A Lot Like Eve

by Joanna Jepson

  “It’s weird because it’s not a common name but there was another Jo Jepson at school too …”

  “No … I don’t think there was.”

  There definitely wasn’t.

  “There was, she was in the year above me in Curie.”

  “Amy, that was me!”

  “No, there was another one … she had long hair and rode a bike … she played the violin …”

  “Yes! … Amy, that was me!”

  Then my encounter with Emma, a girl with whom I’d studied A levels, in a class of 12.

  “I was at school with your sister Joanna.”

  “Actually that was me, Emma … I was in your English class.”

  “No, it was your sister … Joanna.”

  “Emma, I’m Joanna, it’s me you mean.” She walked away, a spooked, expression on her face.

  When I bumped into Dave, a man who used to go to our church, a man who’d known me since I was born and who looked at me with the polite bewilderment of a mistaken stranger, I realized I needed to start carrying around a passport photograph of my former self. Even I no longer recognized myself in the fleeting reflections as I passed shop windows, and when group photos were produced I had to search for myself, unable to immediately identify the neat new face that was now mine. My eyes no longer seemed to hang somewhere above the dwindling shape of my lower face, incidental to the incompatibility going on beneath them. Now my features were proportional, redrawn with definition.

  It is a strange kind of invisibility, suddenly finding yourself unknown and unrecognizable, because you still feel like you. You still look out and see the world the same way, and carry with you the same expectations of it and the way it will respond to you. I met people I had known before and I expected to be met with the same attitude I’d always encountered from them – only now there was just neutrality, blankness. The proverbial clean slate on which we might chalk a different kind of rapport. It was the kind of invisibility that allows you to find out what people will make of you – who you are underneath your face. I was fascinated by the liberation; suddenly I was walking around with a face that had no commentary to it. I had not learned, through years of interactions, what people reckoned about these looks; so I couldn’t assess this face. The swelling was subsiding so slowly that I just looked incredibly childish, like a fourteen-year-old in a twenty-year-old’s body. Whatever had changed on the outside, surgery hadn’t altered the way anxiety and inhibitions knitted me together on the inside. In unfamiliar situations I was still acting like the nervous, tongue-tied teenager I’d been at school.

  It was with shyness too that a couple of weeks later, when I saw Matthew and Michael and a group of other boys from school in the pub, I went over to say hello. They had been in my tutor group and we had hung out sometimes when Louise was going out with Matt. I liked them – above all because neither of them had ever uttered a mean word to me. And so amidst their reactions of surprise and wonder at my newly re-made face I didn’t see Nev standing behind them: a ghost of bullies past. For ghostly is how he appeared when laughing Matt turned to him and asked, “You’ve not seen Joanna since school?” He hadn’t; but the memories of his belittling attacks from the row behind me in history lessons had stayed with me long after we had left. Now, as we faced each other again, I couldn’t remember any of the things he’d ever said to me, only a single memory: my hot tears, an awkward dash for the loos and Mr Thacker’s surprise at my sudden, red-faced exit from his lesson.

  Now it is Nev’s face that burns, and me that watches the reaction. Matthew and Mike are laughing at Nev’s silence; jeering the jeerer, enjoying his shame. Because it must have been a kind of shame: his head hangs down, then moves sideways in search of a way out. But there isn’t one and he’s stuck there having to take it. Matt looks at me expectantly. This is where I am meant to step into something other than shyness and embrace the power that Nev’s embarrassment affords. This is where I get to gloat gratuitously because his slurs can no longer stick. But all I see is myself. Red-faced, silent, hoping that nobody else will see my humiliation, looking for an escape.

  I should be enjoying this moment because the tables have turned, but now it’s just like looking back at myself, seeing him feel the way I did. I say ‘Hello Nev’, then turn back to Matthew and Mike and suggest we head to the bar.

  22

  Captain Sensible

  Friends at church hadn’t known me before surgery; they were slightly puzzled by my need for a chin-job, and they were clearly uneasy at all its Hollywood associations being brought into their circles. It was difficult to know how enthusiastically plastic surgery should be appraised when there was no biblical guidance about it. But I was assured of their prayers all the same and when I returned to church after the plaster was removed the response to my transformation was mild; and I was spared the discomfort of feeling unduly vain. On an early January afternoon walk Rich made no specific comment except to show concern that I had recovered OK, and then that he preferred longer hair on girls in reference to my latest jaw-defining haircut – “It’s more feminine.” My disappointment was unalleviated by the knowledge that he had no idea of the significance this freshly bobbed hairstyle held. Perhaps he sensed that was the wrong thing to say after all as he changed the subject.

  “How’s it going with Geoff on Friday evenings then?”

  I blushed at his interest.

  “It’s great, I really love it. And Geoff’s a brilliant person to partner with. The guys we meet really respond well to him.”

  “Yeah, he’s very much a father-figure, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, I wish some of those kids had fathers like him.”

  “You get on well with Joe too, don’t you?”

  It sounded more like an observation than a question.

  “I have a lot of time for him. His situation is so sad, he’s only a teenager … and he’s homeless.”

  “Be careful there. He fancies you, Joanna.”

  I looked at Rich in surprise, then back to the mounds of grass over which we were picking our way. No … no! This was all wrong. It was Rich whose eye I was hoping to catch and now here he was dispassionately telling me I was attractive to the wrong person.

  “I don’t think that’s an issue …” I tried falteringly. Heat crept across my cheeks.

  In truth it wasn’t something I’d ever had an issue with. Yet here it was like a misdirected parcel, wrongly addressed, being left at my door.

  “Just be aware, OK? We’re here to show them God’s love.”

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  “Your passion and heart for the Gospel are so clear, Joanna, I think it’s fantastic the rapport you’ve got with Joe and Leon. But those are the things that the Devil will use to twist and scupper the work we’re doing.”

  The compliments crashed, and my romantic hopes with them. I felt like I was being outed as the handmaid of Satan.

  But Rich seemed to be in no hurry to wrap up our chat and move on.

  “So we are thinking of going to the cinema tomorrow evening. Can you come?”

  It wasn’t a date, but it was definitely progress; a chance to spend time with him without a whole lot of praying getting in the way. Only I felt further away from him than ever, as if I’d slipped down in his estimation. And so began the whir of my mind plotting ways to prove my worth to him: be seen less with Joe and more behind the kitchen hatch making teas and coffees for everyone; be seen without make-up; start growing my hair; be heard praying better prayers in team meetings.

  I watched my mind playing out these scenarios.

  Enough – whatever my beliefs now were they began with refusing to collapse myself into these cramped places of acceptability. Not for God and not for Rich.

  I wouldn’t avoid Joe and I would wear make-up to the cinema.

  After the film, in which Rich sat next to me, we went back to the house he shared with two other guys, and ate pizza. It was the regular hangout in which rounds of coffee were brewed and half
drunk, while Phil, Rich’s younger housemate, coaxed the lads to complete stunt courses built out of furniture balanced against the open stairs and the girls offered motherly cautions while waiting for the boys to turn their attention towards them. Grace had started dating Phil and I watched her, coffee in hand, looking on at the antics, patiently waiting for some quiet time with him. I knew she was unlikely to get that time that evening. When romance did unfold – cautiously and prayerfully – it stayed safely within the bounds of the group. Breaking away into a private, exclusive coupledom would be dangerous, leaving lusts to fester unchecked by accountability to our brothers and sisters in Christ. There would be no staying behind when the rest of us made our move to leave.

  “How’s it going, Grace?” I smiled at her as she turned her eyes from Phil and met mine.

  “Yeah, it’s good thanks. I’ve moved halls and it feels way better this term.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “How about you?

  Mmmmm … How about me? I had applied to theological college, wasn’t sure I believed in God, and was pretty sure I didn’t believe in church.

  “Oh, I’m fine.”

  “How are things with Rich?”

  “With Rich?” I exclaimed in a low whisper.

  She widened her eyes and scrunched her mouth into a knowing smile.

  “Umm, I’m not with Rich.”

  “Yes, but something’s going on, isn’t it?”

  I sighed. I was so out of answers when it came to this kind of thing.

  “Well, I have no idea.”

  “But you like him, right?”

  “Yessss … I like him.”

  “And he likes you.”

  “Really?” Now I might begin to get some answers.

  “Yes, the boys have been teasing him about it, asking him when he’s going to say something.”

  “Golly. Really?”

  “Yes. Phil says he’s just taking some time to pray about it and get some guidance.”

  “But I’ve not … how … why doesn’t he just find out by talking to me a bit more?”

  Grace laughed through her teeth. “Well he wants to know that it’s the right thing before he gets involved.”

  “Ohhhhh … so he wants some guarantee from God before he makes an investment …”

  She laughed again but I sat unsmiling, unsettled by this reminder of our efforts to avoid being too affected, tempted or tainted by life, and how we called it holiness.

  Later, while hunting for remnants of pizza in the kitchen, Rich came and found me. I leaned against the counter and asked how he was. He smiled at me, holding my gaze, and we both knew that he had clocked my semi-clandestine chat with Grace earlier. There was to be no small talk.

  “I’m doing a lot of praying, Joanna.”

  “That sounds significant.”

  “I want to know the Lord’s heart … I sometimes I wonder if I’m falling in love with you and other times I’m not sure.”

  I was silent, caught up in the stomach-fluttering tantalization that love might come my way, and then the swift dropping dread that it might not come to pass after all.

  I waited for him to ask me how I felt. This would be the moment, wouldn’t it, to find out if his feelings were reciprocated, or whether I had been praying about it too? But there was no question; no space given for me to meet him with my answer. Instead he carried on.

  “I don’t want us to get involved if it’s not going somewhere serious.”

  “Yes …” I had to look wise so I nodded sagely as if that made perfect sense to me. Then I blurted out.

  “So how will we know?”

  He smiled and drummed the palms of his hands on the counter as I continued.

  “I mean if you don’t know how you feel then how are you going to find out?”

  “I know, it’s hard.” His voice suddenly took a convicted tone. “I just need time to pray about it, and hear God’s answer. I want to be Captain Sensible here.”

  It might have been a word from the Lord or simply the church rumour-mill, but news of unfolding romances seemed to reach Justin somehow because the next Sunday evening he delivered a sermon on trusting in God and not leaning on your own understanding. I’d heard it all before; that is until he illustrated it by referring to his girlfriend.

  “I didn’t know he was in a relationship …”, I whispered to Laura incredulously.

  She mouthed, “Ruth!”

  I mouthed back, “Wow!” I had assumed he was the celibate type.

  Justin carried on, “And in this relationship I’m in now, I hardly even kiss,” which was remarkable as he was sounding undeniably passionate right now, “because while the world says you need to get to know your girlfriend physically in order to know if she’s the one, I know that when God is in control of your life you don’t need to worry about whether you will be compatible physically. And on my wedding night I know that we will be united in God’s will for us physically and it will be good!”

  Nobody laughed; this was no light-hearted end to his sermon. I peered over at Ruth to see how she was reacting to the broadcast of these intimate details, but she sat cross-legged on the floor looking up at Justin with unflinching trust. Justin’s intensity was mesmerizing and as the band began to stir it was clear that people felt compelled to resubmit their relationships to God’s sovereignty and control afresh. People were getting to their feet, singing with eyes shut and palms open. Phil and several other youngsters went forward to receive prayer. And a few feet away knelt Grace; her eyes closed, she was silent and still – probably handing her dreams of marriage back into God’s hands.

  A few days later Phil broke up with her, and I came to my senses. Rich and God might be drawing up their shortlist of candidates for the wife vacancy, but I was withdrawing my application. Captain Sensible was not the man for me.

  23

  Hippy Chick and Punk Boy

  I didn’t avoid Joe over the next few weeks and months, and I stopped trying to get to every prayer meeting I could to spend time impressing Rich. By the time my birthday came round the intensity of potential romance had ebbed away without word and I was spared from hearing Rich utter the words “I don’t think it’s right, I don’t think it’s God’s will”, and he was spared from hearing me say it wasn’t my will either. We fell back into the ordinariness of the group and with it came quiet relief at having avoided a marriage where my vocation might only have been recognized in bearing children.

  I wanted my birthday celebrations to be open to everyone, and I knew ice-cream would be a big draw for Joe. So word went round that the Häagen Dazs parlour would play host to my party. On the morning of my birthday I got talking to Dani, a hippy on the High Street, who offered to channel some specially charged energy through her crystals for me: I’d seen her before, and I knew she was homeless, but I couldn’t pretend to want any of her energy-channelling wares and so I offered to take her for lunch instead. There we sat, rather improbably, eating quiches in the Regency Fayre café, meeting the intrigued stares of respectable Cheltonians with smiles as we chatted about the underground rave scene being so much friendlier than nightclubs. She gave me a trinket for my birthday and I spontaneously invited her to my birthday gathering that evening.

  It was only after my moment of spontaneity that I thought about how this would work out with Joe. Being a punk, Joe nurtured very particular affectations: a love of Sid Vicious, a fondness for piercings and tartan trousers and an unswerving disdain for hippies all contributed to his pursuit of authentic punkiness. Joe’s ideology was about to be put to the test.

  There were quite a few friends from church there already with Dani when Joe turned up. I hoped he wasn’t off his face. And I hoped the presence of Leon and James alongside him wouldn’t be an audience for him to play up to. Joe didn’t notice Dani however: his diet of speed left him craving ice-cream and the venue was perfect.

  “Oh yeah”, he said, one hand in his pocket and the other one handing me a bundle of fo
lded newspaper.

  “Thank you Joe …”, I smiled at the craziness of this presentation.

  “Yeah, well I knew you liked her …” He looked away to the menu of ice-cream trying not to smile too generously.

  Pulling back the excess of newspaper sheets I saw Alanis Morissette’s “Jagged Little Pill” CD.

  “You know it’s nicked, don’t you …?” Leon muttered, laughing quietly with James.

  I had really, really wanted that CD, but when I picked up the card underneath I saw what the true gift was. Its carefully drawn scene copied from a Green Day album cover was neatly and painstakingly coloured in. And who knew where he’d got the crayons? When I opened the card some ripped sheets of an exercise book fell out. They were covered with Joe’s neat writing; verses and songs, vocabulary and poetry beyond anything I’d imagined Joe would have come up with. I didn’t ask if he’d nicked these words too. I assumed they were from Green Day or Sid Vicious. It didn’t matter: they were Joe’s gift to me. I felt a pinch of guilt that I’d invited Dani to join us – too late.

  “Oh God, what’s that hippy doing here?”

  “I met her earlier today … she’s really lovely, so I invited her too …”

  “God I hate crusties.”

  “Well, you don’t have to talk to her … Let’s get some ice-cream – and thank you so much for my present and the card. I love them.”

  Joe slowly pulled his disdainful glare away from her and followed me to the ice-cream counter.

  Later on I looked over to the table where Dani was: Joe was sitting next to her chatting away in his quiet, self-contained way. It was his second gift to me that evening.

  * * *

  There was one last party, at the end of the summer, before I went away to theological college. Mum and Dad vacated the house for the evening and now the music wafted throughout the rooms downstairs and out into the garden. Joe and I were sitting in the dining room on the floor. His tartan-clad legs stretched out in front of him and his back was flat against the wall. This was the person I dreaded leaving. Other friends – people with cars and independence – would come and stay in Bristol; we’d make weekends of it and our friendships would move with this change in seasons. But Joe had no fixed address and I had no car; emails and mobile phones had yet to emerge and rewire our social life. I had made Geoff promise that he would look out for Joe, and James and Leon, when I’d gone, but all the same I felt dreadful, unable to help them see how they were a large part of the reason I wanted to do this course and yet how guilty I felt for leaving.