The Supremes at Earl's All-You-Can-Eat

by Edward Kelsey Moore

Witches were like that. They almost always mixed in a touch of something approved by the Baptist church—a prayer, a spiritual, or a chant warning about the godlessness of Lutherans—so people could go to a witch and not have to worry that they’d pay for it down the line with their immortal souls. It absolved the clients’ guilt and kept the preachers off the witches’ backs.

Witches were like that. They almost always mixed in a touch of something approved by the Baptist church—a prayer, a spiritual, or a chant warning about the godlessness of Lutherans—so people could go to a witch and not have to worry that they’d pay for it down the line with their immortal souls. It absolved the clients’ guilt and kept the preachers off the witches’ backs.

I outright refused to go to Calvary Baptist for the laying on of hands. I tried explaining to Clarice that I always felt worse leaving her church than I did when I walked in and I didn’t think that boded well for the healing process. Thoroughly exasperated, Clarice looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Feeling bad about yourself is the entire point of going to church, Odette. Don’t you know that?”

I appreciated her coming by to help, but her habit of stopping to thank Jesus at every step of the cooking process got old real fast. We thanked Him for every ingredient, the utensils, even the oven timer. Being around her reminded me of something Mama liked to say: “I love Jesus, but some of his representatives sure make my ass tired.”

When I came over to offer to freshen up their drinks, I saw that Clarice’s mother and her aunt Glory had started speaking to each other again. They were having a good time now, arguing about who would be more surprised to be left behind after the Rapture, the Catholics or the Mormons.