At the cemetery, they walk — as though in slow motion — toward the freshly dug grave. Emily is dizzy. A big hole in the ground. They are going to put her sister in there. She knows this, she knows what death is, but this doesn’t make any sense. Lenora, hidden away in a big hole. It doesn’t seem like she’s faking anymore.
Emily is paralyzed. She cannot walk over to the pit where they’re going to put her sister. Her mother takes her hand and murmurs something but she pulls away and shoves her. Her mom doesn’t even get mad. They let her stand there, back by the road, away from everyone.
They lower the casket and start to put the dirt over it. Lenora’s friends cry. Uncle Tyler cries. Her parents cry. Everyone but Emily cries. The funeral director says something else and Emily can’t hear. After he stops, her father says another prayer, and when everyone lifts their heads back up, people start to leave. They go back to their cars, dust off the windows, and drive away.
They just leave.
Her parents wait in the hearse and leave Emily there by herself for a while. She can move again, and slowly she walks over to the grave. It starts to snow, big heavy flakes. The air is thick and white and it’s hard to see. She kneels beside the mound. Snow lands on her eyelids and melts and runs down her hot face.
— I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise . . .
She chants until all the dirt is layered over in white. She doesn’t even know what she is vowing, but Lenora will. Lenora will know.
She will be Lenora when she grows up.
Emily doesn’t care that her knees are all wet. She doesn’t feel the cold. She doesn’t feel anything. She lies on top of the grave on her back. The elders would think this was wrong, maybe even pagan, but she doesn’t care.
She stretches out her arms and legs and makes a snow angel.
39
HIS APARTMENT WAS A MESS, the air was too warm, and it smelled of stale smoke. I tripped over a guitar case and gouged my shin on an amplifier when we came in. He took me by the hand and led me to the edge of his unmade bed, where we kissed some more. Theo’s lips were soft and insistent, and it felt good, but I was distracted by thoughts of whether or not I was doing everything properly, and if I should be doing it at all. That, and the place was filthy. I tried to ignore the dirty dishes that littered the small table, stove, and counter.
— Do you want some water?
I nodded and he filled a glass for me. After checking that nothing was visibly floating in it, I gulped it until it was empty.
Don’t think about the germs, don’t think about the germs.
I was careful not to say it aloud.
We rolled around on his bed and I let him undo the rest of the buttons on my shirt. My kilt soon followed and joined the shirt on the floor. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
What should I do?
Undo his pants.
I did as she instructed and he moaned. He undid my bra and licked my nipples. I sighed and arched my back. No wonder Lenora liked this.
A tiny twinge of guilt singed me but I ignored it. Neither fornicators, nor adulterers, shall enter into the Kingdom of God.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on Theo’s tongue teasing my stomach instead. He swirled and nibbled and I moaned out loud. Then he stopped and stood up.
— I’m going to put on some music. Any requests?
Joy Division. ‘Atmosphere.’ He’ll know why.
— Joy Division. ‘Atmosphere.’
— Sure. Good pick.
He put on the CD, lit a couple of candles, and returned to the bed. We made out for a while longer, then he stopped and sat up.
— I’m going to get a condom, okay?
This was it. The moment I’d both anticipated and feared. I hoped I would do everything right, I hoped I wouldn’t panic, I hoped it wouldn’t hurt.
Tell him no.
What?
No condom.
But I might get pregnant!
You want to be me, don’t you?
I didn’t know what to do. That wasn’t fair. My heart was pounding and the beer sloshed in my stomach and the room spun and tilted and I almost threw up. I grabbed the sheets in my fist and focused on a faraway light across the city until the room stopped moving.
It wasn’t fair. While Theo rummaged through a nearby dresser drawer, my eyes welled. She had no right to ask me to do that. Was this her vengeful way of getting back at me? To make me have the baby she didn’t? I had no idea what good that would do.
No. I don’t want to.
Then you’re a fraud.
I don’t care. I don’t even think it’s really him.
Don’t be stupid. Of course it is. You’re just too scared.
She was right; I was scared. I was scared it was going to hurt a lot, I was scared that he would think I was a loser, and I was scared — still — of Lenora being mad at me.
And I was scared of getting pregnant.
Theo finished rolling the condom on and I didn’t stop him. The candle nearest the bed flickered and went out. I closed my eyes.
It did hurt, but not that badly; it was more like a strange pinch. He moaned and I clenched my teeth.
— You’re not Theo, are you?
— Huh? Droplets of his sweat fell from his shaven head onto my chest and face.
— Theo. My sister said you were him.
— You can call me whatever you want. He kind of laughed.
I counted ten more thrusts, then he made a gurgling, growl-like sound. He tossed the condom into a nearby garbage bag, and fell asleep with his arm across my chest. I lay like that, afraid to move, for a long time.
It was too dark to check his wallet, but I didn’t need to. She had tricked me. It wasn’t him. She just wanted me to end up like her. I was so naïve and gullible. I thought I was doing her a favour, I thought that I could make up for everything, and most of all, I thought that she would forgive me, even miss me. I was wrong. It was my first time being drunk, but it seemed to offer a strange clarity. I knew I wanted to stay there and figure out, if I wasn’t going to be Lenora, who I really was.
I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE I WAS when I woke up. I felt sick. The room smelled different from mine, damp and musty, like a laundry hamper. The streetcars’ clang sounded nearer than usual, and I could hear music above me — a horribly repetitive thumping that hurt my already throbbing head. I squinted through the sunlight and saw an old poster of The Cure, one corner curled in, obscuring “Boys” in the title, leaving just “Don’t Cry.”
Lenora had had the same one hung on the back of her bedroom door.
I was sore. But I knew that would go away, and that the next time would be better. If there was a next time.
Fragments of the night before began to seep back, bits in a kaleidoscope falling into a pattern. Whether or not it was the right configuration mattered less to me than creating some sort — any sort — of cohesion to the evening.
I was in Theo’s apartment. Zack’s. Zack wasn’t Theo. At least, I didn’t believe he was. But I was sure that I wasn’t a virgin anymore.
He was already awake, sitting on the end of the futon with his back to me. I ducked my head under the covers and quickly scanned the sheets: no blood. I didn’t want him to know he’d been the first.
I wanted a shower, I wanted to leave, I wanted my own clothes. I wanted him to kiss me. But I wanted, more than anything else at that moment, to not throw up. His grey t-shirt was still lying next to the bed and I pulled it on. A nearby clock radio said it was nine in the morning. I vaguely remembered that he’d said something about having to work sometime later that day, but I didn’t know when. Or where. I really needed to use the bathroom.
— Good morning. My first words as a non-virgin, and they were so anti-climactic. What did people usually say?
He did
n’t respond. Nor did he turn around. He ran is hand over his shaven head and ignored me.
I found my underwear in the folds of the sheets, pulled them on, and scrambled out of his bed. My head seemed to spin one way and my eyes another. On my way to the bathroom, I tripped over my own purse. The contents spilled, but I didn’t stop, I’d clean it up when I came out. I stumbled into the bathroom and closed the door. I didn’t dare sit down on the toilet seat. There were nine dark curly hairs on the edge of the bathtub, and seven more in the sink. My stomach heaved again. I started to sweat and my heart sped up, as though it were bouncing down a steep hill. Flashes of bright white and red surged behind my eyelids.
— Oh no, please no, please God no, no no no . . . It was so easy to slip back into that old prayer habit.
Breathe, I could hear Janice coaching me, just breathe. I inhaled and exhaled slowly twelve times. My pulse slowed, my stomach calmed. I was safe. I had to be. After so many years, I wasn’t going to let myself throw up again. Ever. I splashed my face with cold water and dried it off with what appeared to be the cleanest towel.
When I came out, my purse was on the bed, and the wallet and lipstick and keys were no longer on the floor. He sat on the edge of the mattress, still naked, this time facing me. He had his head down, and he fiddled with something in his hand. I stood there in front of him, stupidly, not knowing what to say. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person. Maybe he wanted me to leave. Maybe he even had a girlfriend. Maybe he was onto me. I took one more deep breath and decided to get out and go home as quickly as possible.
He lifted his head up. His huge brown eyes stared at me, unsmiling. I rubbed my temples and tried to grin. How did people behave after they had sex for the first time? I had no idea, no basis for comparison. I stood there and waved a goofy little wave.
He didn’t wave back. He stared at me. A dare, a challenge. I wavered, I looked away, I swayed. Someone slammed a door in the hallway. I jolted.
He had my driver’s license in his hand. He stared hard at me. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was of fear or disgust. Or both.
— You told me your name was Lenora.
My stomach muscles constricted. An acrid, sweet odour that only I could smell, then a sour nausea.
— You told me your name was Zack.
— It is. He tossed his own license at me. It landed next to my feet, facing up at me. Nowhere did it say Theo Hansen.
— Give me that! I lunged at him. He held my identification above my head. I stumbled and scraped my knee on the corner of his futon frame.
— Lenora’s not even your middle name.
I clawed his chest and pulled at his arm but he held it out of reach.
— That’s mine! I intended to sound commanding, but it came out cloying and desperate. Then he abruptly threw my license onto the floor next to his.
— Who are you?
— No one. Nothing. None of your business.
— I don’t get it. What kind of game are you playing? I know we moved pretty fast, but I like you. I mean, well, I’d like to get to know you better. But you lied about who are and then had sex with me. That’s kind of weird.
He looked at me, waiting.
— Are you hiding from someone? Do you have a boyfriend? Jesus Christ, you’re not married, are you?
— No. Of course not.
I scrambled into my clothes and grabbed my coat.
He pulled on his plaid boxer shorts and leaned against the window ledge, smoking a Camel Light. I opened his door to leave.
— I’m sorry. It’s hard to explain.
— I’m a pretty good listener.
He took a step toward me, then stopped.
— It’s impossible to explain.
— Well, if you change your mind and want to hang out and talk, call me. I left my number in your purse. But no bullshit.
I walked out, pulling the door closed behind me, and ran down the three flights of stairs to the icy street. Instinctively, I reached for the bracelet around my left wrist, then stopped and grabbed the handrail, trying to catch my breath. Light as it was, made of braided hair, I had worn it every day for a decade, and I had never lost it. I checked my purse — not there. My stomach lurched. I pushed open the door to the street, desperate for air. And I recognized nothing in the neighbourhood.
My head still throbbed with pain and the light was too bright. It had started to snow again, whirling and surging around me. I scoured my pockets and found nothing. I was disoriented, as though my frantic race down the staircase had catapulted me back in time. I looked down, trying to steady myself. White glares smeared with red. I closed my eyes but it was too late.
My mouth filled immediately with bile. I had no time to stop it. Cramps wracked my entire body, and I contorted rigidly, my arms clenched at my sides. I fell to my knees and vomited three times on the sidewalk.
Tears streamed down my face. The snow was just like it was back home, and it stung my face like a thousand tiny daggers.
A full decade, to the day, since I had last thrown up. I had no idea what would happen next.
40
THOUGH ALWAYS A STRAIGHT-A STUDENT, Emily can hardly concentrate anymore. Her appetite has vanished and lunches go straight into the garbage can. Whenever she sees a police car on the street, she shakes uncontrollably and has to close her eyes as though blinded by red and blue swirling lights. The sound of sirens, the scent of vanilla — these are the details that immobilize her. Nightmares and panic attacks shred what little sleep she gets, and she often wakes up panting, sweating, and disoriented. On the edge of her bed, she forces herself to open her eyes, and reality surges back. She clenches her blankets in agony, unable to get back to sleep, and eventually, unwilling.
Most days, Emily is a zombie, drowsy and distant, as though on the other side of a pane of frosted glass. Everything had changed overnight; the world is nothing now but threat and peril, and she doesn’t know how to make it otherwise.
She still goes to the meetings at the Hall with her
father, and sometimes her mom comes too, though unwillingly. Emily can concentrate no better at the Hall than she can in the classroom. Her mom shifts angrily in her chair, then blatantly sighs when she disagrees with something, such as men are the head of the household. Everyone can tell what she’s thinking; it’s uncomfortable, even embarrassing, to sit by her.
Emily is convinced that their house is full of black holes. There is no other explanation. Her mother disappears into hers and does not re-emerge from her bed for days. Her back is always the last thing Emily sees as her mother supports her thin body with her hands on either side of the door frame, her head slumped forward and dark hair askew. She heaves a sigh, then closes the door behind her. No one knocks or opens it until she stumbles out on her own.
Except for the Bible and Watchtower magazines, her father appears to be afraid to touch things. When he reaches toward his hat or a fork, his hands shake and he pulls away and tries again. The den, lined with bound volumes of the magazines and other Watchtower Society books, is a safer place for him, so he spends most of his time there, and at the Hall.
Certain parts of the house have become off limits. No one sits in or even puts a jacket or bag on Lenora’s chair. Whether intentional or not, they walk widely around it. Dust has begun to layer it, and one morning, Emily stands over it, as close as she can without touching it, and blows it off.
Her bedroom door is kept closed. When Emily walks past it, she feels the air sucked from her lungs. She stops and stares and listens for her. Emily convinces herself that it was all a bad dream, and that Lenora is just away, and will eventually be back. If no one else is watching, Emily will stay as quiet as she can and hold her breath, then put her ear to the door. Maybe she has secretly returned and is living in her room, unbeknownst to anyone. Emily wouldn’t tell on her; she could sneak in food and water and notes.
She is sure that all of this is possible.
One morning, Emily faints right there in front of her door. When she comes to, her dad is kneeling beside her, crying.
— It’s okay, Dad. I’m all right. I think I just blacked out, that’s all.
She sits up and he crushes her in his arms, his rough cheek wet against her neck. Then he abruptly pulls her to her feet and walks away.
WHEN EMILY NEARS THE AGE Lenora was when she was baptized, her father starts to pressure her to do the same. He says it is for her protection, to ensure her everlasting life, but Emily doesn’t believe him anymore. She is determined to avoid taking such a drastic step, one that is impossible to undo.
— You wouldn’t want to miss the Resurrection, would you? He doesn’t have to mention Lenora.
— I don’t think I’m ready yet.
— You’re getting close. Let’s go over some of the questions.
Her father closes the Watchtower issue he had open on the kitchen table and folds his hands together, perfectly centred on top of the cover.
— What is the significance of the year 1914?
Emily hesitates. She knows the answer, but she also knows that Lenora wished that she hadn’t gotten baptized so young.
— Is that when Jesus Christ returned to Earth?
— Yes, but what else?
Emily bites her lips and scrunches up her face as though searching hard for the correct answer.
— What did 1914 mark the beginning of?
— I forget. Emily looks down at the table and traces the grain of the wood with a ragged thumbnail. Her father sighs loudly.
— It was the start of the Last Days. Remember? Let’s try another question, an easy one.
— Okay.
— What is signified by the Wild Beast in the Book of Revelation?
— Satan the Devil?
— No, Emily. Concentrate. The Wild Beast. You know this.
A full five minutes pass and neither of them speak, until her father clears his throat and tells her the answer.
— It’s the United Nations. You should have gotten that one. You need to read fewer worldly books and more of the Bible and The Watchtower. We’ll try again in a couple weeks.
Watch How We Walk Page 23