They dressed her in a robe of linen. The women gathered around, twirling strands of her hair with songs of praise on their tongues. The men prepared the sacred scene, the soft spray of the hose heard from the other side of the door.
The people congregated to watch. Amazement—such a precocious girl, succumbing to Christ before so much as leaving kindergarten. A pliant, obedient girl: memorizing the chorus’ praises and repeating the Lord’s Prayer. She had been an angel in the nativity play earlier that winter. Now here she stood; a small, wide-eyed figure dressed in robes swimming to the floor. All she had missing was a halo.
The pastor helped her into the tub, his touch warm and inviting. The girl bowed her head, either in respect or unease.
Time faltered when he brought her under. Her eyes opened as the water swallowed her, and panic engulfed her. The draped linen became an anchor. Her breath held, her eyes stung. She didn’t flail, she didn’t fight.
The pastor released his grip, eventually, and she surfaced. Praise erupted for the young, devout girl. She blinked through the water clinging to her lashes. Lightness glowed in her chest—but whether it was the weight of God lifting or simply the gift of air returning, she could not say.
Kay Copeland is a junior at Lindenwood University studying communications with a journalism emphasis. A 2023 MIJA All-State Journalism honoree, she writes news and prose. She hopes to pursue editing for print or digital publications. Outside writing, she enjoys baking, her cats, and time with loved ones.
Arrow Rock Literary Journal 
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