Copyright © 2008 ALIAS. All rights reserved.

It takes three hours of preparation; once a week, every week for Obligation.

Marge starts her three hours at 6 am; bouncing up and out of bed she glides to her master bathroom. The tiles of her bathroom shine bright in the morning sunlight that enters through a high window. Marge pulls off her night gown and steps into her large shower room. Cool water, changing to warm, rushes from the tap and engages Marge as it flows onto her and streams downward pulling perfumed soap suds from her body. She steps out, turning the knob on the liquid alarm clock and stands in the suns vibrant rays. As she dries with fresh linens, she walks back into her bedroom losing her enlightened effect on dark wooden floor. She turns on the light and sifts through racks of clothing.

"Bart, baby, Today is not a day to be lazy." She lightly scolds her husband, as he rolls in the covers.

"Mughe, Ugghhh", he yawns pretending to sleep through her words.

Eventually feeling his wife’s piercing eyes on his back; he slowly rolls from his bed and reluctantly enters the bathroom. Moments later the sound of water rushing onto tile harmonizes Marge dressing and applying make-ups and creams to her face.

Marge bobs her curls lightly under her hair dryer, and looking at her bed side clock, knocks on the bathroom door.

Bart finishes washing and turns the knob and the steaming water disappears down the drain. Now fully woken like his wife, he dries quickly and reenters his master bedroom.

Knocking twice more, once on Jeremy’s and once on Ellen’s doors, Marge enters their separate havens to set their day’s clothes. She gives patient attention in picking out her children’s outfits for the Obligation, just as she did for herself.

She is sparkling in her best dress. Her long locks dangle around her exposed neck and shoulders. Her trim, yet full figure is adorned in a fine silk dress. Marge’s shining scarlet lips, and cream smoothed face compliment her clothing perfectly; as they should after her excessive facial preparation. Marge feels that she must look her best in the presence of her peers from the Community Women’s Club and all of her additional devout religious friends. Surely they will be judging her and her family at today’s Obligation.

Her husband, not caring as much for the Obligation, but knowing his wife’s feelings, tucks and strangles himself. He smiles confidently at his fine reflection in their large wall fixed mirror. Bart looks sharp in his suit and tie, even if he cannot breathe.

After much rebutted whining followed by aggressive mothering, Marge manages to detach both her children from their beds and hustle them into their respective bathrooms. She only has to knock on Ellen’s bathroom twice today to pull her from her extensive cleanliness needs. Jeremy, four years younger than his newly turned teenage sister, spends nearly no time in the shower and dresses, somewhat haphazardly, within seconds. His rushed and careless appearance is overturned by his small suit pants, black vest, and the neatly combed hair his father straightens out when he runs downstairs for breakfast, all the parts to his Obligation preparation. Ellen, like her mother, calmly brushes her hair, and ties it in a tight and sweet bow. She squeezes into a new dress, which is clearly not made to fit her, and prances down the stairs to join her brother at the table.

Her mother had bought bakery the day before and pours juice for her kids and coffee for Bart and herself.

"Can’t I please wear them this week? I wear the same size as you mother, and you hardly use the red pair, and besides I am thirteen now."

"No Ellen, just as was all of the previous weeks, No, you can not wear heels to the obligation."

"But you wear them; you are wearing your silver ones now, and look how beautiful you look in them."

"They are too painful on my feet for you to handle Ellen. I am positive that they cannot be good for feet, they do hurt so much."

Marge winces falsely as if her stricken face will convince her daughter.

Ellen bitterly bends down and buckles the clasps of her shiny red shoes, restraining her argument against this injustice until next week’s preparation.

The argument is quickly forgotten however and they finish breakfast. Perfectly prepared, the Johnson Family exits their suburban house at 8:40, dressed most excellently for Obligation.

The Mercedes’ soft leather cushions and four-way controllable air-condition and heat system make the four-mile drive to the obligation quite comfortable.

"The Lenier’s lawn seems to need a cutting, and I dislike Amelia’s new shrubs",

Marge comments, more to herself than to her family, while gazing out of the car window as they pass the other houses of Alpha Avenue. Comparing her neighbors’, lawns, house additions, and children to her own is one of Marge’s favorite hobbies. The Benz slows near a stop sign and pulls out of their subdivision and onto the main road.

Bart had cared for his Benz for 10 years and loves it as his third child. He keeps it on tight maintenance, washing, and waxing schedules despite it only being driven to weekly Obligation. The rising sun beams off its gentian blue hood and onto Marge’s lap from its open sunroof. She fans herself nervously as Bart pulls into the parking lot. Bart has studied this lot, subconsciously, while eating, sleeping, working, and even while at obligation each Sunday. His readiness to park is more of his preparation than tightening his tie or tying his shoe laces. Bart knows how to park his Benz most safely, most visibly, most dominantly, most astutely, most alluringly, and most sexually, to ensure that everyone can see his Benz, admire his Benz, and worship his Benz. Bart picks the perfect spot to park in every week, passing up numerous plausible spaces to ensure that, when the obligation ends, his family can leave and be heading home on the road fastest. Waiting in a long line of inferior vehicles to leave a disliked Obligation does not appeal in the least to Bart, nor to his Benz

Marge prominently walks through the open double doors and is immediately welcomed into the Obligation by a group of women standing directly in the sunlight penetrating the building’s entrance to show off their newest clothing in the best light.

"Ohh I absolutely love your dress" says the head of the Women’s Club stepping out of the crowd of chatter.

Marge blushes and her eyes flash from her silver hand watch up to Mrs. Vagner’s sweet creamed face.

Mrs. Vagner woke at 4 am and is wearing a small skirt with a soft pink shawl that gave the effect of being made of the bubbles in a bubble bath and could not be burst, but instead only lost in. Mrs. Vagner’s chin sticks up as if she has surfaced from beneath her foamy shawl and is trying to keep her head above water. She smiles back at Marge and turning and facing the group she automatically begins chattering again. Marge waves jovially to Bart and her children who are passing through the open doors just now, having lagged behind in the car hoping to hear that this week, unlike every other week of the year, the Obligation has been canceled, and at just seconds before 9am, Bart and the kids drudge toward the building.

The Johnson family take their seats one row from the front, which although never being reserved for them, is always open. They slide in to a long wooden communal bench.

"Wait; let me wipe the dust off."

"Marge please, just sit down"

"I won’t have us all ruin our best..."

But Marge trails off and sits down when she sees Bart’s stern face.

The five hundred congregants also move to their seats and behaving similarly to the Johnson’s, sit silently waiting for the Obligation to start. All of the families file toward the front 10 rows or so, with the Women’s Club mothers guiding their husbands and kids to the most viewable seats. In the back 30 or so rows sit the elderly couples in their pressed suits and gowns. And behind them lounge the single men and women, local outcasts, and confused visitors. They all take their seats however, and stared in one direction, avoiding the distractions of conversation and sociality.

The Obligation is much like a silent Country Club meeting dictated by a God.

A server steps from behind a half wall at the front of the building and addresses the people. After the town’s general announcements are silently ignored by the town’s people, everyone rises to their feet, as if they are cued, and begins to read aloud together from their identical hard cover hymnals. Voices of varying volumes, and pitches, all attempting to sing in unison, reverberate around the building as the Town’s leader marches from the rear to the front of the building between the two rows of benches packed with people, and turns to face his citizens. The melody repeats over and over again with different words, and finally the servers sing out louder than the rest, to signify the final verse.

"This is the day the Lord has Made, Let us rejoice and be Glaaaaaaaaaaaaad."

Followed by absolute silence, waiting, and standing.

Father Richard stepped to the podium from his oversized throne.

"Welcome to the 4,768th Obligation in this perfect town of Cambry and thank you for attending. Please be seated."

The entire mass of people in front of Father Richard seats themselves as if they had been ordered to. Father Richard reads from the past meeting’s minutes dryly and speaks supposed words of enlightenment. However his wisdom passes over his non-attentive listeners.

In the second row, Marge sits, her eyes wide open and listens to Father Richard recite from the great text, but she did not pay attention to the actual words he said and could not have understood them if she had. She becomes distracted and snaps sharply, but silently at Jeremy.

Jeremy looks confused, but puts the hymnal, which he had been flipping through, down next to him on the bench and points his finger at his sister to avert his mother’s attention to her misdeeds. She sits back, and like her father next to her, appears to be paying attention to the rapture. However, Marge’s keen eyes catch the dreams in their faces, and Marge arouses them with two quick jabs.

Father Richard, lost in his droning, did not see the absentminded faces of Bart and Ellen or the angry Mrs. Johnson, but Marge is sure that Mrs. Vagner has seen it from four rows back.

Mr. Johnson checks his watch and is stunned to see that only 20 minutes have passed. He tries to close his eyes again, but seeing his wife’s glares sits up a bit more attentively. Two more different servers stand at the front of the room and speak the words of the past to the crowd. The people are hardly attentive during the readings. They know all the old stories, having heard them many times before, since they are recited once a year. The parents did not believe all of the stories, but they still kept their kids attentive during the readings, as if the servers read the blessed truth. The kids must believe or they will not carry on the Obligation, once a week, every week.

"Stop!"

Jeremy stops tapping his foot and picks up the hymnal again; his mother reaches over and grabs it from him.

"For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the

Sabbath day and made it holy," says the speaker.

Jeremy reaches for another book, and his mother bends even closer to him and slaps his wrist.

"Pay Attention."

"Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy," says the speaker.

The speaker changes and the people shift restlessly.

Leaning even farther across her son’s lap, Marge reaches Ellen’s arm,

"Put that away right now," Marge whispers.

Ellen looks up surprised and covers her cell phone with her sleeve.

"Do not pervert justice; do not show partiality to the poor or favoritism to the great, but judge your neighbor fairly." Says the speaker

"I said away, Now!" Marge mouths. Her eyes dart over her shoulder.

Please God No; is Mrs. Vagner staring at me or at the servers?

Ellen holds the phone away from her mother, finishes her text-message and sends it, then closes her phone and puts it away.

"You’re in trouble when we get home," Ellen’s mother mouths, this time more angry than nervous.

"A man's riches may ransom his life, but a poor man hears no threat.

He raises the poor from the dust and has them inherit a throne of honor," says

the speaker.

"The word of the Lord" rings out from the megaphone, and the speaker waits at the podium in the silence and then turns and walks back behind the half wall.

A new server walks out excitedly and stands before the podium and addresses the passive crowd.

"Let us all stand and praise the lord!

Please all come forward, my fellow Cambry citizens, so that together Father can distribute the week’s communion, and save our souls."

Father Richard rises slowly from his throne and assumes his role by standing at the front of the room. He reaches out and grabs a goblet and tray from the altar. The sun’s rays sparkle off of the golden pieces as he holds them up in front of the people, who now bound out of their seats and push their way into two lines down the center of the building. The golden sparkle reflects around the building, off of the people’s golden glasses frames, watches, and rings, off of Marge’s radiant necklace, and out of the large stained glass windows that line the walls. The community people never actually appreciate the golden trim of their windows, or the magnificent stained glass, or the stories covering the glass. They all have picture windows in their homes and they prefer their crystal wine glasses to the heavy golden goblet.

Father Richard hands each person a host, "The Body of the Lord" and "The Blood of the Lord", and "Amen, Amen, Amen", ring continually from the masses. Although, it is routine, the communion calls to them. They are being fed, blessed, and saved. One week of savior in a small round yeast-free bread and a sip of wine. Thank God, it is so easy.

After all of the parishioners have eaten their week’s obligation, Father Richard, places the empty goblet and tray on the altar and raises his arms. As if Father Richard has shouted at them, everyone in the room stands up. Having said the Creed once a week, every week for his entire life, Father Richard starts the Creed. Staring at his people he recites from the book, the words which have been spoken for eternity and which establish their community and all other Catholic suburbia.

We believe in one God,

The Father Almighty,

Maker of heaven and earth,

And of all that is, seen and unseen.

We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,

The only Son of God,

Eternally begotten of the Father,

God from God, Light from Light,

True God from true God,

Begotten, not made,

One in Being with the Father.

Through Him all things were made.

For us men and for our salvation

He came down from heaven:

By the power of the Holy Spirit

He was born of the Virgin Mary,

And became man.

For our sake He was crucified under Pontius Pilate;

He suffered, died and was buried.

On the third day He rose again

In accordance with the Scriptures;

He ascended into heaven

And is seated at the right hand of the Father

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

And His kingdom will have no end.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,

Who proceeds from the Father and the Son.

With the Father and the Son He is worshiped and glorified.

He has spoken through the Prophets.

We believe in one holy catholic apostolic Church.

We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.

We look for the resurrection of the dead,

And the life of the world to come.

Amen.

Feeling their pending freedom, the citizens rush the words out as if they are chanting the words to a song. They have all been taught these words and all believe them, even if they doubt the old stories, they believe the Creed. Everyone recites simultaneously and the silences between each phrase, the communal breathes, are exact; they are perfect, they are holy.

Everyone finishes and stands proudly. A smile opens on every face, they had prepared for hours, and over the last one hour they have made history. Cambry Town successfully completes its 4,769th Obligation, once a week, every week. They sit smugly and anxious to escape for another week of real life. The final server steps quickly to the podium, also ready to leave. He hastily starts the closing music and hurries the song through its three verses. The melody repeats itself with different words once and is lost as the congregation streams out of the building and into their vehicles.

The Johnson’s Benz pulls out first, from its perfect spot in the Obligation lot, and accelerates onto the open main road.

All of the Jags, Benzes, Rolls Royces, and BMWs race from the Church Service back into their Catholic lives.