The Game, Epilogue
Epilogue
After deciding to never go back, I thought that was the end of it.
That was the one saving grace about the mortifying experience. When you’re pantsed at school, you have to show your face the next day. Being exposed at church felt more taboo and damning at the time, but at least it didn’t follow me. If I had to guess, Abigail and Kate would have shared the story with their group of friends, but it never ended up circulating further. No one else at my old high school attended that particular church, my college was out of state, and neither my sister nor her BFF had been prepared to take pictures in the moment thanks to how impulsive Abby had been about yanking my skirt down. Aside from my internal embarrassment and external blushing every time the fresh memory hit me over the next few days and subsequent weeks, I seemed to be in the clear.
Until about a year later.
At my on-campus church, one of the less proper girls in our faith group pulled up a video she had stumbled upon online to show the rest of us. The clickbait-y title ‘GIRL PANTSED IN CHURCH’ caused my breath to hitch and my heart to drop. While plenty vague, the phrase still succinctly described my mortifying experience.
And, as she played the video on her phone, I instantly recognized the sanctuary.
My old church streams and posts their services for those unable to make it in person on Sunday morning, and this angle definitely seemed to be from the balcony where one of the cameras was positioned. However, I had already done a nervous check on that the moment I was ungrounded and given my laptop back. There were no wide shots of the room or my exposure during the first verse of the hymn. Just a close-up of the organist, and a pan of the stained glass windows. They did fade to the full room during the second verse, but I was already long gone by then. Even if I was captured on camera, no church would ever post that. I was thankful for whatever edits might have happened after the service, and assumed that was that.
This video, however, was undeniably me.
At least, undeniably from my perspective. In the wide, full room shot, I immediately recognized the blue skirt around my ankles as I stumbled forward in the middle of the sanctuary. I could feel the heat rising to my face as I saw for the first time what so many others had witnessed in that humiliating moment. The hem of the blouse did absolutely nothing to cover anything below the waist, and the bareness of my ass was only more pronounced as I bent over to pick up the skirt.
Those watching the video had various reactions, from little gasps to giggled exclamations. The scene on the phone was very much happening in church, and they could all tell it wasn’t a staged video. I just remained deathly quiet and still, using all my willpower to force the blush and shaking hands to go away. Would they recognize me?? Neither the blouse nor skirt were part of my wardrobe any more, so no one at the new church would know about those. The blouse was too stained with coffee to be cleaned, and I had resolved to only wear zippered skirts after that fateful day. The girl on the screen turned towards the camera for the first time as she fled from the sanctuary, and I just held my breath waiting for everyone to turn towards the very same girl that was standing in their presence.
They didn’t.
Instead, the one who found the video just rewound it back to my not particularly graceful stumble for everyone to watch again. Half the small group was amused at the second viewing of my bare backside, while the other half was saying to put it away. It’s not appropriate, even if the Youth Room isn’t quite as sacred as other parts of the church. I finally released the breath I was holding, as it seemed like I was in the clear.
Thank. God.
Those cameras were set for close-ups on the worship leaders at the front of the room, but not for other parts of the sanctuary. The wide shot was apparently enough to mask me. The only time my face was on camera was while I sprinted out of the room, and I was thankfully just small enough and just blurry enough on the video to not be recognized.
I could only pray that no one would watch it later on a computer. The small mobile screen helped my anonymity as much as the wide shot did.
Over the next few weeks, I was just as nervous as I was following the event itself. There was a video of me bottomless online!! Even if my church friends didn’t recognize me, there was always the chance that somebody at my college would stumble upon the video as well and maybe be more perceptive. And if Abigail found it, the least she would do is save it forever in a million places. The most she could do? I didn’t want to imagine.
It was only after the lingering shock subsided that I was eventually able to put two and two together. While my misfortune hadn’t made it to the online stream, that didn’t mean it hadn’t been captured on one of the cameras. My guess is that one of the teenage volunteer tech guys managed to copy the clip before it had been deleted from the booth’s system. It was a miracle they didn’t know my name, or at least had been thoughtful enough to omit my name while still being thoughtless enough to put a half naked video of me online. The poster never attempted to contact me, so at least there wasn’t any blackmail to deal with. Silver lining, I guess? Though ‘not being blackmailed’ is hardly a consolation prize.
Just like the first round of anxious waiting, it took me several weeks to quell the new surge of constant nervousness in the back of my mind. I relaxed eventually, but my knowledge of the video’s existence didn’t make it easy. Like anything mortifying does to the average person, the memory of being pantsed and so exposed still hit me out of nowhere every now and then, coupled with the fact that it had been captured on camera. I could only hope that the video would get buried over time, though I’m not exactly an expert when it comes to shelf life of online content.
For the rest of undergrad, at least, there was always the smallest hint of anxiety in the back of my mind about being ‘discovered.’ My good girl reputation, as Abigail liked to call it, potentially ruined by just one peer at my school finding the video, recognizing me, and spreading the word.
It also strengthened my resolve when it came to avoiding dares, which was no longer limited to just my sister.
If this was the fallout from one little game, then dares were NOT for me.
And, in general--when you have a brash younger sister, don’t give her an inch.
THE END