving in the middle of the U felt too exposed. They looked at you. They flirted with you, knowing that they could get away with it in this situation. You felt their eyes on your back, perhaps wondering if you were the one that would catch their eye enough to go to the elder about in pursuit of marriage.

My heart raced from rushing from one end of the U to the other, taking drink orders and topping off coffee cups, stopping for short conversations along the way.

As the hour came to a close, the lights flickered, signaling that social time was coming to an end and the second service was growing near. People attempted to finish up their conversations with their cousin’s sister’s aunt’s friend’s mom.

Table nine slowly started to empty, leaving only a handful of remaining ladies. I made my way around the U, wiping down the tables, veering around the girls, hoping that they picked up on my hint to get moving.

Betsy, the woman in charge of the weekly lunch hour dismissed me, wanting me to be on time to the following service.


I wiped off my hands and hugged the women around me goodbye. While heading toward the staircase, I spotted a family friend at the other end of the room. The dad of my best friend—a dear man.

Without much thought, I crossed the center line.

He hugged me, accepting my presence. We spoke for a few moments before a man approached me.

He was tall. Or maybe he wasn’t.

“What are you doing over here? You may as well have a sign on your forehead that says, ‘I’m a flirt.’”

My mind went blank, unable to utter a response, and out came a nervous laugh.

My friend’s dad stood there, excusing himself from the moment.

He maintained a straight face, pointing his nose back to the other side of the room. I watched him walk away, up the stairs and on to the next service.

Stunned, I walked up the stairs too, but the ones that led to the outside. I opened the door. The chill of the cold air came over me at once as I stood in the cold wintery blizzard. I thought about turning around, going back into the warmth. They wouldn’t approve of me skipping second service...

And they didn’t approve of my favorite burnt orange skirt in my closet.

And they didn’t approve of my loose brunette curls resting on my shoulders.

And they didn’t approve of my pearl earrings.

And they didn’t approve of my dating.

And they didn’t approve of my questions.

And now, 16, they didn’t approve of my no longer childlike presence on

their side of the room.

Unless I was serving them.

I started my car and pulled away, watching the church grow smaller in my rearview mirror.

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