The New Years Eve

{Chapter 1 - New Year's Eve at Church}

In 2019, December 31st, my family and I went to church just like everybody else for the crossover night into the new year. We got there at 8:30 p.m. and were supposed to close by 12:30 a.m. I sat across from my younger sister, while a boy I knew, who should have been around five or six years old, sat next to me. His name was Darwin.

And apparently, Darwin had decided that New Year's Eve was the perfect time to test my patience. He was misbehaving, disturbing me, embarrassing me, and generally acting like he had personally been assigned the job of ruining my night. The worst part? People kept thinking he was my little brother. I don't know what they saw, but apparently, Darwin and I looked close enough for people to make that assumption.

The choir sang a lot of hymns, the pastors preached several sermons, taught morals, told life-inspiring stories to the entire congregation, and there were all kinds of performances. Honestly, I can't tell you much of what was taught. Why? Darwin. Darwin refused to shut up. He kept whining like a child. Actually, forget that. He was a child. But he was whining like a baby who had just discovered that nobody was going to give him what he wanted.

I kept looking at Darwin like, Sir, this is church. Darwin did not care. His mother, my mom, and my elder sister, who were sitting behind me, kept watching him with those warning eyes mothers use when they're already on their last nerve. You know the look. The look that says, Darwin, you have about thirty seconds to get yourself together. Darwin did not get himself together.

Eventually, because of Darwin's foolishness, his mother took him outside to the parking lot for a good beating. And honestly? Darwin had earned his field trip. I watched them leave and probably experienced the closest thing to peace I had felt all night.

Unfortunately, taking Darwin outside only made me realize how much noise the church was actually making. First of all, a lady sitting in front of me was standing in her long gown and neck scarf, with a beret sitting on top of her head like a bird's nest. And this woman had a toy trumpet. Not a real trumpet. A toy trumpet.

She kept blowing it every time the founder of the church said something, and the trumpet kept falling apart. Every. Single. Time. The founder would say one word and suddenly—TOOT. The trumpet was back. At that point, I wasn't sure whether I was attending a church service or a very badly organized parade.