Short Story:
“Full Immersion” by Joseph R. Goodall
The summer Granny gave up drinking, her fresh conviction brought a wave of change to our free-range schedule. One Sunday morning before my cousin and I could escape to the mechanic’s junkyard or to the pond behind the apartment complex, Granny cordoned us in the kitchen with steaming bowls of grits and thrift store formal wear. As she straightened her hair with a piping hot iron, she rattled off all the places we would go after church, but there was no mention of the corner liquor store with the blinking sign.
Carissa and I stared out the window as we gulped down our mushy breakfast, fantasizing of the summertime adventures we enjoyed before Granny rediscovered her leather-bound Bible and the neon polyester suits buried in her musty closet.
“I ain’t been to church since I was in diapers,” I muttered to Carissa as we rinsed our bowls in the sink. Greasy pots were stacked in a precarious tower nearby, remnants of the dinners I cooked earlier in the week while Granny was stuck beside her mahogany liquor cabinet. This morning, however, the wooden shelves had been emptied and dusted in one of Granny’s newfound bursts of zeal.
“She’s like my mama when she runs out of medication.” Carissa said, flicking water from the scrubbing brush in our faces. “I wish Granny would go back to her normal self.”
I took the brush from her. “I’d rather be here than wrapped up in my mama’s antics. Besides, Granny’s still got a TV.”
Carissa frowned and narrowed her eyes as Granny tried on a wide brimmed hat in the mirror. “You’ll see, Fonso. She’ll take a drink and chill out again. At least Granny’s a calm drunk. She ain’t like your mama. She lets us do what we want.”
Ms. Patty’s gold station wagon announced its arrival with a sputtering engine and squawking horn. Granny straightened my tie and combed my hair, then folded and pinned the hem of Carissa's skirt to hide a ketchup stain. Carissa pushed Granny away with a groan and marched out the door. Granny inhaled sharply, but then sighed and adjusted her hat.
Ms. Patty waved at us with her bright red nails as I helped Granny descend the metal stairs. Though Granny said she and Ms. Patty were the same age, her pious yet scatter-brained new friend wore floral dresses with minimal makeup and giggled like a schoolgirl. But I couldn’t help noticing Granny had left her coke bottle glasses in the apartment.
While Granny waited for us to load into the car, Ms. Patty gushed about the day’s activities and shifted grocery bags and a Styrofoam cup to make room in the passenger seat. When Carissa moaned about the lack of AC, Ms. Patty leaned over to open the window. Just as Granny's mouth opened to scold Carissa, a stream of water splashed into her powdered face. She shrieked, her shoulders shaking and her arms jolting out at each side. Ms. Patty covered her mouth and dropped the empty cup out the window. I jumped out to brush the water from Granny’s shiny jacket while Carissa grunted and folded her arms. Ms. Patty continued to apologize for her carelessness as she helped a shivering Granny into the car.
“You and water don't seem to get along,” Ms. Patty said once we were on our way, fluffing her voluminous, curly hair and glancing over her sunglasses at Granny.
“My mama would give me a whoopin’ if I ever got my Sunday clothes wet. Besides, I never learned to swim.” Her voice was quiet, though her demeanor had brightened as she looked out the tinted window at the blooming hydrangeas and wildflowers.
“We went to the pool every summer in Chicago,” said Ms. Patty. “And to the lake for church picnics and baptisms.”
“They shut down the pool here after being ordered to integrate. But there’s a stream my cousins used to play in, just around the corner from here. I’d sit on the bank and watch them,” Granny said.
I tried to picture Granny as a child. She was hard to imagine without gray hair and wrinkled skin. But then again, I had never imagined her being congenial and sober.
“You haven't been out much in years.” Ms. Patty reached over and took one of Granny's hands. “Until you started coming to church with me.”
“Took me a while to work up the courage after George passed,” Granny said.
Ms. Patty squealed, and the car swerved slightly as her face widened into a grin. “You should be baptized, Cynthia. Ask Pastor Fred after service. And your grandchildren will be witnesses.”
To my surprise Granny nodded, making a cooing sound as if deep in thought.
“How much would it hurt if I jumped out of the car?” Carissa whispered, her expression stony and serious.
Inside the red brick church, Granny stood reverent in the pew next to Ms. Patty as the choir sang. While Pastor Fred preached, she hollered in agreement several times. The hypnotic voices and stifling heat almost lulled me to sleep, until the dancing rainbow lights from the stained glass windows caught my attention. As Pastor Fred’s booming voice spoke of a man going down to the River Jordan, the vibrant array rippled across the vaulted ceiling. When the man in the sermon came up out of the water, Pastor Fred said a loud voice called from the sky, and a dove swooped down to rest on the holy man’s shoulder. The colorful light from the stained glass shone over the cross above the pulpit. Most of the audience stood in applause.
Granny tugged at my sleeve, motioning for help. Carissa shook her head as Granny and I stood to our feet next to Ms. Patty. Sheltered by the brim of her hat, I watched Granny’s face tilt up to the ceiling. Her cheeks swelled, pushing up against her watery eyes. Though the church was packed, I sensed a conspicuous absence in our pew: Granny’s daughters, her husband, her other grandchildren. But by Granny’s expression you’d have thought she had won the lottery. I straightened my spine as she sang loudly, her tone off-key but bold and rousing. I hardly recognized this version of Granny who clung tightly to Ms. Patty, this woman who had found something to hold on to and wasn’t letting go.
After the service, the pastor smiled and mopped his sweaty forehead as Granny approached him and his wife. Her eyes were clear and wide as she clutched her hat with trembling hands and asked him her question. The graying man unbuttoned his black suit jacket and pointed to the baptistery behind the pulpit. A plexiglass panel held back a tank of motionless water. Granny swallowed visibly and shook her head, asking if she could be sprinkled instead. The pastor said he believed in full immersion, going all the way under, head to toe. Her eyes began to glaze over, a tell-tale sign that brought a tremor of concern to my stomach.
Lady Sharon and Ms. Patty told Granny they’d hold her hands. “Except when you go under. Don’t want to leave anything for the devil,” Lady Sharon said.
Carissa fell back into the pew and crossed her arms. “It’s nothing but a bathtub,” she said in a low voice.
I walked up to Pastor Fred. “How about the man in your sermon?”
“The Good Lord, young brother?”
I nodded and asked if Granny could choose where to be baptized, since Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River rather than a tank of tap water.
“There’s a stream nearby,” I said, seeing the calm come over Granny’s face. “It’s been around since before this church was built.”
Ms. Patty and Lady Sharon laughed in embarrasment, but Pastor Fred’s eyes widened. “I don’t see why not. Fetch a couple robes from the closet, will you, Sharon?”
I nodded, took Granny’s arm, then turned to face the empty sanctuary. Carissa had vacated the pew and left the door at the end of the aisle wide open.
We all piled into Ms. Patty’s Oldsmobile. Carissa shared the front passenger seat with Granny, while I squeezed in between the pastor’s shoulder and Lady Sharon’s purse. Granny’s face was bathed in brilliant sunlight as she squinted to read street signs and call out landmarks she recognized.
Eventually we passed a construction site bordered by piles of downed trees. Granny gasped, inadvertently sweeping a handful of Ms. Patty’s curls into her fist. The two women yipped in unison, and Granny motioned wildly at a patch of remaining forest along the shoulder. The car turned a hard corner into a small parking lot. Before we even came to a stop, Carissa opened the passenger door and stumbled out. The air over the field of crumbling asphalt shimmered as the pastor and his wife retrieved a pile of white fabric from the trunk and Ms. Patty helped Granny to her feet. Meanwhile, I watched Carissa make a beeline for the construction site and disappear into the trees.
“What’s got into that girl?” Granny asked as she removed her bright blue jacket and wide brimmed hat.
“A lot’s changing,” I said as I shimmied out of my coat and tie. Granny's flabby brown arms rubbed against me as we joined hands and hobbled to the edge of the pavement, where a thick tangle of brush obscured a steep slope.
Granny squeezed my hand. “That sound takes me back to my childhood, Fonso.” I nodded, hearing the faint trickle of water down the slope. I pictured Granny as a shy little girl, hugging her knees on the stream bank, but was interrupted by a terrible screech. A flash of white streaked behind the tree branches, followed by a splash. Pastor Fred picked up a stick and began hacking at the bright green foliage.
Granny’s forehead wrinkled like a wash cloth as she hollered Carissa’s name. I clambered through the opening the pastor created, yanking Granny along behind me. A vine of thorns slashed across my arm, and I cursed loud enough to elicit a scolding from the ladies. We caught sight of Carissa collapsed in the murky brown water, her braids tangled in a branch and her dress billowing around her waist. The opposite streambank had been stripped of vegetation, and a pile of rocks cascaded down the steep slope into the water.
“Stay away from me,” Carissa cried, yanking free from the tree.
I dug my heel into the slippery red clay, supporting both my weight and Granny’s.
“We’re coming for you, baby,” Granny said. Her eyes were alert and focused, but I wondered if her labored breathing was also brought on by the stream’s dismal condition.
Granny shoved against my grip, causing us to slide down the same path Carissa blazed. We were soaked by a sheet of grimy water as we tumbled into a shallow pool beside Carissa. Granny shook her shoulders and threw her arm around her granddaughter. I braced myself for an argument, but instead my cousin pulled at a strand of Granny’s wet hair, which was already curling, and began to giggle. I struggled to my feet as the other adults called to us from up the slope. Meanwhile, Granny and Carissa fell into each other’s muddy arms and shook with laughter.
Granny and Carissa’s giddiness slowed our return from the stream. In the parking lot, Pastor Fred prayed for Granny as we dried off with the baptismal robes, while Ms. Patty gave hugs all around. Pastor Fred needed to get back for an appointment, but Granny didn’t want us to muddy the Oldsmobile. She assured the others we could walk to a bus stop. Carissa didn’t protest.
As Ms. Patty drove off, I noticed Granny’s shoulders were slumped, and she bent her hat in her wrinkled hands. The worrying sign of lethargy pooled in her eyes again.
Carissa took her hand. “Granny, let’s go get boiled peanuts together.”
Carissa and I stared out the window as we gulped down our mushy breakfast, fantasizing of the summertime adventures we enjoyed before Granny rediscovered her leather-bound Bible and the neon polyester suits buried in her musty closet.
“I ain’t been to church since I was in diapers,” I muttered to Carissa as we rinsed our bowls in the sink. Greasy pots were stacked in a precarious tower nearby, remnants of the dinners I cooked earlier in the week while Granny was stuck beside her mahogany liquor cabinet. This morning, however, the wooden shelves had been emptied and dusted in one of Granny’s newfound bursts of zeal.
“She’s like my mama when she runs out of medication.” Carissa said, flicking water from the scrubbing brush in our faces. “I wish Granny would go back to her normal self.”
I took the brush from her. “I’d rather be here than wrapped up in my mama’s antics. Besides, Granny’s still got a TV.”
Carissa frowned and narrowed her eyes as Granny tried on a wide brimmed hat in the mirror. “You’ll see, Fonso. She’ll take a drink and chill out again. At least Granny’s a calm drunk. She ain’t like your mama. She lets us do what we want.”
Ms. Patty’s gold station wagon announced its arrival with a sputtering engine and squawking horn. Granny straightened my tie and combed my hair, then folded and pinned the hem of Carissa's skirt to hide a ketchup stain. Carissa pushed Granny away with a groan and marched out the door. Granny inhaled sharply, but then sighed and adjusted her hat.
Ms. Patty waved at us with her bright red nails as I helped Granny descend the metal stairs. Though Granny said she and Ms. Patty were the same age, her pious yet scatter-brained new friend wore floral dresses with minimal makeup and giggled like a schoolgirl. But I couldn’t help noticing Granny had left her coke bottle glasses in the apartment.
While Granny waited for us to load into the car, Ms. Patty gushed about the day’s activities and shifted grocery bags and a Styrofoam cup to make room in the passenger seat. When Carissa moaned about the lack of AC, Ms. Patty leaned over to open the window. Just as Granny's mouth opened to scold Carissa, a stream of water splashed into her powdered face. She shrieked, her shoulders shaking and her arms jolting out at each side. Ms. Patty covered her mouth and dropped the empty cup out the window. I jumped out to brush the water from Granny’s shiny jacket while Carissa grunted and folded her arms. Ms. Patty continued to apologize for her carelessness as she helped a shivering Granny into the car.
“You and water don't seem to get along,” Ms. Patty said once we were on our way, fluffing her voluminous, curly hair and glancing over her sunglasses at Granny.
“My mama would give me a whoopin’ if I ever got my Sunday clothes wet. Besides, I never learned to swim.” Her voice was quiet, though her demeanor had brightened as she looked out the tinted window at the blooming hydrangeas and wildflowers.
“We went to the pool every summer in Chicago,” said Ms. Patty. “And to the lake for church picnics and baptisms.”
“They shut down the pool here after being ordered to integrate. But there’s a stream my cousins used to play in, just around the corner from here. I’d sit on the bank and watch them,” Granny said.
I tried to picture Granny as a child. She was hard to imagine without gray hair and wrinkled skin. But then again, I had never imagined her being congenial and sober.
“You haven't been out much in years.” Ms. Patty reached over and took one of Granny's hands. “Until you started coming to church with me.”
“Took me a while to work up the courage after George passed,” Granny said.
Ms. Patty squealed, and the car swerved slightly as her face widened into a grin. “You should be baptized, Cynthia. Ask Pastor Fred after service. And your grandchildren will be witnesses.”
To my surprise Granny nodded, making a cooing sound as if deep in thought.
“How much would it hurt if I jumped out of the car?” Carissa whispered, her expression stony and serious.
Inside the red brick church, Granny stood reverent in the pew next to Ms. Patty as the choir sang. While Pastor Fred preached, she hollered in agreement several times. The hypnotic voices and stifling heat almost lulled me to sleep, until the dancing rainbow lights from the stained glass windows caught my attention. As Pastor Fred’s booming voice spoke of a man going down to the River Jordan, the vibrant array rippled across the vaulted ceiling. When the man in the sermon came up out of the water, Pastor Fred said a loud voice called from the sky, and a dove swooped down to rest on the holy man’s shoulder. The colorful light from the stained glass shone over the cross above the pulpit. Most of the audience stood in applause.
Granny tugged at my sleeve, motioning for help. Carissa shook her head as Granny and I stood to our feet next to Ms. Patty. Sheltered by the brim of her hat, I watched Granny’s face tilt up to the ceiling. Her cheeks swelled, pushing up against her watery eyes. Though the church was packed, I sensed a conspicuous absence in our pew: Granny’s daughters, her husband, her other grandchildren. But by Granny’s expression you’d have thought she had won the lottery. I straightened my spine as she sang loudly, her tone off-key but bold and rousing. I hardly recognized this version of Granny who clung tightly to Ms. Patty, this woman who had found something to hold on to and wasn’t letting go.
After the service, the pastor smiled and mopped his sweaty forehead as Granny approached him and his wife. Her eyes were clear and wide as she clutched her hat with trembling hands and asked him her question. The graying man unbuttoned his black suit jacket and pointed to the baptistery behind the pulpit. A plexiglass panel held back a tank of motionless water. Granny swallowed visibly and shook her head, asking if she could be sprinkled instead. The pastor said he believed in full immersion, going all the way under, head to toe. Her eyes began to glaze over, a tell-tale sign that brought a tremor of concern to my stomach.
Lady Sharon and Ms. Patty told Granny they’d hold her hands. “Except when you go under. Don’t want to leave anything for the devil,” Lady Sharon said.
Carissa fell back into the pew and crossed her arms. “It’s nothing but a bathtub,” she said in a low voice.
I walked up to Pastor Fred. “How about the man in your sermon?”
“The Good Lord, young brother?”
I nodded and asked if Granny could choose where to be baptized, since Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River rather than a tank of tap water.
“There’s a stream nearby,” I said, seeing the calm come over Granny’s face. “It’s been around since before this church was built.”
Ms. Patty and Lady Sharon laughed in embarrasment, but Pastor Fred’s eyes widened. “I don’t see why not. Fetch a couple robes from the closet, will you, Sharon?”
I nodded, took Granny’s arm, then turned to face the empty sanctuary. Carissa had vacated the pew and left the door at the end of the aisle wide open.
We all piled into Ms. Patty’s Oldsmobile. Carissa shared the front passenger seat with Granny, while I squeezed in between the pastor’s shoulder and Lady Sharon’s purse. Granny’s face was bathed in brilliant sunlight as she squinted to read street signs and call out landmarks she recognized.
Eventually we passed a construction site bordered by piles of downed trees. Granny gasped, inadvertently sweeping a handful of Ms. Patty’s curls into her fist. The two women yipped in unison, and Granny motioned wildly at a patch of remaining forest along the shoulder. The car turned a hard corner into a small parking lot. Before we even came to a stop, Carissa opened the passenger door and stumbled out. The air over the field of crumbling asphalt shimmered as the pastor and his wife retrieved a pile of white fabric from the trunk and Ms. Patty helped Granny to her feet. Meanwhile, I watched Carissa make a beeline for the construction site and disappear into the trees.
“What’s got into that girl?” Granny asked as she removed her bright blue jacket and wide brimmed hat.
“A lot’s changing,” I said as I shimmied out of my coat and tie. Granny's flabby brown arms rubbed against me as we joined hands and hobbled to the edge of the pavement, where a thick tangle of brush obscured a steep slope.
Granny squeezed my hand. “That sound takes me back to my childhood, Fonso.” I nodded, hearing the faint trickle of water down the slope. I pictured Granny as a shy little girl, hugging her knees on the stream bank, but was interrupted by a terrible screech. A flash of white streaked behind the tree branches, followed by a splash. Pastor Fred picked up a stick and began hacking at the bright green foliage.
Granny’s forehead wrinkled like a wash cloth as she hollered Carissa’s name. I clambered through the opening the pastor created, yanking Granny along behind me. A vine of thorns slashed across my arm, and I cursed loud enough to elicit a scolding from the ladies. We caught sight of Carissa collapsed in the murky brown water, her braids tangled in a branch and her dress billowing around her waist. The opposite streambank had been stripped of vegetation, and a pile of rocks cascaded down the steep slope into the water.
“Stay away from me,” Carissa cried, yanking free from the tree.
I dug my heel into the slippery red clay, supporting both my weight and Granny’s.
“We’re coming for you, baby,” Granny said. Her eyes were alert and focused, but I wondered if her labored breathing was also brought on by the stream’s dismal condition.
Granny shoved against my grip, causing us to slide down the same path Carissa blazed. We were soaked by a sheet of grimy water as we tumbled into a shallow pool beside Carissa. Granny shook her shoulders and threw her arm around her granddaughter. I braced myself for an argument, but instead my cousin pulled at a strand of Granny’s wet hair, which was already curling, and began to giggle. I struggled to my feet as the other adults called to us from up the slope. Meanwhile, Granny and Carissa fell into each other’s muddy arms and shook with laughter.
Granny and Carissa’s giddiness slowed our return from the stream. In the parking lot, Pastor Fred prayed for Granny as we dried off with the baptismal robes, while Ms. Patty gave hugs all around. Pastor Fred needed to get back for an appointment, but Granny didn’t want us to muddy the Oldsmobile. She assured the others we could walk to a bus stop. Carissa didn’t protest.
As Ms. Patty drove off, I noticed Granny’s shoulders were slumped, and she bent her hat in her wrinkled hands. The worrying sign of lethargy pooled in her eyes again.
Carissa took her hand. “Granny, let’s go get boiled peanuts together.”
About the Author
Joseph R. Goodall is a civil engineer and the author of the short story collection What the Bird Sees in Flight. Born in New Zealand, his writing is inspired by the stewardship of our inner and outer environments.