Watch How We Walk

by Jennifer LoveGrove

  — Dad, I need to use the phone.

  — What for? Who do you need to call?

  — I think we should call Lenora. You know, to make sure she’s all right.

  — Is that what you mother said?

  Emily shrugs.

  — She’s probably asleep. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.

  — But—

  — What can I get you, Sister Bulchinsky?

  As her dad retrieves some Watchtowers, Emily stomps down the hall and returns to the back room. She stares at the shelves of books without seeing them. She can’t even concentrate to count any more of them. Why can’t they see that Lenora is lying? Why don’t they pay more attention? Why can’t they make her be good before it’s too late? What if Armageddon were to start tomorrow?

  — All alone in here, Little Sister Morrow?

  Brother Wilde bulges in his too-tight green suit, full of niceness he doesn’t mean.

  Emily smiles a too-tight little smile and turns back to the books, peering closely as though searching for a particular one.

  — Interested in those 1950s Watchtower volumes, Emily? Times sure were different back then, yessiree.

  Emily shrugs.

  — I haven’t seen your sister yet this morning. Brother Wilde waits for an explanation.

  She shrugs again.

  She doesn’t care that he’s an elder; she doesn’t answer him. He shakes his head and sighs and it sounds like he’s deflating.

  — Well, Satan sets all sorts of snares, you know that, don’t you, Emily? Keep your faith in Jehovah strong and you will prevail over evil.

  Emily digs her fingernails into her palms. She wants badly to shout, So will my sister, but she doesn’t.

  — I’ll pray for Lenora, Emily.

  Emily nods without turning around.

  — I haven’t seen your uncle Tyler at the last couple of meetings either. Is he sick too?

  Emily starts to count the books again, even though she’s already done that row. Why can’t he leave her alone? She doesn’t know why they aren’t at the meeting, she doesn’t know why they want to get in trouble, she doesn’t know why everything is all wrong lately.

  — Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine . . .

  Brother Wilde pulls a chair up to the bookshelf next to her, blocking the rest of the row. His aftershave makes her eyes water.

  — I understand you and your uncle went out in service together a couple Sundays ago. Did you enjoy that?

  — Sure.

  She bites the insides of her cheeks rhythmically, first the right one, then the left, back and forth, until she tastes blood.

  — Which territory were you in? Do you remember the streets?

  — I forget. Please forgive me for lying, Jehovah, I just don’t want to get anyone in trouble, in Jesus’ name, Amen.

  — Did you two place any magazines that day?

  Emily shrugs and looks at her feet. Her black shoes have scuffs on the toes.

  — Your uncle hasn’t filed his Service Report in a while, that’s all.

  — A couple back issues, I think.

  — Is that right? Great. And you don’t remember where? I didn’t see you two at the service meeting that day, so we couldn’t give you a territory.

  — We did back calls.

  Brother Wilde smiles and nods.

  —That’s great. I didn’t know Brother Tyler had back calls. Did you help your uncle Witness to them?

  Emily cringes, remembering Pac-Man and loud music and a table covered in beer bottles.

  — A little bit.

  — Did they have any kids your age to talk to? Maybe you showed them your favourite part of My Book of Bible Stories?

  Emily likes “Daniel in the Lions’ Pit” best. Even though he is good, the king has Daniel thrown into a dungeon of hungry lions, but God doesn’t let any of them hurt him.

  — No. It was just two guys.

  Brother Wilde shifts in his chair and leans closer to Emily. She looks at him. His face is shiny and his eyes are too small for his head.

  — Two men? Were they brothers?

  — I don’t know. Maybe.

  Emily hadn’t thought of that. Somehow she knew that Brother Wilde would think that was better.

  — Probably they were brothers. I think they had to share a room, so they must be.

  — They did? How do you know that, Emily?

  Brother Wilde stands up but doesn’t move the chair. Emily backs up a little bit. She can’t tell him that she was playing video games instead of Witnessing to them. Brother Wilde would tell her dad and she’d get in big trouble.

  — I had to go to the bathroom, and it was through the bedroom.

  — I see. Brother Wilde nods.

  — Out there at that trailer park, Emily? Is that where the two men live?

  — Maybe. Emily doesn’t want to lie any more than she already has.

  — I think so.

  Brother Wilde smiles and pats her shoulder. Emily flinches.

  — Well, just remind your uncle to file his Service Reports when you see him. And tell him to get well soon.

  Emily nods but feels like she’s done or said something very wrong.

  IN THE CAR ON WAY HOME, Emily is silent, but not because of her father’s No Noise in the Car rule. She is reliving her conversation with Brother Wilde.

  — You’re awfully quiet, Emily. Don’t tell me you’re getting sick too. Emily’s mother looks back at her over her shoulder.

  — No.

  — What’s wrong then?

  — Nothing. Emily stares out the window.

  Her mom twists to face the back seat.

  — Tell me what happened.

  It’s her fake, sing-song voice, the one for when Emily’s upset or she’s making fun of someone at the Hall.

  — Nothing happened! Her shout startles even her. Emily is breaking all her father’s Quiet Rules, but she doesn’t care.

  — It’s not fair that you let Lenora stay home again! How come you don’t make her go? How come you don’t make her do what she’s supposed to do? You let everybody gossip and whisper about us!

  — Emily! Be quiet!

  Emily cries and pounds her fists on the car door, on the seats, on the windows, everywhere. Her father pulls over to the side of the road and her mom chants, “It’s okay, don’t yell, it’s okay, don’t cry” over and over without looking at her.

  — I told you to simmer down!

  Without even undoing his seat belt, her father reaches into the back seat and slaps her face. The world goes hot and dark. Her teeth rattle and she can’t catch her breath. Her cheek stings. She wants to reach around his head from behind and gouge out his eyes with her fingernails.

  — Are you okay, sweetie?

  Sweetie. She’s so phoney. Everybody she knows has become so fake, like they’ve each been replaced by a stranger.

  Emily digs her nails into her arms as hard as she can and grinds her teeth the rest of the way home. Her father drives far faster than usual, and as soon as they’re home, he strides into his den and slams the door. Emily’s face still stings and she paces around the house, faster and faster, and can’t make her blood stop buzzing and zipping through her veins.

  Emily’s mom pulls her into the bathroom and after she dabs Emily’s red cheek with cold water, she tries again.

  — What’s really wrong, sweetie?

  — Don’t call me that! And I already told you!

  Emily pushes her away and goes straight up to Lenora’s room. Her door is locked.

  — I know you’re not sick. Open the door!

  Lenora doesn’t respond.

  — You’re a faker and a liar and God knows it and so does everybody else at the Hall! She pounds on the door again and again until s
he hears her sister’s muffled voice.

  — Go away.

  — No! I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth!

  Lenora turns on her stereo.

  — I’m not lying for you anymore!

  Emily screams and punches the door. The pain in her hand is even worse than when her father hit her, but somehow feels good. She sits in the hallway and hits the wood floor as hard as she can, over and over. She howls and hurls herself in front of Lenora’s bedroom. She cries there, prone, for what feels like hours.

  Lenora doesn’t come to the door. No one tells her to stop or to go to her room. No one does anything. Emily’s hand begins to swell and soon it is almost double its normal size.

  In the empty kitchen, she takes an ice pack out of the freezer and places it on her knuckles. She hears the car start, then through the kitchen window, sees her father, alone, turn onto the highway and drive away.

  25

  EMILY MISSES SCHOOL ON MONDAY and when she’s back on Tuesday with a cast on, her classmates crowd around her, markers in hand, shouting questions and trying to be the first to sign it.

  — What happened? How did you break it? How many bones are broken?

  Emily shrugs. She can’t tell them the truth; it’s too embarrassing. It would be much more glamorous to fall from a tree’s highest branch, or crash her bike into a motorcycle. If they find out what she really did, everyone will think she’s even more of a freak. She bites her lip and responds.

  — I fell.

  — Calm down, class. Everyone will get a turn to sign Emily’s cast.

  Mr. Laurence smiles at her. She looks away, hating to be singled out; it’s bad enough that she has to stand in the hallway every morning during the national anthem and miss Christmas assemblies. She cringes but dutifully holds out her arm for her classmates until it aches. There are lots of “Get well soon!” comments, and some of the girls draw flowers in orange and red and yellow. Some people just write their names in small, quick letters without speaking to her. Emily knows they don’t really want to sign her cast, and they don’t look at each other. One of the boys, Robbie, takes his time drawing some funny-looking blobs, then grins triumphantly.

  — What is it? Emily lifts her left arm up and tries to peer at the underside of the cast.

  — I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be.

  Robbie smirks.

  — It’s what we learned in health class yesterday!

  He laughs and runs back to his seat. Emily was absent for health class because she had to get her cast, but she has a pretty good idea what he means. Her mom had sat her down one night before bed and told her all about reproduction between a man and wife. Gross. Emily had just nodded and said okay even when she didn’t understand everything, and both of them seemed glad to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible. She’ll have to colour over Robbie’s diagram before her parents or the teacher see it.

  After geography is recess, and Emily is silently rehearsing the prayer she’ll say about lying when Mr. Laurence comes over to her desk and asks her to stay in. He must have seen the dirty picture, and Emily will get detention for letting him draw such a thing on her cast, even though she couldn’t have stopped him, even though it was Mr. Laurence’s idea that everyone sign it in the first place. She’s never had a detention before. She tugs her sleeve down but it doesn’t reach far enough to cover Robbie’s picture.

  — How’s your hand, Emily? Does it hurt a lot?

  — Not really. Not as much as it did yesterday.

  — Well, that’s good. It’ll be healed up and your cast will be off before you know it.

  Emily nods. She stands in front of his desk, shifting her weight from foot to foot, wondering when he’s going to mention the perverted drawing.

  — Is everything okay at home, Emily?

  Okay at home? What does that mean? It was the same as usual, not perfect, but normal. Normal for them, anyway.

  — I guess so.

  — You guess so? Mr. Laurence leans toward her.

  — You’re not sure?

  — No. I mean, yes. It’s okay. It’s fine.

  — Well, if there are any problems, if you ever need to talk to anyone besides your parents, just let me know. You can trust me.

  Mr. Laurence pauses and looks at her, then at her hand, then back at her.

  — How did you fall when you broke it, anyway?

  Emily shrugs and pushes at a chair with her toe. There are pencil shavings on the floor.

  — Outside. I was running and slipped on the ice and I think I fell on a rock. She looks up and Mr. Laurence smiles at her, but he looks sad at the same time. She doesn’t know if he believes her.

  — That must have hurt. I bet your parents were really worried.

  Emily shrugs again. She doesn’t tell Mr. Laurence that they didn’t believe her when she said it was broken, and they didn’t take her to the hospital until the next day, after she’d been up all night with pain careening through her hand like a chorus of shrieks.

  — Well, keep in mind what I said. Now go enjoy what’s left of recess.

  AFTER SCHOOL, EMILY TRIES HARD not to think about the itch that has replaced most of the pain in her hand. She ignores the tingling under her cast as best she can, counting her steps as she paces across her bedroom to distract herself — she reaches a hundred before the itching subsides. She exhales in relief and looks at the clock; time to get ready for the meeting. Their father has already told Emily and Lenora that they are leaving early tonight, but didn’t give them a reason when Emily asked.

  — Because we are.

  She stares into her closet and cannot decide between her plaid skirt and white blouse, or the blue sweater with the white diamond pattern across the front. She surveys the row of stuffed animals on her bed, even though she knows she is getting too old for dolls.

  — What’s that, Toaster? Emily leans closer to the grey bear.

  — You like the white shirt best?

  She pulls it from the closet, slides her arms through the sleeves, then tries to do up the top button. Her fingertips protrude from the cast but when she tries to use them, her knuckles ache and she fumbles and her fingers refuse to do what she tells them to. Her entire hand throbs. Doing her shirt up with one hand is going to take a long time, and she can already hear that her parents are downstairs and almost ready to leave.

  — Good idea, Zig Zag. That’s why you are lord over all the other animals — you’re the smartest. The sweater will be much easier with Plaster Hand.

  She pats him on the head, and because no one is watching, kisses him on his plastic-whiskery mouth. Emily wonders if it is wrong to use “lord” like that, since Jesus is the one true lord, but she knows there are regular lords too, small “l” lords who are leaders, but not in a spiritual way. Still, she would never let her dad hear her say something like that. He wouldn’t understand. Except for the Bible, her dad’s not particularly well-read.

  She pulls the sweater overhead easily and tugs on her skirt. Then she looks with dismay at the tangle of tights in her sock drawer. It’s too cold to go without; she’ll have to get them on somehow. She pinches the sides of the leg and pushes her foot in and pulls up one side, then the other. It’s very slow, awkward work and takes a long time just to get the right leg up to her knee.

  — Emily! Hurry up! We’re leaving in two minutes.

  Her father sounds angry and impatient. It’s taken far longer than two minutes just to get the tights partway on. She stands up, steps on one side of the tights and hops out of them. She considers asking her mother or Lenora for help, but the idea of them pulling her tights up around her flowered underwear makes her cringe in embarrassment. No way. Everyone will understand if she wears her nicest corduroy pants to the Hall instead — just this once. She gets them done up quickly, snatches up her purse and heads out of h
er room. At the doorway, she pauses, turns back, and quickly kisses Toaster and Zig Zag goodbye.

  At the back door, her parents and sister put on their boots and coats. Emily still doesn’t know why they have to leave twenty minutes early. Hardly anyone else will even be there yet, and it will be boring to sit and wait for the meeting to start without anyone to talk to.

  — Emily! Get back up there and get a skirt on! What do you think you’re doing?

  Her father looks as confused as he does angry.

  — I did. I mean, I tried. But I couldn’t get the tights to work—

  — No excuses! Just get properly dressed and hurry up.

  Lenora snickers and rolls her eyes. Emily is relieved, and almost surprised, that she is going to the Hall tonight.

  — Okay, but— Emily looks to her mother for support. Her mom ignores her, takes one last gulp from her coffee mug, and heads out to the cold car without them.

  — Go!

  Her father stands with his hands on his hips, expectant, until Emily turns and runs back upstairs.

  She slams her bedroom door and tries not to let the burning tears slide out of her eyes. It isn’t fair. No one will even help her since she got the cast — her parents said it’s her own fault for having a temper tantrum and next time she’ll think twice before hitting things. Jesus said to practise self-control, and her father made her memorize a verse from Psalms so she’d learn:

  Let anger alone and leave rage;

  Do not show yourself heated up only to do evil.

  For evildoers themselves will be cut off,

  But those hoping in Jehovah are the ones that will possess the earth.

  Emily grabs her longest skirt from her closet and puts that on instead. It’s grey wool and itches her bare legs, but she has no other choice. She will just wear her boots into the Hall instead of changing into clean shoes and hope that no one notices that she doesn’t have any tights on in the middle of winter.