First time I ever fainted, I was in a Southern Baptist church in Shelby, North Carolina. Clutching a hymnal and belting the lyrics inked in its wispy pages, I collapsed in a seated pose, my forehead resting in the book’s crease. My freshman roommate’s father wondered if maybe I’d been overcome, you know, by the Spirit. But he winked when he asked. He knew. I hadn’t eaten breakfast and I was expelling way more air than I was inhaling. I wasn’t woozy for the Lord so much as, Lord, was I woozy!
Apparently, when asleep, I sometimes resemble a dead person. My head will loll one direction while my body twists another, limbs at odd angles. And I won’t move. For hours. On that same visit with my freshman roommate’s family, her sister caught me napping. “I thought you were dead,” she told me later. She didn’t call me a church-fainting nap-zombie to my face, but I chalked that up to her gracious Southern manners. I knew what she thought of me. I knew she’d taken my measure, and Lord, wasn’t I a freak?
How about you?
Write for twenty minutes on one of the following subjects. Combine two or three subjects to create something larger.
An experience with an insect.
An experience with a child.
An experience with an animal.
An experience with a stranger.
An experience in an automobile.
An experience in a school.
An experience in a place of worship.
An experience in a stranger’s house.
*From Poets & Writers “The Time Is Now,” January 26, 2012