|Go ahead. Scare me.|
It shouldn’t have been frightening.
We knew her. She knew us.
Previously, we had been chatting happily with her.
And we were in a church.
But it was.
Frightening, that is.
Let me tell you about it . . .
Kathy, her older sister and I had been at an activity at the church.
The activity had ended.
My ride hadn’t materialized.
I should mention, here, that, when I had a church activity, my Mom had to abandon her uber-busy life and drive twenty miles to get me.
On sketchy roads.
In the dark.
Uphill both . . . never mind.
Sometimes, her life didn’t let go easily and she arrived late.
Okay, often, her life didn’t let . . . you understand.
My friend and her sister stayed with me so I wouldn’t have to wait alone.
We were wandering around in the chapel, chatting, peering out of the tall windows.
It was dark outside and all of us were anxiously watching for the tell-tale lights of Mom’s car.
Kathy’s sister, as a joke, shook her long hair over her face and started walking slowly toward us.
Long hair over face.
It FREAKED US OUT. Screaming at the tops of our lungs, we fled.
To the other side of the chapel.
(Okay, none of us should have been playing in the chapel – don’t tell the Bishop.)
Sister kept on coming. Just slowly, never increasing the pace.
But inexorably. (Ooh! Good word!)
We shrieked and ran. Turned and looked.
And shrieked and ran.
Funny, now that I look back on it that it never occurred to either of us to - you know - leave the chapel.
I guess it was because the rest of the building was much scarier. Even without someone’s stalking sister.
The trailing and scaring and shrieking went on until the lights of Mom’s car finally lit up the front of the building.
Sooo . . . like I said, we knew her. She knew us.
Why on earth were we so scared?
But we were . . .
And we loved it.