March 29, Easter Sunday

The dream is terrifying and vivid. I know I’m dreaming but there’s a sickening reality to it and I want to wake up but I can’t. Luiz and I are on the beach together, the sun warm on our bodies, when clouds gather. The sky turns to inky darkness and I can hear distant thunder. I look down to see we are standing on a tiny bit of sand and rising water surrounds us.

I sit bolt upright in bed and gasp for breath. Luiz is sleeping peacefully next to me. My heart is racing as I turn the shower on full blast and let the cold water shock my senses. I push the dream from my mind and get dressed in Sunday clothes.

“Carlos, time to get up! We’re going to church today. Come take a shower and get dressed, I’ve got your Sunday clothes laid out for you.”

Carlos stumbles out of bed and rubs his eyes, yawning. “Can I have something to eat first?”

“First get dressed. We’re going to have a big lunch later, after we get back from church, but I’ve got some bread and cheese and juice for you.”

Carlos is almost seven and growing fast. He’s going to be tall like Luiz, and I have trouble keeping up with his growth spurts when it comes to clothes for special occasions. We are both ready and we walk toward the evangelical church on a side street in town. The Catholic church bells ring to call everyone to mass. Christ is risen! I reach over to Carlos but he doesn’t want to be seen with his mom holding his hand.

“Mamãe, why doesn’t Papai come to church with us?” He looks up at me as we walk.

“Your father has decided not to participate in organized religion, and I must respect his wishes. When you are older you can decide for yourself. But for now, let’s worship together, you and I.” We reach the church and I lift my scarf up from my shoulders to cover my hair. This church is very strict so I’ve worn long sleeves and pinned my hair back in a bun.

“Good morning, sister. Glory to God on this blessed day.” Several deacons are greeting people as they arrive. The church is simple but the ends of the pews have been decorated with fresh white lilies, the kind they call “cup of milk.” Carlos and I sit together in one of the back pews.

This day is one of joy, with Christ risen from death after suffering on the cross. The sermon is a dark one, though, focusing on the sins of men and admonishing us to repent our ways. I can feel Carlos squirming next to me, and he’s looking around at everything. He looks up at me questioningly when the pastor shouts darkly about fire and brimstone.

I don’t know if it’s because this church is different than the one in Picuí, or because I am more different now than I realized. After the service I lead Carlos to the fellowship hall, where they are serving coffee and sweets. The church sisters hang back near the walls and look me up and down, not offering words of welcome or any conversation. I don’t feel at home here. I decide we won’t stay to eat anything, and Carlos looks relieved when we leave the church and walk home.