Madonna and Me by Laura Barcella Jessica Valenti Read Free Book Online Page A

nothing dress on a field of burning crosses. She was beautiful, sexual, and unapologetic about whatever chaos she was creating. It almost hurt to watch someone with such confidence, knowing I’d never figure out where to find it or what to do with it if I did. Even if the
wrath of God were to strike down on her, she didn’t seem to care. I hated her for that.
    When the video ended, I decided to face my punishment and get it over with. I went upstairs, fully expecting to see Mary pissed off and ready to uproot my anonymous little life. But no one was there. I sat on the bed. They’re just deciding their plan of attack, I thought. I waited patiently, accepting my fate, prepared for their decision. But still nothing. I watched my Jesus and Mary pictures on the walls, expecting their eyes to move like paintings in an old haunted castle. Nothing. I looked in the mirror, wondering if she was hiding deep beneath that dimension. Nothing. I even stared straight into the hallway light, begging Mary to show up. Let’s just be done with it , I thought. Let’s end this war. I’m ready . Only I wasn’t. My courage deflated around two in the morning, when I said my prayers more quickly than usual and hurried to bed. I didn’t want to call more attention to myself with thoughtful prayers.
    After that night, I spent more time in the living room. My bedroom started feeling like a punishment chamber, ready to combust at any moment. And I came to realize that “Like a Prayer” was a popular video. MTV played it constantly—even more than Pearl Jam, much to my brother’s dismay.
    I decided to conduct a test. Each time it played and no one was around to change the channel, I’d watch it. I knew I was doing something bad. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly which commandment I was breaking, but I felt guilty by association. Like I was approving of—even supporting—Madonna’s blasphemy. But I was also angry. Why did she get to do what she wanted without consequence? Burn crosses as she pleased, kiss saints, play in churches like they were her bedroom, show her bra and boobs in front of God and not think twice about it? I was sure she didn’t stay up at night wondering what the holy family thought of it, worrying whether they’d strike down and ruin her stupid boring life. Then I wondered if she knew something I didn’t. Perhaps Madonna had actually talked to God and
gotten his okay. Whatever the case, I watched it every time just to see what happened. Nothing ever did.
    “Like a Prayer” started to feel like my secret weapon. Each time I watched it without consequence, I worried about apparitions a little less. It was thrilling to play with such fire, especially when one could argue that I wasn’t the one doing the actual sinning. I bopped a little more each time I watched her dance with the church choir. I sang and clapped in sync with Madonna, pretending everything was going to be all right. She was all right, after all. She’d made this video years prior and she was still alive, making music and seeming not at all as though she’d suffered a Godly punishment. If she didn’t get zapped for making the video, I’d probably be forgiven for merely watching it. My courage was feeble, though. I still said my prayers and read the requisite Bible passages each night. But as my confidence grew, I got through those beads a little more quickly. I could feel my soul loosening up, like maybe I actually had a choice in all this.
    Then I took my tests further. On a gray Monday morning, after a rainy weekend of MTV stalking and four “Like a Prayer” sightings, I dared myself to use God’s name in vain. Out loud. In front of people. No one knew of my pious insanity, but still, saying it among witnesses would prove it really happened. I’d do it in casual conversation during recess—nothing malicious. No one would notice. I’d just slip it in between jumping rope with the girls. I’d do it and force myself to just keep going. No