Descent from the Ladder

Kate at this time fell backwards off the ladder. When she awoke she was so violently nauseated that she had to immediately vomit. It occurred to her that of all the places she had expected to someday wake up in a pool of her own sick, this was the least likely. Tumbling from Mt. Sinai was not the end she had imagined for herself, especially clutching several unrevealed commandments on posterboard tablets of stone in her goddish fist. She opened her eyes to see the nervous helpers clustered about her, clucking and tutting. One offered to fetch her a glass of water. One was tapping at the ladder hesitantly as if it might close on her arm or hurl her off its peak unexpectedly.

Kate looked at the three helpers with new eyes. These were kind and gentle people. The kind of people you’d want to call and say, “Help, I’m sick!” and have them come and bring you things. She wanted to somehow show them, reach out to them, separate herself from this unholy sister of Ronnie, with her skirt around her waist and her panties a shocking hot pink and an immodest puddle of bile beside her cheek. I could be one of you, she thought. I could be the best one of you. I could rule you. You haven’t got a prayer against me, if I decide to go Jesus on your asses. Kate could see them as her posse. Her Jesus-y army. She could see their phone numbers on her fridge. Her second fridge.

It was a shame that circumstances prevented any further revelations in the Sunday school. But no one had been watching the children. And Bubber had quietly, unassumingly, helpfully, graciously, pulled the fire alarm.