By Brigitta Scheib

The steeple sprouted over the hills and reached skyward, the only part of the church visible from the highway. Its tall side glowed, advertising “Jesus” in unwavering neon letters as Lulu pulled forward.

She turned her car down the narrow, overgrown drive and followed the winding path, circling around the church until she noticed the smooth, pale tombstones and found the entrance to the cemetery. 

She breathed in, counted to six and blew out. “Lulu, you can do this,” she whispered, getting out of her car and slamming the door. “It’s time. This is for you.”

She trudged through the tall, damp grass and found the grave, knelt down and ran her palms over the indentations marking his name on the stone, then traced each one with her index finger.

The man who silenced her with threats was gone now. “Nobody would believe you,” he once hissed, and so she accepted that not one person would listen to her.  

She lived with that, but no longer. She is here for forgiveness. For herself. Crouched in the moist earth, listening to the buzz of the illuminated sign fade into background noise, Lulu allowed her anger to gush out and seep into the ground, shedding it like a skin that no longer fit.

“JESUS,” the letters hummed, the harshness catching her attention. Standing, she brushed off her knees and shielded her eyes, squinting as the top of the spire disappeared into the clouds. Lulu walked back to her car with ease; her body relaxed for the first time in years.

She left town that night to forge a fresh path. Feeling lighter, she flew down the deserted highway past the old church; the steeple hidden in the darkness. Only the bright fluorescent “Jesus” was visible, flickering then fading before burning out for good.

*   *   *

Brigitta Scheib lives in Harrisburg, PA with her husband, daughter and three orange cats. Her work appears in Temple in a City and Flash Phantoms.