Plaistow Passion
"Gospel choir director Sister Marcia leads her congregation in worship—but when new pianist Jerome joins the choir, they make music that's definitely not for Sunday service."
Jerome hadn't played piano in years. But the church needed him, and Sister Marcia's voice on the phone had convinced him.
In person, she convinced him more.
Thick and radiant in her choir robes, she commanded the room with presence that had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with power.
"Yuh play beautiful," she said after practice. "Stay. Run through the arrangements with mi."
They ran through hymns until the church emptied. Her voice wrapped around his playing like they'd performed together for years.
"Yuh feel it too," she said.
"The music?"
"The connection." She sat beside him on the bench. "Mi don't usually... but there's something..."
"Something," he agreed.
They kissed between the keys, her robes falling open to reveal a woman underneath the title.
"Mi shouldn't—" she breathed.
"We're adults. Consenting. This isn't sin."
"No." She pulled him closer. "This is blessing."
In the empty church, on the piano bench, then the choir risers, she praised in a different way.
"Yes! Jerome! Right there!"
Music without notes. Harmony without hymns. That thick body singing under his touch.
"Don't stop! Make mi feel the spirit!"
Sunday service never knew. But the music was different after—charged, connected, intimate in ways the congregation couldn't name.
"Beautiful service," they'd say.
"Amen," Jerome and Marcia would reply, sharing glances only they understood.
The choir thrives. The music soars. The church grows.
And twice a week, after everyone leaves, the real worship begins.
Plaistow passion.
The spirit moves in mysterious ways.
Very mysterious.