Here I am, sitting in a church-a very traditional church- for the occasion of the baptismal of Riven and Luke.

I can not hear anything.

The pastor speaks so softly, a gentle monotone from a gentle spirit.

I can see his lips moving but I’m too far to read them.

He knew I was coming and he printed out his sermon, word for word.

I read it.

I am here

The sound of silence is deafening

I feel as if I have on my mask

The one I wear when I’m trying so hard just to blend in.

To pretend.

I’m so out of place.

Finally, they begin to play a song that I recognize from the pamphlet as a song I knew way back when I attended a Baptist Church as a child.

But they are playing it differently, the tune isn’t the one I grew up hearing my Mema sing and it feels almost like a betrayal..

It’s not supposed to be like this.

It isn’t but it is.

So I do what i always do in situations like this.

I retreat, mentally if not physically, and I write…

It’s the way I handle the silence.