Amanda and I were the first to step into the basilica. She trotted down the aisle while I stood in the back, staring at the thumb-sized alter. When she stood at the alter, she bowed her head and crossed her chest, waiting for me to pass by. She sneered when I neglected to cross myself.
     "You're suppose to make the sign of the cross," she snipped, her voice kept low.
     "I don't do that," I responded, "It's not part of my religion."
     "Well we're not in your church,” she said. “You're suppose to do it in a Catholic church; next time you will.” She turned her back before I could respond. She stopped to deposit a coin into a box and light a candle. I looked over my shoulder at the Virgin Mary looking down at me, her arms outstretched and her flowing, blue attire frozen behind her. Amanda lifted her head and motioned for me to follow. We stepped out into the Italian sunlight, the aroma of street vendors swallowing us whole and pigeons trotting down the sidewalk beside us. Amanda and our tour guide, Liam, began a heated discussion about religion as I fell into step behind them. Liam spoke about his lack of religious beliefs.
     "That's no good for you," I said, loud enough for them to hear me and turn around. “I think everyone needs religion.” Liam shrugged.
     "I was baptized as a baby," he said, “but that means nothing to me now. It didn't mean anything then, either.”
     "Well, I haven't even done that yet," I said.
     "Why not?” Amanda asked. “That's stupid."
     I hesitated, allowing the furious blush across my cheeks to settle down. "We don't get baptized until we accept God," I answered.
     "So you don't believe in God?" Liam asked.
     "No, I just haven't gotten baptized yet." They shrugged as we entered the next basilica, the same tall, wooden doors staring down at us. Amanda dipped her fingers in the holy water and crossed herself. I bypassed the water and wandered to the side of the building where a collection of stone saints was standing. Amanda came up behind me while I was staring into the warm, colored light of a stained-glass window.
     "Can you wait for me?" she whispered. "I want to take a minute to pray." I nodded and watched as she walked into the rows of pews, kneeling on the floor and folding her hands together. Her head bowed down, eyes closed, her brown hair flowing down her arms. I slowly walked to the back of the church and followed the tour group outside, glancing back into the pews as if I didn't expect her to still be kneeling there.

Written: Fall 2002