Mabel Anne had her Wednesday’s wishes
They were the same as her Tuesday’s wishes
Her Monday’s wishes, her last week’s wishes
Her last month’s wishes and none came true.
They were simple wishes, gentle wishes
She wished the kids at school would not bully her
Mable Anne had just two dresses
Her shoes were brown hand-me-downs.
The shoes were held together with tape and glue
Her dresses clean, but well worn
Mable Anne was quiet and that combination
Made her ripe for teasing and ridicule.
Home was far from a refuge or a safe haven
Her father drank and drank and was always drunk
He beat her mother when he was home
And made Mabel Anne uncomfortable with his stares.
Her mother worked two jobs to keep the family afloat
She left some money visible and stashed the rest away
Her father grabbed the money as if deserving
Then he would start his eternal litany.
Everything was unfair, his last boss, he had none now
His parents, the government, God, all unfair
Nobody understood him, especially his wife
And after a short build-up he rewarded her.
Well-practiced, he would strike fast
Hit or kick where it wouldn’t show
She did not resist, she protested some
First and most important, she made sure Mabel Anne was safe.
His energy spent; he would wander off
Somewhere to collapse or out the door
The garbled tirade would wind down
He was still the victim, leaving others fallen in his path.
You were an object of his scorn if he perceived
You were smarter than him, had a job, made a suggestion
Didn’t agree with him, if he remembered his point
His family left to recover, forgive, exist near him.
Mable Anne’s mom would not discuss it, or hear ill words about him
She would use the kitchen counter to help her stand
She would dab a cut lip or pause to survive a wave of pain
She would tell her daughter it wasn’t his fault.
Schoolwork was her escape, her solace
Buried in homework, consumed by reading
The world inside her head, was how she survived
And yes, she still had an imagination functioning.
She had no friends, no cousins, aunts, or uncles
That is none that acknowledged the relationship
Her grandparents, those surviving, disowned their children
Hardened by the disappointment of their son or son-in-law.
Her room was her cocoon, her sanctuary
But she left little in the open, nothing showing
Fearing some fatherly rage would pull posters from the walls
Smash trinkets on a table or a shelf, leaving shards of memories vibrating.
There was another place for Mable Anne
Her mother brought her to church every Sunday, for years
Even if she had to work, she would see that she got there
Mable Anne’s church, her place to feel part of another world.
From the beginning, she loved Sunday School, the stories, the peace
Some of the same kids from school were there too
But without their numbers and in these surroundings
They left her alone and one or two even talked to her.
She loved the building, full or empty
It was a place of joy and celebration
Or a place to hold sorrow and grief
It was a community within a community.
When she was young, she was able to listen
As she grew older, she would understand more
The Minister took little pieces of the Bible
And made sure people understood its meaning.
And there was the music, the glorious music
Spilling out of the organ and the mouths of the choir
She joined in with the rest of the congregation
Singing the hymns of praise and adoration.
As she got older, she would spend more time at the church
During the summer she would help at the church office
There was always a mailing to get out
The Sextant would need help setting up chairs and tables.
The Minister assured Mable Anne’s mom it was no problem
She was very helpful and seemed comfortable here
And that was certainly the truth, she ran errands
She helped the Music Director organize the choir’s music.
Her favorite thing to do was to go into the empty sanctuary
There she would sit in her favorite spot
She could see the old trees outside and the cross inside.
Inside her head and inside her heart she grew.
The more mature Mabel Anne, took her Wednesday’s wishes
And then turned them into adult thoughts
From there she was able to see what was important
Those feelings turned into Mabel Anne’s prayers.
One late afternoon she was alone, sitting peacefully in the sanctuary
And something inside her stirred, moved
Not physically, but it was a feeling, a strong feeling
She parted her lips and a sound came from her.
It was nothing she planned, not quite a song
Soft at first, almost a moan, like her mother
After she had been beaten by her father
But there was no pain, it was all escaping.
Still, it was musical, more than a tune
Rather a sustained note that grew and gained resonance
Then the note wandered and became fuller
It reached out in the empty space and claimed it.
Each breath pulled meaning from inside her
It almost broke into tears with all its tales
The walls echoed this growing sound
The big voice from the quiet girl flew everywhere.
The Sextant paused in the hallway; the Secretary listened
She got up and moved to the office doorway
The Music Director quietly entered from the practice room
The Minister left his office and moved quickly inside.
Mabel Anne felt everything inside her and let it out
All the bullied tears, the anguish for her mother
Her love of being here in the church
All that a young girl loves and fears.
Nobody had a stopwatch, but it continued
Each new breath carried a new meaning
The Sextant put his mop aside and knelt next to his bucket
The Secretary was shaking tears from her soul.
The Music Director could only wonder at the beauty
There was no practical description, it was hypnotic
The Minister moved a little farther into the sanctuary
He sat in the nearest pew and prayed.
It all peaked and then stopped
Mable Anne was still, she sat back relieved
Blessed with knowledge not taught in school
This place would be her place.