by Doyle, K. T.
His eyes were shallow and murky and sad. “I—I don’t know.”
I inched closer to him. “Is it for revenge?”
“No.” His voice was soft and his breath was warm on my face. “It was never about revenge.” He stroked my hair.
A tingly sensation arose in my lower abdomen. “What are we going to do, Matt?”
He smirked. There was a glow again in his green eyes. He stroked my back and kissed my cheek and neck.
At that moment, I hoped hell didn’t exist for those who didn’t believe. But if it did, if there was a spot in hell for every bad person on Earth, I was convinced I had earned a position in line. And if I didn’t ever get a chance to meet Christine while I was alive, I would once I passed on. Matt would introduce me to Christine for the very first time in the fiery depths of hell.
I closed my eyes and repeated a verse from Proverbs. “‘The wicked will be cut off from the land, and the unfaithful will be torn from it’.”
Matt cradled my face in his hands and forced himself on me. I didn’t resist. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
As he pushed me down to the ground it occurred to me: Matthew Levine wasn’t in love with just anyone. In Christine, he had found his own Mary Magdalene.
So what the hell did that make me?
II.
A crisp, late-Autumn wind smacked my face as I descended the last step of the school bus. I lowered my head and balled my hands into fists inside my pockets as I walked. Red and orange and yellow leaves swirled at my feet and the breeze blew my hair into knots.
It was 3:30 on a Monday afternoon. I had only two hours to spend at the library until my mother would start worrying if I’d be home in time for dinner.
There was no need to greet the librarian when I entered. I had been there several times already, and she had grown accustomed to my focused attention each time as I ignored her on my way to the shelves. Anything more than a head nod or a smile at this point would seem out of character.
Reading passages from any one of the five books I found on my very first visit to the library would certainly make two hours pass quickly.
I grabbed the one that questioned the validity and importance of Christianity written by a professor. That book was my favorite.
I walked over to my table, sat down in my chair, and started to read.
I read about the European Christian Crusaders who, during the 11-13th centuries, marched east across Mesopotamia to reclaim the lands from the Muslims in the name of God. Their main goal was to peacefully convert the people to Christianity, but oftentimes, bloody battles ensued. Countless Muslims, Christians, and even Jews, were slaughtered. The riches of the land were stolen, temples were plundered, homes—and sometimes whole cities—were destroyed.
The Catholic Church, for the most part, condemned such violence. But this didn’t stop the European soldiers from fighting for the cause that promised them, most notably by Pope Innocent III during his reign in the 12th century, direct passage into heaven.
What started as a “crusade” in the name of God devolved into thievery, war and murder.
And what of this Pope Innocent III? During his reign he declared himself ruler of the world. He sought to bring justice to Christian heretics, namely the Cathars in France, who didn’t believe that Jesus was the all-powerful Son of God. The Pope offered them an ultimatum: quit spreading your unorthodox practices or die. Unrelenting, the Cathars were eventually beheaded after the Catholic Church launched a bloody crusade against them.
Through the ages, there had been countless examples of people who hadn’t taken their religious vows very seriously. They lied, cheated, stole and murdered, all in the name of God. But it was the Popes in Rome, however, supposedly the holiest men of all, people like Innocent III, who were guilty of some of the most atrocious sins of all.
Take Giuliano della Rovere, for example. He became Pope Julius II in 1508, having secured his position and ensured a positive outcome by offering bribes to his colleagues. He broke his vow of chastity, fathering three daughters and keeping several mistresses. He taxed the Roman citizens needlessly and ruthlessly in order to make the church rich—an attempt to build back up the glory and power of the papacy. He attempted to reclaim sovereignty of Papal States who were in revolt against the church, in an effort to exercise and secure his political right as a monarch.
Nepotism gave Giuliano della Rovere an advantage in the church hierarchy, bribery secured his position as Pope Julius II, and despotism ensured his lasting religious and political power.
I closed the book and looked at my watch. 4:45 p.m. I stretched and yawned and decided it was time to go home.
…
It was a dark walk home from the library. The sun had set and there were few street lamps to light the way.
I should have pulled my gloves out of storage and put them in my coat pocket that morning before leaving for school. The wind had not let up, and it felt more like January than early November. I could deal with a frozen face and a shivering body, but I absolutely hate having cold hands. I made a mental note to buy warmer gloves for the winters I would spend at Kilmore University—if that was, if fact, where I was going.
I had yet to receive acknowledgment from the school about my application. I had mailed all the forms the day after I filled them out, way back in August. What was taking so long?
Kilmore was the only school I applied to, so I was hoping to be accepted, or else I’d be in trouble. I’d have to scramble to apply to other colleges, if it wasn’t already too late.
I was feeling confident, though. I believed I’d get into Kilmore, and that I was destined to go there. In the back of my mind I felt it was just a matter of waiting to hear yes.
When I walked in the front door my mother was in the kitchen pulling a meatloaf out of the oven. My father sat at the kitchen table reading the daily paper, his fingers lightly stained black from ink. A silver cross necklace peeked through his flannel shirt.
I dropped heavily into my chair at the kitchen table. “Dinner ready?”
“Almost,” my mother said. She poked at the meatloaf with a fork. “At the library again, my dear?”
“Yeah.”
My father looked up over top of the newspaper at me. “Take off your coat and stay awhile.”
I hung my coat on the back of the chair.
“What are you researching this time?” he asked.
“Stuff.”
“Hear that, Claudia? Alex is researching stuff.” He winked at me.
My mother poured a cup of milk for me, a glass of water for my father, and a mug of coffee for herself. She put each of the three containers at our respective places at the table. “Sounds interesting,” she said.
My father folded his newspaper and put it on the floor. “Isn’t that what you were researching last time? I sure hope that once you get to Kilmore you’ll study more than just stuff.” He smiled at me, letting me know he was kidding. But I already knew.
“If I get into Kilmore,” I said. “I haven’t been accepted yet.”
My mother put three plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes on the table, and then sat down to join us. “Paul, don’t keep her in suspense any longer. Tell her.”
I looked over at my father. He had a closed-lipped grin on his face. For years I thought that look meant he was happy. On that night I realized it meant he was hiding something.
“Tell me what?” I severed off a piece of meatloaf with my fork and dipped it in the mashed potatoes.
My father reached underneath his place mat and slid a letter across the table to me. “This came for you in the mail today.”
The return address said Kilmore University, Admissions Office. My heart beat faster and my stomach churned. I took a sip of milk with shaky hands.
“Well? Go ahead and open it,” my mother said.
I tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter.
Dear Miss Harrison,
Thank you for your recent inquiry in
regards to becoming a student of Kilmore University for the fall 1993 semester. We are pleased to announce that you have been accepted. Congratulations!
If you choose to attend our institution, please fill out the enclosed contract form and mail it back to us in the postage paid envelope by Friday, May 14, 1993. This will allow us to begin the process of course and dormitory assignment.
If you decide to attend Kilmore University in the fall, please be aware of the following information:
Classes will begin Monday, August 23, 1993. We have noted your major of interest is English within the College of Liberal Arts. Within the next several months you will receive a packet of information containing financial aid information, your fall semester courses, as well as a dorm room assignment and move-in information.
On behalf of the entire university, we wish you the best of luck in your collegiate experience. We’re confident that all your educational needs will be met at Kilmore University, and that attendance here will have a positive impact on the quality of your life. We hope to see you in the fall!
Regards,
The Admissions Office
Kilmore University
I folded the letter, stuffed it back inside the envelope, and tossed it on the place mat across the table from me.
“Well? What does the letter say?” my mother asked.
I spoke through a mouthful of meatloaf. “It says I’ve been accepted.”
My mother put down her fork and clasped her hands together. “That’s fantastic, Alex! Congratulations!”
I contained my happiness and anxiety. “Thanks.”
My mother looked down the table at my father. “Isn’t that wonderful, Paul?”
My father’s hand shook slightly as he held the fork. He chewed his food through a closed-lipped grin. He swallowed and then said, “That’s great, honey. Congratulations.”
For the rest of the meal all three of us were silent.
Twenty minutes later our meal was done. My mother jumped up to clear the dishes. My father resumed reading the newspaper. I sat swiveling in my chair, deep in thought, tugging at my bottom lip.
Being accepted to college was a big deal. It meant moving on to a new chapter in my life. Starting over. Experiencing new things. Meeting new people. I should’ve been excited about that.
But college also meant leaving everything and everyone I knew behind. Things I’d grown accustomed to. People I cared about.
You’d think I’d be glad to leave some things behind. Like the memory of the pain I felt when my heart was broken for the first time. The remorse that sometimes crept into my brain for giving my virginity to a loser. The waxing and waning anger I didn’t know what to do with for a God I didn’t think existed. The pity I couldn’t help but feel for my parents’ marital struggles.
How could I leave those things behind? Those negative emotions had become a part of me, and I had grown accustomed to the occasional physical implications of their presence—a lump in my throat here, a pit in my stomach there.
I should’ve reveled in the opportunity to lose the baggage and walk away from all that was wrong and bad in my life.
Instead, it scared me to death.
My father poured himself a cup of coffee and rejoined me at the table. He dumped in two spoonfuls of sugar and some milk, stirred quickly and took a sip. My mother stood at the sink with her back to us, loading dishes into the dishwasher.
My father cleared his throat. “Says in the paper it’s going to snow tomorrow.” He took another sip of coffee.
“Just fucking great,” I said. “Now I’ll definitely have to pull my winter stuff out of storage.”
My mother had finished doing the dishes and was giving the table a few swipes with a dishrag. “Alexandra! Watch your language. Is that what you’re learning in school these days?”
“No, she’s learning stuff,” my father corrected her. He winked at me again.
That joke had grown cold. I rolled my eyes at him and resisted the urge to rip the cross from around his neck.
“You’re a college girl now,” my mother said. “We have to go shopping. You’ll need a lot of things for your dorm room.”
More sappy mother and daughter bonding moments at the mall? No thanks. I’d had my fill of those. Shopping for college wasn’t on my short-term radar. Something that was on my short-term radar? As in, at that very moment? Sudden anxiety in the pit of my gut churning my stomach into knots. At any moment I thought I might unwillingly regurgitate meatloaf onto the kitchen floor.
“I’m not a college kid yet,” I said.
“You will be soon,” my mother said. “It’ll be here before you know it.”
I sighed. “It’s not that big a deal.”
She finished drying off the table and looked down at me. “Nothing is ever a big deal to you, is it?”
I shrugged. “You make a bigger deal out of everything than is necessary.”
My father buried his face in the newspaper. He must have sensed an argument was brewing.
“I do not,” she said. “All I’m saying is that sooner or later you’re going to need to buy stuff for college.” She flashed a look at my father, throwing his joke back in his face.
“Understood. Just let me get through high school first, okay?” I said. “Can I go now? I’ve got homework.”
“Yes, go.”
I stood to leave.
“One last thing,” my mother said. “Stop using such filthy language.”
“Fuck? That’s nothing. Wait until I get to college. That’s what college is all about.”
“Cursing?”
“Yep.”
“I should hope not.”
“Whatever.”
“We’re not spending thousands of dollars just so you can waste four years of your life.”
“Sure you are,” I said, beaming a mischievous grin at her. “You’re paying for college so I can smoke and drink and use filthy language whenever I want.”
“Good grief!”
“What? It’s a joke. Lighten up. Get a grip.”
Her nostrils flared and her face turned pink. “Why do you always…”
My mother didn’t finish her sentence. She threw her towel down on the table and rushed past me out of the kitchen.
I sank back into the kitchen chair. “Just fucking great.”
My father folded up the newspaper again and laid it down in front of him. He peered at me over his glasses and heaved a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“For what?” I pointed in the direction in which my mother had run off. “Her? Don’t apologize for her.”
“No, I’m sorry about…what I did…to this family.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know why I…I mean, I didn’t want…”
I had never seen my father in a position of such weakness. Seeing him squirm, listening to him try to beg for my forgiveness, if that’s what he was attempting to do. It was more than I could handle. I didn’t ever want to see him as anything less than the strong father I knew him to be.
“Dad, don’t. It’s okay.”
“It’s affected you, I know.”
I shrugged.
“And your mother,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Stop. Please.”
“Okay. Just know that I love you and things will get better.”
The relationship a magician has with his assistant is special. It takes courage and faith and trust on the part of the assistant, and the ability, on the part of the magician, to take those three elements and create magic. Sometimes, the magician and the assistant become so in sync with each other that few words are needed. They’ve memorized each other’s role, and know each other so well, that they just know when it is their turn to act.
That’s how I felt about my father, the magic carpenter. All those nights he spent hunched over his workbench while I, his assistant, always stood faithfully beside him. Over time, as I watched him build so many things, I learned to sense and anticipat
e whatever it was he needed. Eventually, words were unnecessary. When he held out his hand, I knew.
That’s where I was at that moment when my father sat at the kitchen table looking at me. I was down in his workshop, covered in sawdust, clasping tools of his trade for dear life in my dainty, little hands.
When I emerged at the top of the basement steps dirty and happy and laughing, holding the finished piece of magic in my hand, I was no longer five or eight or ten years old. I was suddenly seventeen again. My father was there to greet me. He looked older and wiser, with lines on his face, and he had wood chips in his thinning gray hair.
He hadn’t been ensnared by God after all. He’d been helped by him. My father had been lost and confused like me, searching, like me, for something or someone to believe in. And he had found it in God.
My father was sorry for what he did and the pain his infidelity had caused. In that moment when he sat at the kitchen table looking at me, no words were needed.
I knew.
“Things will get better,” he repeated. “I promise.”
I looked at him. “I know.”
“You know I was just kidding earlier, right? I don’t care what you wind up studying or learning or doing in college. Whatever it is, it will be worth every penny.” He winked at me.
I smiled. “I know.”
As my father smiled at me in return, the anger and pity I had for him suddenly melted away with the realization that no matter what, I’d always have him in my corner. And whether I liked it or not, he believed in the power of prayer. But that was okay because, more importantly, my father believed in me.
And I believed in him.
CHAPTER 14
I.
I sat in the middle of Matt’s bed with my knees curled up to my chest. Matt sat on the floor opposite me, leaning against Ted’s bed. He stared bleary-eyed off into space.
“How’s Christine?” I asked.
“Fine, I guess.”
