autobiographical fragment #4

“I want all of you to close your eyes,” the arts and crafts camp counselor said. She’d just taught us how to make pirate-shaped figurines from dyed corn husks. I’d had trouble folding the hat and so she’d twisted the unruly and brittle husk into a complicated knot for me, letting me add the two black dots for eyes with a felt-tip marker.

“I still see some eyes open,” she said. “We aren’t going to finish until everyone keeps their eyes closed. No cheating.” We sat in the shade, on a stone wall. I wanted the cool earth against my legs to soak up through the rest of me, especially to my ears, the blood of which I imagined beginning to boil.

“It’s your second-to-last day and there’s something very important that I need to know. If anyone doesn’t feel saved, I want you to raise your hand. If you haven’t accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord and savior, or you feel like you haven’t, or you don’t know, you need to let me know.” Silence for a moment. Although I’d heard a lot about Jesus during the week, I didn’t know exactly what she meant. It was getting hotter by the second and the air was unmercifully still. I hoped we’d finish before the sun made its way over the tree we were hiding under.

“I don’t see any hands. I know there’s got to be at least one of you who isn’t sure. It’s ok not to be sure. Don’t be embarrassed. Nobody’s going to see you but me. I can tell you, because I’m looking at you, that every one of you has their eyes closed.”

Another pause, this one longer. I pictured sunlight leaking into the shade.

“So all of you are absolutely sure that you’re saved. And you’re know what it means to be saved. Each one of you has accepted Jesus Christ as your lord and savior. I want you to look deep inside your hearts and ask yourself whether or not you know for sure that you’re saved. If you have any doubt at all, I want you to raise your hand. And no one’s going to know you raised your hand but me.”

I raised my hand.

“Ok, if you still have your hand up, go ahead and put it down. Everyone can open their eyes now. See you at lunch.” It was close to noon and we had to squint through the glare to find our friends.

“Jay,” she said, “I want to talk to you for a second. Can you stay behind?”