Hello Loved Ones

by Tammy Letherer

  She put her hands on his face and kissed him. She let his hands wander. It felt…important. Even welcoming, like someone had just taught her a secret handshake. She saw herself standing shoulder to shoulder with the bathroom bimbos. She’d have a sly smile of her own now.

  But then the Lord’s Prayer began playing in her head. It was reflexive, something she did whenever she felt pure hatred for God. A way to remind herself: The Lord is my shepherd. The Lord is my shepherd. She also did it when she was afraid. Which was now. Because not only was the handle on the car door starting to press painfully into her back, something else was beginning to press into her leg. She knew what it was and what it meant. The words from Pastor Voss’ sermon were still fresh in her head: beware of lust versus love. Well, why should she listen to a thing he said? The idea that he would stand up and preach to her, that he would tell her or anyone how to behave! She saw it now—everyone did this sort of thing. Even him. There were no rules, only moments of fleeting relief. Take them where you can!

  I shall not want. Anything. Anymore.

  She arched her back away from the door. Cash mistook her movement for desire and pulled her hips further down the seat.

  He maketh me lie down.

  He moaned a little, like he was in pain. It must be that body part. It must hurt being in such a state. She felt responsible, like she should do something, but she had no idea what.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Move down more,” he whispered. She scooted a little. He seemed more comfortable, but it was still pressing on her.

  Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

  She giggled, though nothing about this was funny. She felt him working her panties down her legs. No, not at all funny. How could she allow this to happen? All he had to do was lift her dress and there she’d be, naked and shameful. She could just see her virtue huddled in the corner of the girls bathroom, not getting the respect it deserved.

  “Stop,” she said, but it wasn’t forceful enough, and the rasping of her voice in the steamy, close air embarrassed her. So did her nakedness, but… at least it was dark, and her panties had already been lowered. It was done. And if she made him stop, then what? He’d throw her out. Make her walk home in the middle of the night and she’d never see him again. She’d be back in school, everyone laughing and whispering. You hear about Sally? Illegitimate. Bastard baby. This brought a sobering thought.

  “Is… is everything, you know, taken care of?”

  His voice was silky smooth. “It’s your first time, right?”

  She nodded. First time! What was she doing? Panic surged through her again, but she found if she waited it out, a dull, heavy feeling soon followed. How she welcomed it!

  “Then there’s nothing to worry about,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing can happen the first time. There’s skin or something there. My brother told me.”

  She realized she didn’t care, so she did nothing. I didn’t plan it! I didn’t! She wanted God to know, as if it earned her points. Yes, it was all a game, and she wanted in. She would not be a poor sport. She stayed very still while Cash wrangled his pants down, her eyes glued to the metallic letters on the dashboard: Impala. She felt his thighs press against hers, solid and warm, and the sticky cool of the car seat against her bare backside. His hand was there then, in the dark, prying her open. Then came pain. Much, much more pain. She felt it all the way in her ribcage, stabbing at her heart. Oh, she had no idea! She swallowed tears. There would be no blessed union on her wedding night. No standing at the altar in a white gown. But she had no father to walk her down an aisle anyway, so what did it matter? What did anything matter?

  “You’re all I have now,” she whispered, tears dripping from her eyes into her ears as a burning rose up through her belly.

  “Okay, okay.”

  He was moving on her now, and as he did his leg bumped against the radio and made it jump to the next station on the dial: WJOY. Sally knew it well. It was the religious station Nell listened to at home. If Nell only knew what Sally was doing! She wouldn’t ….Oh! Breathe. Breathe. The pain was lessening. She wouldn’t think about that. She concentrated on the music. It was a song she knew, a folksy ballad by a band called The Raptures: Dear Mary, trust me for what I’m about to do. I’ve got three good reasons and one of them is you.

  There were three reasons she shouldn’t be doing this. Three hundred. Three thousand. There was her mom, Nell, even Lenny. There was Frannie and Mr. Valkema and God. There was Mandy, who looked up to her, and Mrs. Dekker, who used to babysit her, and Aunt Flookie, who always told her she’d go far.

  Cash seemed to finally notice the change in music. He reached over to turn the dial back.

  Electric guitar. Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?

  His leg bumped the dial again.

  Violin. You can stand on the mountaintop and wonder why the sky’s so blue. There are three good reasons and one of them is you.

  He fumbled with it again. Static.

  “Goddamn AM radio!” he exploded.

  “Just forget the stupid music.” Her voice sounded far off, like someone else’s.

  “Fine.” He turned it off, but then there was only the sound of his breathing and a clicking noise from the engine. And the pain. And the dark void of the garage. Beyond it a piece of black sky through a window pane. Not blue. Only black. Like a sinner’s heart.

  “Turn it back on,” she said, and now there was an unmistakable sob in her voice. If he noticed he didn’t show it. He managed to get the electric guitar going again.

  “I love The Doors,” he said, as reverently as a person might say I love you. Sally knew the song but could not have named the group, just like Cash could never name The Raptures. The differences between them were measured by a radio band, vaster than the airwaves. As he became more feverish she had a quick image of her mother with Pastor Voss. Was this the way it was with them? Disgusting. Cash was like a rabid animal now, moaning and gyrating. Finally he finished with such a shudder and moan, she wanted to say oh come on! Aren’t you being a little dramatic?

  This must be the hatred Pastor Voss spoke of.

  “Get. Off. Me.” Her teeth were clenched. The windows were steamed and the air was suffocating.

  “Wow.” He was damp and musty smelling. “Are you okay?”

  She pulled her dress down. “I’ve got to go.”

  “What do you mean? Right now?”

  Where were her shoes? She felt along the floor. Nothing.

  “I’ll be fine. I just need to...” She found the door latch and pulled. There was nothing graceful about her as she stumbled out of the car.

  She ran down the long dirt driveway in her bare feet, not caring how dark it was or that she’d walk half the night to get home. She had knowledge that would cut through the dark like a fog light. The girls at school were all fakes. That was one thing she knew. They’d never done what she just did. If they had they wouldn’t be looking in the mirror, all aflutter with anticipation, acting like their future was still worthy of curled hair and a powdered nose. They would know how useless it is to giggle when there’s nothing more to lose.

  Nell

  It must have been three a.m. when Nell began rearranging the living room furniture in her head. Call it a compulsion, but a fresh room always made her feel reborn. Trouble was, she’d tried everything. The davenport had been under the window, against the wall, even angled in the corner. She was out of possibilities. She had only one idea left: she’d seen a magazine photo of a rug hung on the wall, like a tapestry. She might try that. Squeezing her eyes shut, she flopped over in her bed and tried to see it. Instead, she saw herself bending over the armchair, trying in vain to push it out of the way. Pastor Voss was sitting in it, laughing. Heavy, huh?

  She punched her pillow and prayed for sleep. Pastor Voss, Sally’s father? It was straight out of a soap opera, but even her beloved Days of Our Lives wouldn’t stoop to such
depths. Viewers would revolt. You call this entertainment? This kind of trash doesn’t belong on the airwaves! And here she was living it. If you can call it living when you’re dying of embarrassment.

  She felt tears welling again. Don’t even think about crying, you dumb cow! You think Pastor Voss is worth crying over? It was just that…well, she’d really believed she had a chance with him. She kept remembering a picture of a missionary family she’d seen in the church newsletter. Standing in front of a thatched hut was a father, mother, sister, brother, and they were holding hands in a circle, so no one was loose on the end. Four ventricles of a heart. She wanted it. The safeness of belonging. The sense of purpose. It was a dream that had always kept her going. Now it seemed she was destined to be alone, and she was afraid. What if she got cancer? What if she died a slow painful death, with no one at her side? What if, and this was a thought she hardly dared admit, what if there was no God? What if she spent her life devoted to a faith that in the end was as false as Pastor Voss?

  If she had a best friend she might be told to stop being such a downer. You’re only twenty-one! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. But the humiliation! The confusion as she tried to work through it all. Pastor Voss was a philanderer, just like her dad said. He had an affair, created a life, then walked away. No, not away. Only as far as the pulpit, where he stood before them every Sunday and preached to them.

  She sat up in bed, too restless to lie there any longer. She simply couldn’t believe that Sally was his daughter. It was like being fourteen, when she’d first heard President Kennedy talk about sending a man to the moon. She supposed it had to be possible if the President was so excited about it, but that didn’t mean it would ever happen. It was just too farfetched. And yet. This was no mystery of science. Sperm meets egg and voila! The bang is so big it sends you spinning into another universe.

  It could have been worse. Let’s say Pastor Voss had taken Nell in his arms and kissed her with a passion that was criminal, like Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway. What a relief to know you feel the same! I thought I’d die of desire! They’d agree to marry. They’d rush off to find Sally and Lenny, and most important of all, her dad. I’m engaged! The pastor would try to hide the truth but it would come out, somehow, and wouldn’t that be worse? To have a fiancé and lose him in a matter of hours?

  But what if she didn’t lose him? What if she stood by him?

  You mean you don’t mind that I slept with your mother and fathered your sister?

  Darling, I forgive you.

  She was disgusted with herself for allowing such a thought. She knew there would be no forgiveness, that she’d never go back to that church, to those people she thought cared about her, who only gaped when she dropped a plate of pie, their eyes and ears too glued on her father’s drunken rant to come to her side. Still, a film in her head played on: Pastor Voss delivering his next sermon. Um, you may have heard a little something about my illegitimate child. It is truly heartbreaking. But nothing like the heartbreak I feel over her sister Nell. Because of all this I can’t love Nell in the way I would like. It wouldn’t be right.

  Then a scene with her dad. What was it he had said? Pull up a chair. Like he cared. Like he wanted to know her. If they saw each other after this, they’d both be thinking the same thing. Nell was his only daughter. For good or bad, she had him all to herself.

  What a funny thrill that gave her. What terrible guilt that followed.

  She’d never wanted her dad back. Not before and certainly not now, after what he’d done. It turned out just as she predicted, and although she normally took satisfaction in being right, this time all she felt was a disappointment she didn’t understand. Anyway, this wasn’t about her. Think of Sally. How much worse it was for her, being rejected by not one, but two, fathers. And her mother. The shame Prudy must feel was punishment enough. She didn’t need Nell turning against her.

  But how she hated her mother right now. She didn’t know if she could ever get past it. Maybe she could dump her anger into her trusty diary. Lock it up and throw away the key. But the thought of writing anything down ever again seemed useless. In fact, diaries were for babies. Look how much time she’d wasted pining away like a moonstruck teenager. It was time to grow up. She might not be destined for missionary work, but there were other worthy careers. She could be a teacher. Maybe even a real police officer. There were no women on the Holland force, but couldn’t she be the first? How unexpected that would be. There goes Sergeant Van Sloeten. When I think of how I used to gossip about her, well, I’m just glad she doesn’t hold a grudge.

  At least she had her job. Crossing Guard was no career, but it was a foot in the door.

  When the clock said five, she got out of bed. Today she’d curl her hair. Wear make-up too. She’d be the best darn Crossing Guard the department had ever seen. When the high school kids came she’d nod at them with a small, professional smile. They’d come to respect her, over time. Next would come the middle-schoolers, the boys with the boys, the girls with the girls. They were still young enough to admire a uniform, and Nell hoped that one day they’d greet her by name. She’d love to be called Miss Nellie. Then, around nine, the real fun would begin. The little ones would come skipping and laughing with their mothers, decked in ribbons and ruffles and stiff little overalls. Hey know what? I’m Batman! My cat’s name is Sheba. Can I blow on your whistle? The young mothers would smile. And even if one whispered did you hear about her family? someone would defend her. Aw, it’s not her fault. Besides, she’s so sweet and she does an excellent job.

  As luck would have it, the day was terrible. Wet and windy. Nell left early, and when she got to her corner, her feet were damp and chilly. The first teenager to come by was a hulking, overgrown boy who seemed to glare at her.

  “Monday mornings,” she said ruefully. “Rough, huh?”

  He grunted.

  She took out the clear plastic rain hood that was rolled expertly into her pocket and carefully put it over her cap. A group of kids were crossing when she saw her mailman Gizzy approaching the intersection on his bike. He was slowing for the red light.

  “Hey Gizzy!” she called, thankful for at least one friendly face. He looked up and waved. As he did his bike wobbled. He must have braked too hard, and the road was wet. The bike began sliding out from under him, into the intersection. What happened next was so fast that Nell could only blink and watch. A car swerved. There was a crunch of metal. The bike flipped over the curb, and Gizzy landed on his back in the street.

  Nell started flapping her arms and blowing her whistle. What had she done? This was no welcome wagon! She was on the job. It was her responsibility to keep everyone safe.

  She ran, heart pounding, toward Gizzy. She heard him moan as he rolled onto his stomach. So he wasn’t dead. But she was. She’d be fired for sure.

  After the ambulance took Gizzy away—a broken leg! Thank God it happened to him and not a child!—Nell had to stay for the police report. It was raining hard then, and she huddled under an umbrella with the driver of the car and the officer who answered the call. The word accident was used several times. No one blamed her. Outwardly, at least, but Nell knew how these things could stick on you like lint. It had to do with reputation.

  By the time she got home, she couldn’t help thinking why me? And she’d always sworn she wasn’t that kind of person. Let the Lord test me. That’s when I’ll know I’m worthy.

  Now she wondered if the Lord had forgotten her. Though she prayed for guidance, she felt only confusion and doubt. She had wanted to be the best Crossing Guard the Holland PD had ever seen. Instead she practically got someone killed. Poor Gizzy! How would he deliver the mail with a broken leg? What if they both lost their jobs over this?

  Damn Sally! It was all her fault. She got Pastor Voss for a father. Probably Prudy would marry him and the three of them would become their own happy little family. Meanwhile, Nell was stuck with no church, no prospects, no hope. Only faith. And how flimsy that
was!

  She was about to go change out of her uniform when a movement in the kitchen window caught her eye. Her neighbor Mandy was crossing the yard, headed for the swing set. The rain had stopped but everything was still wet. Nell watched her walk with her birdlike gait toward the swing. When she reached it she put one hand out tentatively to touch the chain. The upstairs door slammed.

  “Come on in now,” Mrs. Veenstra called from the landing.

  Mandy turned and Nell squinted. There was something on Mandy’s mouth, like a streak of lipstick.

  “I said come in! That’s enough!”

  Nell had seen this routine before, this strange cruel trick Mona Veenstra had of telling Mandy to go out and play and then calling her in. Nell had never said anything. Judge not and all that. Or was it cowardice? Mrs. Veenstra was not a woman to be taken lightly, although Sally sure wasn’t shy about smart-mouthing her. As for Nell, she thought she could help Mandy by taking her to Bible School and teaching her about God’s love. Now that seemed as useless as the ink-covered pages of her diary.

  She stepped out the back door.

  “She just came out,” she said.

  Mona stared down at her. “Now she’s coming in.” There was a challenge there.

  Nell looked away. She ought to mind her own business. But if she did, Mandy would grow up with that broken feeling, always wondering what’s wrong with me? Why won’t anyone love me? And these parents—if you could call them that! They didn’t deserve to own a goldfish!—they would sail through life never realizing the damage caused by their careless words. By their selfishness. Their sinful lust. Something boiled up in her. It wasn’t fair!

  “Come here, Mandy,” Nell commanded.

  “Don’t listen to her!” Mona called.

  Mandy didn’t move. Nell walked through the long wet grass to her and lifted her chin. Her lip was swollen and bleeding. She had a washrag balled in her fist that she lifted to her face and it stuck, stiff and dry, to the wound.

  Nell gasped and whirled on Mona. “What did you do?” The accusation just slipped out.