This is a response to Gwen’s latest prompt - a 500 word piece detailing someone’s unusual New Year’s resolution and a scene describing why they need it.  I once again went a bit over 500 - sorry!

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Matthew ascended the steps to the cathedral, a looming structure bursting from the frozen ground like a stalagmite.  He almost expected a chill as he entered it, but inside it was, logically, warmer than out.  The cavernous entryway was empty and thickly carpeted.  He padded slowly through the stuffy room, hearing the choir through the dark wood of the doors leading to the nave.  Sniffling a few times and picking cat hair from his tweed, glancing around to be sure he was indeed alone, he lay a hand on the dark wood of the door’s frame.

There were maybe 20, 30 people singing.  The men’s voices filled the space with their timbre, deepness resonating through the wood and into his hand.  As always, the women’s voices rippled through the air like strings he wanted to pull, making him quiver.  A visceral shiver ran through his gut.

The image of Jemma Dee, his polite and rather busty neighbor, ran through his mind.  She was cradling cocoa in hands bundled in knit mittens, a plush smile behind the mug, the day the gas main had broken on their street.  Jemma Dee looked like what he was listening to now.  The combination of the bass, alto, and her smile was exalting.

This particular Babtist chapel’s doors were heavy and windowless.  To view the singers would require opening the doors and joining the parishioners.  It was a distasteful thought and he cleared his throat at it.

Mostly, the sight of any choir tended to be disappointing anyway.  The street clothes, the casual mannerisms that had become so commonplace, were practically blasphemous.  People rendering the sacred music of God ought to have more dignity than to wear sneakers and jeans.  It was a disgrace.   And with so many hip little cars covered in Liberal bumper stickers in the parking lot of this one, it was probably better he couldn’t see.  After a quick glance around, he pressed his ear to the cool frame.

“Come Holy Ghost, Creator Blessed
And in our hearts take up thy rest
Come with thy grace and heavenly aid
To fill the hearts which thou hast made
To fill the hearts which thou hast made…”

After several minutes he sleepily pulled his eyes open, feeling satisfied.  The priest had begun speaking again.  He had a kind voice, young but hopeful.  Not that he really cared, but this one sounded earnest, compared to some of the creepy, crumbling old farts that pandered to the hapless peoples.

Outside, weapon-like icicles hung from the overhang.  Drips frozen in action clung to the tips of several, small but bulbous.  Against them, the sun was blinding, a white winter light he let burn his eyes.

“Matt?”  A voice called from the lower steps.  He looked down, but his field of vision was a purple blur from the sun.  “Matt, is that you?  Holy cow, I didn’t expect to see you here!”  The cheeriness gave her away - it was Jemma Dee.  She was all bustle and hurry, pulling her purse strap over her shoulder.  “Are you coming?  Come in and sit with me!  We’re only 30 minutes late or so.  That’s not too bad, right?”  She laughed and took his elbow.  Her voice lowered when they entered the foyer.  He saw his foot imprints near the door, but she was unaware.  “I promised my Mom, for my New Year’s resolution, I’d start going to church every Sunday.  This one has such nice steeple.  I thought it would be a good start.”  She giggled and winked at him.

“I was going to do the same thing,” he said, surprising himself.  “That’s my resolution too.”  She seemed to not hear.

“Shoot,” she said.  “No windows.  We’re going in blind!  At least there’s the two of us.  We won’t look so nutty.”  She took a deep breath and put her hand on the thick handle.

“We should do this every week,” he said.  “It will help us stick to it.”  She nodded her blonde head.

“Deal.”  She pulled the door open and they joined the congregation.