The Garden Outside Of The Church

Day 74

Dear Diary,

The storm is rolling in over the Rocky Mountains but I can’t see it. I have tried each window and have even stood on my tippy toes. But all I can see is the garden outside of the church. I know there is a storm coming because I can see the light darken around the petals of the Geraniums, and the stems of the Red Roses begin to sway in the breeze. I can also hear the thunder grow louder and the pine in the walls of the old church creak. But I can’t see the storm. I'll know when it starts to rain because the sound of rain drops will beat on the metal roof, and although I am in the basement the sound will be deafening. I will even see the droplets land on the glass of the basement window, then slide down to the dirt and gravel. But all I will see is the garden outside of the church.

Today is Wednesday. The Murphy’s always leave early on Wednesday’s so I will be getting my last meal of the day soon. I never know what I am going to get but I hope it isn’t bologna again. The church only has a small ice box in Pastor Murphy's office, so my typical meal is a sandwich and fruit cup. Once in a while the church will have a potluck or someone may bake a yummy dessert. Mrs.Murphy usually will bring me some of it before leaving for the night. She always serves my food on the same brown tray day after day. Leaving it at the bottom of the stairs so as not to get too close to me. I don’t even know if she washes the tray and if she does, it isn’t done often. One time they served me an egg salad sandwich and I found the same dried up mustard stain was underneath my food for the next few weeks.

I can hear the rain now. I am going to close my eyes and pretend to be one of the Marigolds in the garden so I can see the storm roll in.

Day 59

Dear Diary,

Church has just ended. I can hear the sound of people leaving their pew’s and children laughing as they run and play in the field next to their church. I wonder how it would be to run in those fields again or if I ever will get the chance to. I look down at my skin and it is starting to look pale from not having seen the sun in weeks. Are my parents here today? Did they think of me during the service. Their little girl right under their feet, locked in a basement all alone.

Today is Sunday. It is easy to tell because it is the busiest day at the church and Mrs.Murphy always comes down super early to give me breakfast. It is also the only day she empties my bathroom bucket. Probably because the smell might make it to one of the many noses of the people up stairs. It used to be that after I finished my meal of packaged pop tarts or stale granola, Mrs. Murphy would tie me up in the corner of the room and tape my mouth shut. I hated the tape. It would make my lips raw. So raw I couldn’t sleep because of the burning. The rope on my wrists would cause my hands to eventually go numb, and there isn’t anything more painful than the blood rushing back into my hands after a few hours of them being bound behind my back. Except for maybe Pastor Murphy's beatings with the belt. Sometimes I pass out from the pain of his beatings, only to wake up with him waiting to give me more. I am happy to have earned Mrs. Murphy's trust though, she doesn't tie me up anymore. I am allowed to listen to the service at the top of the stairs, and if I am quiet then the Pastor won’t use the belt.

I am going to close my eyes and pretend to be one of the Marigolds in the garden, so I can feel the sun again and watch the children play.

Day 22

Dear Diary,

The basement under the church is usually completely dark at night, but tonight the moon is so bright a small patch of light is shining through one of the windows. It is enough light for me to write with. I haven’t seen the night sky in three weeks but I know the sky must be clear enough to see the Big and Little Dipper. One of my favorite things to do back home was sneak out to the porch on a warm summer night and stare up at the stars. If only I could see them tonight.

Today is Tuesday. It is easy to tell because I haven’t seen the Murphy's all day. Mrs. Murphy says they need a day away from the church so they can focus on God in their home. I like Tuesday’s because I am left alone, and I don’t have to worry when and what they are going to do to me. Most of the time it is long prayers and bible study sessions. But there are times when it isn’t enough for them, and I am subject to beatings and abusive “therapy” sessions. Yesterday the Pastor was relentless with his belt, and I won’t be able to lay on my back for a week. They wanted me to look at these photos of men and women together. Some with their clothes on but most with their clothes off. I haven’t seen anything like it and when I tried to look away Mrs. Murphy spat in my face and called for the Pastor. He came barreling down the stairs, his belt in hand and a look in his eye that froze my entire body.

Tonight I am going to close my eyes and pretend to be one of the Marigolds in the garden, so I can gaze up at the stars.

Day 13

Dear Diary,

Today I looked out one of the basement windows through the entire Sunday service. I had cried for an hour after Mrs. Murphy tied me up. Struggling to breath and choking on my tears through the tape. By the time people started to arrive for mass I was exhausted and scared, so I sat back against the stone wall and listened to the sound of feet shuffling through the church and the murmur of people settling into their seats. I became mesmerized by the garden outside the window.

There are many flowers of all different shapes, sizes, and colors. My favorites are the yellow Marigolds which seem to own most of the garden. They are profoundly beautiful. I have seen them and the garden before, but from the outside of the church. Back when I would come to services with my parents. I never appreciated it like I did today though. It's the only part of this nightmare that gives me hope. The garden is the singular part of my world that isn’t ugly, and If I close my eyes and think hard enough I can imagine seeing it and the world around it through the eyes of the Marigolds.

Day 3

Dear Diary

Today Mrs. Murphy gave me this Diary to write in. She tossed it at me and told me to “write your filth in here”. I don’t understand why they hate me so much now, the Murphy’s seemed so nice when I came to church every week with my family. They would smile at me and wish us all well, but now I disgust them? My parents must have told them about the letter they found in my backpack. It was from my friend Sarah at school and every time I read It, I felt butterflies throughout my entire body. I read it a hundred times over the course of a week and whenever I saw Sarah in school she would smile and brush up against me, sometimes giving my hand a flirtatious squeeze. She would say my name too, “Lilly”. I never loved my name more than when she said it. I wrote a letter back to her, telling her how much I like her. I responded to her by saying I wanted to date her and that I wanted her to be my first kiss. I wrote about how all I could think about was her soft skin and beautiful smile, but I never was able to give her the letter. My mother found it in my backpack the day before I was going to give it to her.

After finding the letter my mother slapped me hard in the face. Harder than she ever had before, and I wasn’t allowed at dinner. I could hear my parents and my brother downstairs. There was crying and there was a lot of talk about god. She even had a long phone call with who I know now was the Murphy’s. She cried into the phone saying things like, “I can’t have this disgusting behavior in my house” or “she is condemning us all to hell”. When my dad woke me up the next day he didn’t give me a chance to dress, he just pulled me out of bed and brought me here to the church. Then he and the pastor locked me in the basement where there is no light except for a little bit of sun peaking through the small windows. I have a tiny cot in the corner for sleeping on, and a bucket to use the restroom in. There is no toilet paper so I have to use a bowl of water to try to clean myself with. I was left a bible to read and up until now that was all I had. I haven’t spoken to my parents, my brother, or Sarah in three days.

The only time Mrs. Murphy has come down is to give me a little tray of food. She says I am going to hell unless I fight my urges and she tells me I will be down here until I turn 18, and I am ready to join society again as a heterosexual. My chest hurts from the thought of living here away from my family for so long, and I wonder what Sarah will think when I don’t come back to school. Will she wait for me. Is what I feel really so wrong?

My name is Lily Thompson, I am 15 years old and this is my Diary.

P.S. I Love Sarah Pescitelli.