Invisible

by Ginny L. Yttrup

  “What?”

  I stand up and walk to the railing of Ellyn’s deck, then motion for her to follow me. I put my hand up to shade my eyes and point out to the headlands and the water. “Describe what you see out there.”

  “Okay. I see the headlands, prairie grass, trails, the road, the cliffs, and the ocean.”

  “What else?”

  She looks again. “Birds and rocks and a few trees. If I look to the north, I see the point and the rock outcroppings that form islands. And I can see the surf crashing against the rocks.”

  “What does it all say to you?”

  She is quiet and then she takes a deep breath and her shoulders relax. “It speaks to me of God’s power, of His magnificence. It reminds me that He is unfathomable. It fills me with awe.”

  “Cool. So when you look at God’s creation, you see God, and you’re filled with awe, right?”

  She stands still looking out at the view from her deck. “Yes.”

  “Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars”—Ellyn looking at me now, listening—“And they pass by themselves without wondering.”

  I watch as her eyes fill with tears. “Where . . . where did you hear that?”

  “It’s another Augustine quote. I read his autobiography and some of his other stuff when I was in treatment. He lived in the 300s, but his writings are still relevant.”

  “Say it again.”

  Ellyn stares out at the sea as I repeat the quote. She echoes the words, but more to herself than to me.

  “And they pass by themselves without wondering. In other words, if I see God—His power and majesty in His creation . . .” She motions to the headlands and water. “Then I should see Him in myself as well.”

  “Something like that. I mean, it isn’t a should, like something you were supposed to do and didn’t. So don’t, like, get all down on yourself. It just means that we sometimes miss seeing Him in the most important thing He created. Us. We’re so conditioned to buy into—and compare ourselves to—the image that American culture deems perfect. But that just messes us up. It isn’t real. And that isn’t what God looks at. That’s not what’s important to Him. He sees our inner beauty—the condition of our hearts, you know?”

  “Imago Dei. Your tattoo. I knew what you meant when you first explained it, but I couldn’t accept it for myself, somehow. I want to, but . . .”

  “I know. I still struggle. I get it, but then I forget. I started to see that when I could, like, embrace the truth for myself, then I wasn’t so hard on myself. How could I treat myself, one of God’s creations—the one created most like Him—so bad? I didn’t want to do that anymore. So the tattoo reminds me of that.”

  There’s an intensity in Ellyn’s expression, like she’s processing what I’m saying.

  “But it isn’t just about how I treat myself. It’s about how others treat me too. Like my dad”—I look out at the horizon and watch as a cloud drifts by—“He hasn’t treated me with respect. He wanted to use me for his own purposes. He wasn’t interested in what’s best for me. I can forgive him for that, but I don’t have to be in relationship with him. I don’t want to let him treat me, one of God’s creations, like that. I have to have as much respect for myself as God has for me. Or at least I want to try—”

  Ellyn is silent.

  “Sorry, I’m talking too much.”

  She’s quiet a moment longer, looking out at the headlands. “Honey, you’re teaching me. I’ll listen to you all day long. You just keep talking.” She turns and goes to sit down.

  I join her. “So how do you feel since you changed the way you eat?”

  “Since the issues I had the day I ended up in the hospital, I’ve felt fine. But I don’t think that had anything to do with how I’m eating.”

  “Wow. Cool. Has the diet changed your perspective about, you know, the way you eat?”

  She hesitates. “Yes, it helped me see that I’ve used my job as an excuse to eat whatever I want and that . . . well, sometimes I eat for the wrong reasons. I eat for comfort when I’m upset instead of turning to God for His comfort. I realized I was putting my trust in food rather than in God. I hope I can do that less often.”

  “It’s good to know those things about ourselves.”

  “I got rid of my scale too. The number on the scale was starting to rule my emotions.”

  “Seems like veganism worked for you in a lot of ways.”

  Ellyn’s eyes sparkle in the sun. “I guess you’re right. Just not in the ways I expected.”

  “So now what?”

  “What do you mean? What diet do I want to try next?”

  “No, I mean what are you going to do now with the knowledge you’ve gained?”

  “Oh.” Ellyn leans her head back and looks up at the sky. She thinks for a minute. “I want to think and pray about what you said today. The Augustine quote. And I want to listen to God’s voice rather than all the negative chatter I hear in my head all the time.”

  “That sounds pretty wise. Every time I have a negative thought about myself, I try to replace it with something positive—one of God’s truths.”

  “That’s a good idea. For me, I think it’s easier said than done.”

  “I know. It takes practice.”

  “I bet you do know.” She reaches over and puts her hand on my arm. “You are a gift to me, Twila.”

  I shrug. “Thanks. Hey, about the food part, if you want to, add some grass-fed beef back into your diet. Like about two ounces. It will help get your metabolism going. Have it with breakfast.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “What about butter?”

  “Add a little back in and see how you feel.”

  Her face is serious—almost like she might cry. Then she leans over and gives me a hug. A big, tight hug. As she hugs me she’s mumbling something in my ear over and over. I finally make it out.

  “Thank you, oh, thank you, thank you . . .”

  I ride my bike home from Ellyn’s and enjoy the last of the day’s sunshine on my face. With fewer tourists here now during the week, the streets are quiet. I like it this way—it’s peaceful. After my dad left, I needed peace. He may not like Mendocino, but for him to think I’d like New York shows he doesn’t even know me.

  Sure, Mendocino’s small, and I don’t have a lot of friends my own age here anymore, but God has put good people in my life. I think again of how different my dad and Miles are—and what a difference Miles’s relationship with God makes. I pray my dad will turn back to God someday. He says he’s a Christian, but, like, something’s missing. With Miles, you see it—you see Jesus in the way he acts and the way he cares about people.

  When I reach my street, I get off my bike and turn to look back at the ocean. This is the last place I can see it before turning down my street. As I stand there and watch the deep blue water turn to darker shades of gray in the late afternoon light, I recall what Ellyn said about how the ocean speaks to her of God’s power and His magnificence.

  I open my mind and heart to God and let Him, like, search me. I wait and listen and then pray just three words: Ellyn and Miles.

  God knows the rest.

  Then I get on my bike and ride the last block home.

  I was wholly ignorant of what it is in ourselves which gives us being, and how scripture is correct in saying that we are “in God’s image.”

  Saint Augustine

  Chapter Fifty

  Ellyn

  “I think this was a bad idea.” I stand in front of The Great Put On—a boutique on the corner of Lansing and Albion—looking at a dress in the window that appears no wider than the zipper
running down its back. “Who wears that kind of thing? Are you sure she carries my size?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And this was a great idea. Let’s go.”

  I stay rooted to the sidewalk until Sabina gives me a push toward the door. “Oh, fine!”

  My first thought upon entering is that my mother would shop here. That tempts me to turn and run, but I know Sabina would chase me down. The glass cases next to the register are filled with bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and hair clips. These I can do. They’ll fit. I stand in front of one of the cases looking at a bronze cuff bracelet until Sabina pulls me deeper into the store.

  “May I help you?”

  I look at the young woman—long blond waves, chocolate colored eyes—and not an ounce over ninety-eight pounds. I mumble something about just looking.

  “Yes, my friend here is looking for a few things.”

  Superhero Sabina to the rescue.

  Great. Thanks.

  “You probably don’t even carry my size, so we’ll just look around.”

  “Sure, we have lots of things that will fit you. What are you looking for?”

  “Oh. Well, um . . .” I look at Sabina, eyebrows raised.

  “Casual chic in colors that will set off her gorgeous hair and eyes.”

  At this point, I’m certain both Sabina and the clerk can hear Earl laughing.

  I’m ushered to a dressing room, where the clerk and Sabina bring me outfits to try on. At first, it’s an excruciating experience, but then I try on a pair of wide-legged, flowing, brown pants, with a long, forest-green, cotton-knit sweater. The outfit feels good. I make a slow turn toward the mirror and catch my breath. I turn to the right and then to the left and then I turn around and look into the mirror over my shoulder.

  You look like a giant sequoia.

  I turn away from the mirror and start to take the sweater off, but then I recall Twila’s suggestion. I stand for a moment with my back to the mirror, then I pull the sweater into place and turn to the mirror again.

  I look . . .

  I swallow.

  Then I take in my red curls, cascading over my shoulders, and I notice the way my light green eyes shine against my milky complexion.

  I look like a beautiful child of God. Created in His image.

  Somewhere in the background of my mind, Earl still mumbles, but my mind is elsewhere. “Thank You, Lord . . .” The prayer whispers out of me as I stare at the image reflected in the mirror. I’m not sure what I’m thanking Him for, but it is the first time I’ve ever looked into a mirror and responded with gratitude.

  “How’s it going in there?” Sabina stands outside the dressing room. “Ready for a few more things?”

  My reflection smiles at me. “It’s actually not going too horrible. Sure, give me a few more things.”

  We leave the boutique with bags full of clothes and accessories. The only shopping I’ve done in years has been ordering chef’s pants, smocks, and clogs online, along with an occasional pair of sweats. Today I spent more than I’ve ever spent in one store. But I have the money, so why not use it?

  “Where am I going to wear all these clothes?”

  “Well, your first event is coffee with Miles tomorrow.”

  My stomach does a somersault. “Oh. Right.” I stop at my car parked along the street. “Do you have time to go over to Thanksgiving’s?”

  “I have all the time in the world, girl.”

  “Okay, let me put these in the trunk and then . . . I want to . . . I want to talk to you about . . . Earl.”

  Sabina just nods. “Sure.”

  I appreciate her subtle reaction.

  We settle into a table at Thanksgiving’s, Sabina with her café au lait and me with a nonfat latte.

  “Look, real milk.”

  “You’re no longer a vegan?”

  “No, it didn’t really suit me.”

  Sabina laughs. “How could a diet void of butter ever suit you?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking.” I take a sip of the latte. “Mmm . . . even though the milk is nonfat, it’s wonderful.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, each sipping our coffee.

  “So . . . Earl. Who is he?”

  I start to answer, but nothing comes out. Because the answer isn’t what I expected. It takes a moment, but I finally say it out loud. “She.”

  “She who?”

  “Earl.”

  “Earl is a woman?”

  I’m as surprised as Sabina. I take a deep breath . . . and know. Absolutely. Earl is a woman. And in my heart, I think I’ve known it all along. “Yes, her name is actually . . .”

  Am I really about to say this? Can I say it?

  “Ellyn?”

  I hold up one hand. “Just . . . just give me a minute.”

  “You can do this. And somehow, I know freedom resides on the other side of this conversation.”

  Freedom. The meaning of the word washes over me. Am I really bound? Yes. And freedom is possible? “How can you know that?”

  “Maybe Twila’s wearing off on me.” Her tone is soft. “Or maybe God is speaking to me—through me, to you.” She shakes her head. “Can you imagine?”

  Can I imagine? “Yes, I can.” I take a deep breath. “Okay . . . Her name is . . . Earleen.”

  “Who is Earleen?”

  “Earleen, or Earl for short, is the voice I hear in my head. My accuser. The one who makes certain I never get a big head by reminding me how big my backend is, among other things.”

  “I see. But why Earl or Earleen? Where did you come up with the name?

  Don’t you dare, big girl.

  I wipe my palms on my pants and then clasp my hands in my lap to keep them from shaking. Oh yes. I dare. You bet I dare. It’s time. Long past time. “Earleen Amelia DeMoss.”

  “DeMoss?”

  “Yep.”

  Understanding dawns on Sabina’s features. The same understanding that just dawned in my heart.

  “Earl is your mother.”

  It’s a statement, not a question. I angle a look at her. “You’re not surprised?”

  “Not really. A mother is a powerful force in a child’s life, even when that child becomes an adult. That impact can be positive or negative—most often it’s a combination of both. But mothers don’t have to determine who we ultimately become.”

  If only that were true! “Even now, at forty-six? I think it’s too late, I became a long time ago.”

  “We’re always becoming, Ellyn. Always growing and changing, unless we’re stuck, the way I’ve been. The way I think you may be too. But no, it’s never too late to change—to become—it’s a lifetime process. I’m a living example of that. So what’s her role in your life?”

  “My mother?” I shrug. “After my father died, I ran away—from her, I think. I was an only child and I felt . . . I don’t know, sort of suffocated by her, I guess. I think she meant well and loved me, in her own way, but”—I shrug again—“now, I keep distance between us. It feels better that way, at least to me. And yet . . . she’s always with me. In Earl.”

  Even as I say these things, I marvel at them. So this is how it feels to have an epiphany. “I guess I’ve always known, on some level, that Earl was my mother, or at least born of my relationship with her. It’s sort of like Earl is the evil spawn of my mother.” I raise my eyebrows and smile.

  “Which would make your mother an alien or a fish?”

  “Well, not exactly, but I’m not sure she’s human, either. Unless a human can survive without a heart.”

  “Oh, Ellyn. I’m sorry.”

  Sabina’s response carries none of the levity I’m trying to maintain. I try to laugh, but the laughter catches against the lump forming in my throat.

>   “Oh.” I look away from Sabina and try to put what I’m feeling into words. “I . . . I’ve never let myself . . . I’ve never really thought about this, or analyzed it. It just is and always has been. I try to ignore what Earl says in my head, but I’ve heard those accusations for so long . . .”

  “How much of what Earl says are things your mother actually said or says to you?”

  I turn away from her. “Oh. No . . . she didn’t . . . I mean, maybe . . . but . . .” This conversation is sitting on my chest like a circus elephant. I turn back to Sabina and shake my head. “I thought I wanted to talk about this, but . . .”

  “We don’t have to talk about it. But I think talking about it with someone, a counselor, is important.”

  “Oh great, we’re back to me seeing a shrink?”

  “Ellyn, it sounds like you’ve listened to that voice for most of your life. It might be good to have support, someone who can help you change something so woven into your being.”

  She has a point. I don’t know that I’ve ever not heard Earl. Or my mother. Or . . . I can’t believe all those accusations, all those condemnations, are the voice of my mother. But for the first time, I’m certain that is who they began with.

  It is my own mother’s voice the enemy has used against me.

  “Of course, that is if you want to change.”

  What? “If? Why wouldn’t I want to?”

  “Change, even good change, can be frightening. It leads to an unfamiliar emotional landscape. A place where things are new, different, unknown. Sometimes we prefer the known to the unknown.”

  A twitch, just above my eye, nags as Sabina talks. “Look at me, I’m a nervous wreck just at the thought of it. Maybe I’ll ask Twila who she sees.”

  “Now that”—her warm smile spreads across her features—“is a great idea.”

  After Sabina and I part ways, I head to the café, but her comment plays on my mind: Of course, that is if you want to change. Figuring out how much of Earl is really Earleen could prove . . . healing.

  For me.

  And for my relationship with my mom.

  Oh.