Pockets of Peace in Dallas, Texas

I was kneeling at church, tracing the darkened grooves on the pew in front of me with my pinky finger. Above me, light poured through the stained glass and broke across the room in blues, greens, reds, and yellows. A sea of tanned faces filled the pews, heads bleached pale with chlorine, sun-worn from another Texas summer. At the front, the mosaic of Jesus gazed up triumphantly: long brown hair, white robe, beard. The Mass continued. My mind drifted off into a daydream about the cute boy that I had been crushing on. Was he singing the hymns? Where did he go on vacation? If I passed him in the communion line, should I try to make eye contact and smile? Before I knew it, the priest was walking down the aisle and my mother was shoving the weekly bulletin in my hand, so she could pull down the kneeler and pray.