by Jen Jensen
Johnna hit him. “You’re such a jerk. Leave her alone. Someone died.” Emma laughed despite her grief and tears, nearing hysteria. Jacob and Sam giggled, but Johnna didn’t.
“Doesn’t my gorgeous face make you smile?” Emma touched Sam’s hair and smiled. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears as their waitress approached the table.
“Hi, Tina,” Emma said.
“You okay, Emma? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“She went to Mrs. Ojeda’s funeral today,” Johnna explained, so Emma didn’t need to answer. Emma dabbed her eyes with a napkin.
“I understand. She was a wonderful woman, wasn’t she?” Emma fought tears again. “Well, what can I get for you?”
* * *
Emma sat on the couch with a glass of water. She talked with Stephen. It was a cordial but cold conversation. He was as much aware of their problems as she was, so they talked only about the bills and the kids. She sighed, running her hand through her hair. Johnna was on the other end of the couch, twirling her toes in Flower’s fur, reading a book. They decided not to go to a movie but stopped at Blockbuster to rent one. Sam picked Defending Your Life, just out on VHS. Sam and Jacob lay on the floor. Emma missed Sara and rose to call her from the kitchen phone. “Mom, you’re going to miss the movie.”
“Let me call Sara real quick. I’ll be right back. Hit pause.” Sam obliged and poked Jacob in the side. They began to wrestle.
Emma dialed Sara’s dorm room at Brigham Young University, longed to hear her voice. The phone rang only once, and Sara answered. “Hello, sweetie. It’s Mom.”
“Hi, Mom. How are you? What are you guys doing tonight? Dad came and took me to lunch today and then a movie. I just got home.”
“That’s what he said. Are you studying?”
“No, I should be, but I’m just lying here, looking at the wall. My roommate is on a date, so I’m alone. I have a hard time concentrating when I’m alone.” Emma worried about that and started to ask about Sara’s emotions, but didn’t get a chance. “How is everyone?”
“Fine. Sitting right here. We’re watching a movie. Do you want to talk to them?”
“No, that’s okay. I was just wondering. I’m going to run. I need to study since I shouldn’t tomorrow. I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, Sara. I’ll talk to you soon.” Emma returned to the front room.
Sam looked at Emma with his eyes crossed. “Can I hit play and watch the movie now?” Emma tossed a pillow at him from the couch and he swatted it away, giggling.
They watched the movie in silence. At some point, Johnna put her book on the table next to the couch to participate. Emma wiped her eyes as the story of a life review played before her with serendipitous and painful synchronicity. Johnna scooted down the couch and curled up against Emma’s side, head on her shoulder.
“I’m going to bed,” Johnna said, as the movie credits ran. Flower followed her down the hall and into the bathroom where the shower ran.
Emma rested her head on the back of the couch, listened to the quiet sounds of the house, and felt anxious. She rose. “Boys, don’t stay up too late. Soon, you’ll have to get back to your school schedules.” They grimaced, even as Sam connected the Nintendo. In the bedroom, Emma slipped off her pants and shirt and looked at the white garments covering her body.
She’d worn them since she married Stephen in the temple. They represented the vows she took when they married and the covenants she made with God. She tried to find solace in those vows, tried to believe that her sacrifice—her marriage—fulfilled a higher purpose. She tried to believe that through her commitment, belief and faith in the restored Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, she could be whole, saved, and happy. It was insane. She was insane. She wrapped her arms around her waist and held tight. It was a self-soothing gesture she’d done her whole life, when unable to do anything else.
The truth weighed heavily on her heart and pressed into her stomach. It was part of the burden that pushed her atoms down through her feet, into the earth. She wondered if she could really just let go of it. She turned on the tub faucet, and slid out of her garments, the white nylon falling to the tile in a heap. She poured bubbles into the bath and remembered she neglected to shut the door. She did this and watched the tub fill. She ran her hands across her stomach and traced a finger down her stretch marks.
She should have never married Stephen, but she did, and now she had four children and they all left a mark behind. She knew which mark came from each one, and traced her finger across them, remembering. She studied the veins on the insides of her thighs and down her legs. She slipped into the hot water, sank in deep, and rested her head against the edge.
She closed her eyes, wondering. What would her life have been if she’d left with Carmen? Who might she have become? Maybe they would have had kids together. She opened her eyes and stared at the condensation on the shower tiles. Before, she was able to justify her angst with faith in her sacrifice, but that changed. God, who would equate a marriage with sacrifice? Who would make your core, fundamental self a burden to be carried? It was so wrong she couldn’t grasp it. Yet, she lived with it for twenty years.
Since Stephen started working away, Emma had space, and in that space something in her changed. Something stirred deep inside her as it stirred the world. The Soviet Union was collapsing. On Headline News in June, she saw gays marching in parades all over the country. That day, she’d shifted uncomfortably on the couch and thought, silently and powerfully, “Maybe that could be me.” She’d not spoken it aloud, but it teetered around inside her, asking to be expressed, in all its terrifying glory.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she began to sink through her body again as her atoms reorganized themselves. It was late, and she worried about getting the kids up early for church, but then paused. Why should she go to church? She didn’t want to go. She could choose to no longer have her reality defined by Biblical passages and the Book of Mormon. She was awake and uncertain how it happened. She remembered her bishop’s face as he told her on the day of her marriage, “Heavenly Father gives us all challenges. Heavenly Father has a greater plan for us all.” She felt the urge to claw his eyes out with her fingernails. He smiled at her with paternal pandering. He and Stephen talked in the fluorescent hallway, using the hushed voices male Mormons used when talking about things of the priesthood they believed women could not fully understand.
Almost an hour later, she rose from the bath and lifted a towel from the cupboard to dry. She wrapped herself up and went into the bedroom. She picked garments from the dresser and felt furious, threw them on the ground and kicked at them. She opened the door into the backyard, grabbed her robe, and wrapped it around her, striding into the middle of the yard.
Emma stared up at the night sky.
She was humbled by the size and scope of the sky and the gleam of the moon, and the five billion other people who existed with her on the planet. Humbled knowing billions existed before and billions would exist after. She knew nothing of what really was and had lived her entire life not daring to do what she really wanted to do, because of what she was told to do. Why had she done that?
There was a time when life was bright, when she wanted to be alive and live in the world. Once, life was not a burden, but a gift. When she was young, the beating of her heart powered her movements through the world. Now, she listened to it with panic. Life was burden, pain, sacrifice, and resignation. Emma didn’t want that any longer. Air filled her lungs, and her skin tingled.
She walked into the house, pulled off her robe, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, no garments, no bra, and slipped on sandals. She looked in on the kids. They all slept soundly. She quietly lifted her keys from the holder, stepped into the driveway, and locked the door behind her. She started the car and backed out of the driveway, following a familiar route.
She parked in the Ojedas’ driveway. She panicked for a moment, realizing her mom would see her car. Then she dismisse
d the idea. It no longer mattered. At the door, Emma rang the bell. A few agonizing moments passed, then the light flickered on the porch.
The inside wooden door opened, and there was Carmen. Emma said, “Hello.” Carmen watched her, unmoving, and then came back to herself and pushed open the screen door. Emma stepped inside, not sure what to say. Carmen’s arms hung at her sides, unmoving.
Emma raised her hands and dropped them again. Carmen stepped forward, grabbed her, and Emma knotted her fingers in Carmen’s hair as she held her tight. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry I didn’t go with you. I’m so sorry I ruined it for us. Please forgive me.” Carmen’s arms around her were desperate, trying to pull her tighter.
“I should have fought harder for you. I should not have left until you went with me,” Carmen said.
Emma sobbed in her arms and pulled back, placed both hands on her face. “I love you. I’ve never stopped.” Carmen kissed her, silenced her, and they pulled at each other. Emma reveled in the feeling of being who she was and no one else, of being only Emma, with Carmen again. She reveled in the freedom, of losing herself, of groaning and moaning and finding release, again and again. She reveled in the feeling of Carmen’s skin against hers, and with her head thrown back and her body arching, she looked out the open window, into the night sky, and was humbled by how little she understood about being alive, and for these few moments, was in awe of the wonder of it.
Chapter Twenty-one
Sunday, August 25, 1991
Emma closed her eyes as Carmen traced a finger down her face, around her jaw, to her chin. Emma scooted closer, arm around her waist, and placed a kiss on her nose. Carmen said, “I hate to ask, but what comes next? Is it just this, Emma?”
“I’m done. If you ask me to go with you this time, I will. If you still want me. If you can forgive me.” She couldn’t get close enough and so pulled Carmen on top of her, wrapped her arms and legs around her. “I have additional baggage this time around. Three of four still live at home with me.”
Carmen buried her face in her neck. “Tell me about them.”
Emma smiled and moved her hand to Carmen’s face. “Sara is the oldest. She’s at Brigham Young, in school. She wants everything to be perfect all the time but spends all of her time worrying about everyone and everything because deep down she knows it isn’t perfect and so she’s secretly miserable. But she can’t admit it.” Emma kissed Carmen on the cheek, nose, forehead. “She’s going to age prematurely, I think.” She kissed Carmen’s lips, lingering.
“It’s going to take you a long time if you keep pausing to kiss me,” Carmen said. “But I don’t mind.”
“Well, that’s good. Better get used to it.” Emma kissed all over her face in a flurry of movement. Carmen laughed, returning the kisses, nuzzling her neck until Emma moaned.
“Then there’s Sam and Johnna. Twins. Sam is flamboyant and funny. He’s so funny. Johnna is serious, studied, concerned. I expect Johnna to come home one day to tell me she’s gay. I think Sam will figure it out before Johnna and tell her she is. She’s incredibly smart, but is so self-contained, she misses the world around her.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She trailed off. “Then there’s Jacob. He’s quiet, like Johnna. But he loves sports and is really gifted. The only athlete. I need to spend more time with him.”
“Stephen?” Emma grabbed her face when she saw the flash of pain in her eyes.
“Thankfully, far away. God, he’s such a son of a bitch,” Emma said. “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I’m filing for divorce. It’s done. I’m sorry.”
“Do you really think you need to say that to me? To apologize for calling him names?”
“Habit.” Emma smiled through tears. How could Carmen forgive her? Be interested in her children? This was what love looked and felt like. How could she have ever believed anything else?
“Who do the kids look like? You?”
“Sara and Jacob look like Stephen’s side, with dark hair. But Sara has my color eyes. Jacob has brown eyes. Sam and Johnna look like me.” Emma pulled Carmen closer.
Emma willed herself to stop thinking, to concentrate only on Carmen, on the moment. She pressed into her. “Come meet them later today. We’ll go on a picnic or something, enjoy the last remaining days of summer.”
Carmen responded to her pressure. “Do you need to get home?” Emma looked at the clock. Five forty-five a.m. She had time before they woke up.
“I have some more time,” she said, running her hands down Carmen’s back. Carmen mumbled something into her neck, and Emma laughed. “What?”
“I said that’s good because I’m not finished yet.” Emma shuddered at her breath on her neck and her intention and relaxed, submitting.
“Do whatever you want. You have an hour.”
* * *
Emma drove home with the windows down. The air was crisp, but she liked how it felt moving over her skin. Every nerve in her body was alive. She ran her hands through her hair. The gravel of the driveway crunched under the tires. She paused for a moment to revel in the morning. Everything would be different now. She opened the back door to the house.
Johnna was watching television, with Flower curled up next to her. “Grandma called. She wanted to talk to you. She sounded really wound up.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago. I told her you were still sleeping.” Johnna looked at her from the corner of her eyes.
“You didn’t need to lie.”
“I didn’t know what was going on.” She paused and turned to face her. “What is going on?”
“Nothing. I just needed to get out, take care of some things.” Emma knew she didn’t accept it. “Johnna, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Johnna said.
“Later, let’s go on a picnic. I’d like you all to meet an old friend of mine.” Johnna stretched.
“I’m going back to bed.” Emma watched her and Flower walk away.
Emma picked up the phone and dialed her mother. After a single ring, she answered. “Emma?”
“Johnna told me you called.”
“I thought I saw your car at the Ojedas’ this morning when I got the paper. Johnna said you were still sleeping.”
“You did.”
“What?”
“You did see my car. I was there,” Emma said.
“What were you doing there?”
“You know, I’ve given birth to four children. I’ve managed to take care of myself for quite some time now. Understand when I tell you to mind your own business. I mean it.” Emma twirled the phone cord in her fingers and smiled. The tightness around her chest lessened, and the air she breathed felt new.
“Emma, I think you need to call Stephen. He needs to not travel so much, come home.”
“I’m going to call Stephen. To tell him I want a divorce. I’ll let you know how it goes.” Emma smiled, proud of herself, and felt a bit reckless.
“Emma, you’re not thinking straight. You’ve had a stressful year, with Sara leaving for college, Stephen gone.”
“Mom, I love you. But buckle down, you’re about to have one hell of a year.” Emma hung up the phone and climbed into bed. She figured she had about thirty minutes to sleep before her mom showed up, and so nestled down under the covers, strangely at peace.
* * *
Emma felt her mother’s presence before she said anything. She opened her eyes “Hi, Mom.”
Her mother was on the foot of the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Sleeping?”
“Don’t be cute. You know what I mean.”
“No, Mom, I don’t.” Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Emma, you are not thinking clearly. Get up, get dressed, and let’s go to church. You can talk to the bishop.”
Emma laughed, bending forward. “You’re kidding me.” Her mother stared at her. “You think that will fix it?” She went into the bathroom. “I need to shower, get dressed.” She stripped off
her clothes, started the water, pulled back the shower curtain, and climbed inside.
Her mother followed her into the bathroom. “You’re being ridiculous. What are you going to do? Move in with her?” She spat this out. “The minute I heard she was coming back here, I knew there would be trouble. She’s no good. She’s always made you do things.” Emma laughed. “What is so funny?”
“You make me do things. Dad makes me do things. Stephen makes me do things. It’s ironic that the only person who has never made me do anything I didn’t want to do is the one person you can’t stand.” Emma finished rinsing off. “Hand me a towel.” Her mother handed it over the shower curtain. Emma dried off.
“Mom, stay out of it. It can be nice and easy, or it can be rough. It’s really your choice. This is sort of like a hostage situation. I can make it an international incident, or I can handle it quietly, making sure no cameras are rolling. But if you get in my way, everyone in this town will know by nightfall that your beautiful only child is leaving her husband for a woman.”
She pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out. She stood in front of her mother naked. “I’m tired of it, Mom. You ruined me. You ruined my life, but I know I was a willing accomplice. Now I’m done being a willing accomplice. So, with whatever time I have left, I’m going to do what I want.” She moved closer to her mom. “I suppose the reconditioning you sent me for so many years ago kind of wore off, huh?” She hissed this at her mother and turned away. Emma hadn’t realized she was this angry. Her heart pounded in her chest.
“I don’t know why you’d do this to me and your father, and your kids. Poor Stephen.” Her mother began to cry.
“The kids will be fine because I love them. And as far as Stephen goes, well, he’s fucked me for the last time.”
“Emma. Your language,” her mother said, crying. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“This has nothing to do with you or Dad. Stay out of it.”