Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Did Prophet Green’s sermon inspire anything in you, Jimmy?” Mrs. Cloutier says to her son over brunch. I sink behind my stack of pancakes in hopes that she doesn’t ask me next.
His sermon was about the evils of consumerism and mall culture.
He compared shoppers to the Pac-Man creatures in the arcade games, with the game’s ghosts representing the temptations that will steal your soul.
He started with the Rated-R movies at the theater and went down the hall of stores, bashing every single one.
Nothing was off-limits. Even KB Toys was deemed immoral due to scantily clad Barbie dolls.
I thought International Swimmer Barbie should be in a red, white, and blue bathing suit, but what do I know?
The whole sermon made me squirm in my seat between Jimmy and my parents.
The more nods in the crowd, the more I wanted to run away.
To me, the mall represents freedom, expression, and my dreams of the future.
Teens have a place to socialize, experiment with their look, and learn about food and technology.
I’ve learned more about people working in the food court than I ever did at school.
The place I work is nothing like the place described in today’s sermon.
Yes, there is a ton of advertising…but how else would the mall stay open?
Whether it’s air conditioning for the homeless on a summer day or a safe place for dating, the mall provides the whole community with a service.
“That I shouldn’t waste my money on the arcade?” Jimmy squeaks.
“But you love those games!” I blurt out.
Mrs. Courtier’s fork hits her plate with a clatter.
For someone who doesn’t believe in fashion, she’s meticulously put together.
Only AquaNet would keep her hair so tall after such an outburst. Her floral dress is from the mall, too.
I saw it in one of the shop windows two weeks ago.
I guess she could phone-order it from a catalog, but then she wouldn’t have it for months. Her fashion would be delayed.
My father clears his throat and glares down at me before I can say more.
I silently plead with Jimmy to stand up to his mother…if not for me, then for his dream to create arcade games. His idea of lizards catching different colored bugs with super-long tongues will be a hit game someday. I believe in him.
“Jenny, hush,” hisses my father. “Be sweet.”
“I do—did love those games,” Jimmy says, amending his sentence after he catches his mother’s scowl. “But perhaps it would be better to use my talents for more Godly work since they come from God in the first place.”
Bastard can’t even look me in the eye as he lies.
How could anyone think this worm is the man for me?
Love won’t grow between two souls as mismatched as ours.
I was so stupid to believe I could get lost in their brown depths.
There’s no depth to this man! If there was, he’d have a backbone!
He swishes his eggs around as if they’ve unscrambled and he needs to fix them.
I bet there’s smoke coming out of my ears.
Jimmy will graduate with a computer science degree next year.
He doodles characters all over his notebooks.
The plan is for us to move to New York, where he can take classes in art—maybe get a master’s degree in graphics—while I pound the pavement in my shoulder pads…
until I get pregnant. Then I will be chained to the house like a parolee, and he’ll make the arcade games he loves while I keep the homefires burning. At least, that was the plan.
“Jenny, pull your neckline straight, so it covers your bra strap,” my mother whispers in my ear. “You look like a tramp on the prowl for customers.”
“What else, Jimmy?” His mother asks, waving her fork at us.
He stops swishing to look at his mother.
His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out.
Why doesn’t he fight for his dream? He must not have wanted to be a videogame designer as much as he told me he did…
or is too cowardly to stand up to her. What does the woman want?
She already crushed his dream and ruined our future. What else can she take from him?
“That I shouldn’t spend my free time in the mall?” His voice cracks on the word free. Has he ever been free? Will I be free if I marry him? While I haven’t enjoyed the freedom of Lisa or my friends at school, my parents have always kept me on a relatively loose leash.
“Exactly,” she says, nodding in triumph.
She takes a sip of her orange juice while letting Jimmy digest what he has just sentenced himself to.
“I’m happy I won’t have to convince you to quit that RadioShack job.
Prophet Green suggested that you create a program to organize the parish members’ contacts into a workable…
thingy. Doesn’t that sound like a thrilling challenge? ”
“A database? He wants their information entered into a searchable database?”
“See? I told him you were clever enough to help him. You would be doing God’s work—”
“Entering data is what I’m learning in my typing classes. Jimmy’s talents—” My mother stomps on my foot under the table. I know it’s bad form to upstage my betrothed’s talents by insisting I have them too, but the point has to be made that this project is beneath him.
“Then you can step in as soon as Jimmy makes the Base of Data,” Mrs. Courtier finishes my sentence with a smirk. “No need for you to work at the mall either. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Brown agree that having you kids working for the church is safer than in that evil mall.”
“What will we do when the data is entered? It’s not a job—that’s a summer project. I need a steady income to live,” I say, pressing my palms against the white tablecloth so I don’t sock her in the mouth.
“You won’t when you move in with Charlie and me—will they, Charlie?” She pauses half a breath for her husband to answer her, but he’s too busy shoveling pancakes in his mouth. He doesn’t look too sorry to have his mouth full when she turns her overbearing glare on him.
“I won’t give up my independence,” I shout.
“Your what? You’re a woman,” she yells.
“Now, Judy—” At least my mother comes to my rescue. She may agree with Mrs. Courtier, but she won’t allow her to berate me in public.
“You’ve indulged her too much, Mary Ann. I’ve held my tongue, but you heard the prophet this morning. She’s been poisoned with consumerism and needs a spiritual detox. Women needing financial independence? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. That’s what husbands are for…”
“Jenny, come on,” Jimmy whispers. “There’s no use arguing. She’s just reminding us what’s right.”
“What was that, Jimmy?” I yell and whip my napkin against his shoulder.
“Did you have something to add? Our life is being dictated by your mother, and it’s nothing like what we decided.
Are you going to tell her the truth? Are you going to stand up for us?
That’s what I think a husband is for. I don’t want a man just to face the big, bad world for me.
I want him to create structure and lead our family with a solid backbone!
Tell her, Jimmy, about the structure you proposed for our family…
how you will lead us to make your dream come true. Tell her, Jimmy!”
The whole restaurant goes silent except for a baby crying somewhere.
The people in the booths around the perimeter of the room are engrossed in our conversation.
I swear the wait staff skirts the edges of the room so as not to block the view of our table.
My sobs echo off the vaulted ceilings despite the napkin covering my face.
Jimmy pats my back but remains silent.
I elbow his arm away. If he doesn’t have the strength to stand up for me, he doesn’t get to touch me.
Var’n would have told her exactly where to stick her plan.
Then his mini-selves would have beaten up Jimmy for being such a coward.
I’d probably be spanked for not asking to stay, and if he didn’t choose to at first, I’d provoke him until he did.
That’s what I mean by structure. If I fought with Var’n, he’d spank me, followed by compromises and cuddles.
I always knew where I stood—at the center of his universe.
I guess I know where I stand with Jimmy, too—at the back of the line of people who control him.
Even if we lived in our own apartment, with jobs independent of the church, I still don’t believe I could mold Jimmy into the man I want.
A strong, dominant man isn’t made by his wife or mother.
He’s born into it, shaped by his father, and learns to be an alpha male on his own terms. I can’t imagine Var’n taking orders from me, much less an alien mother.
I smother my giggle with my napkin. Hopefully, it sounds like another sob.
“Jenny, I think you have had enough excitement for one morning. You should excuse yourself from the table,” my father says, throwing his napkin on his plate.
“Nothing must be decided at brunch,” Mom says, wrapping her arm awkwardly around my shoulders. “I’m sure God will provide the path for the youngsters. They have their whole life to fulfill their purpose.”
“Mary Ann, you know as well as I do that Jenny’s clock is ticking.
She won’t be fertile forever. It’s past the time they had their affairs in order.
Why, I married Charles a week after high school graduation.
We had the prophet’s blessing and our degrees, so there was no reason to wait.
Perhaps allowing them to wait has been what’s holding them back. ”
Is it too much to ask for the floor to swallow me whole?
Not only have I proven myself to be a hysterical spaz with my outburst and sobs, but now the table is weighing in on my fertility with the restaurant in rapt attention.
My heart pounds as panic squeezes my ribs.
I lower the napkin in case that’s what’s impeding my breathing.
My fist rubs my chest, catching on the implant from Var’n.
Is it too much for him to beam me up? I know he's a stickler for consent, and I didn’t ask to stay, but couldn’t he miss me so much that he takes advantage?
Oh no, what will happen on my wedding night if Jimmy finds the implant?
We will wear modesty shifts, so he won’t see the metal disc, but he could feel it if he reaches upward.
Do men feel their wives’ bodies, or do they focus on the business end of things?
Var’n wanted to touch me everywhere and see every inch of my skin.
He loved looking at me and wanted me to love my body too.
What would Jimmy say if I refused a modest shift?
Would he die of embarrassment if I stripped off my clothes and presented my cunt to him?
The wastoid would probably tattle to his mommy if I even said the word cunt, let alone showed him mine.
That’s a thought. I could just scream it at the top of my lungs, and this sham marriage wouldn’t ever reach the altar.
Could I do that to my parents? They truly believe that if I don’t marry Jimmy, I won’t go to heaven, and their grandchildren won’t go either.
In their minds, we will be left behind when the rapture comes to take us in the year 2000.
Come to think about it, the prophet describes rapture like being beamed into Var’n’s ship. The light, the rising, the heaven above Earth… I sigh. Even the ladies who weren’t lucky enough to know Var’n as his pet had their own kind of rapture.
Giggle. Oh, blasphemous me!
“Jenny, this isn’t funny,” Jimmy whispers.
“Why is it you can scold me for giggling, but you can’t stand up to your mother before she ruins our future?”
“Jenny!” My mother’s gasp accompanies Mrs. Courtier’s yelling of my name.
“Jenny, you must respect your elders,” Father scolds. “Apologize to Mrs. Courtier and Jimmy.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Well, I couldn’t allow my Jimmy to marry someone so wicked,” Mrs. Courtier says with a smirk that betrays her confidence that she’s won.
“Then don’t,” I say, rising from my chair. “It’s not my loss to be single. I’m whole on my own. If you would please excuse me, Mother and Father, but I’m tired and have a long bike ride to my apartment.”
I don’t look back as I stomp out of the restaurant.
The hostess applauds as I pass her stand.
The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen years old.
I hope she’s not stuck in my position, or if she is, that she remembers I stormed my way out.
There will be fallout with my parents for this little production, but I’ve made my choice.
I’m not marrying Jimmy. Even if I never see Var’n again, even if it means I’m forced out of my church, I owe it to myself to find a new path.
Var’n taught me to love myself more than the opinions of others.
It’s none of their business how I take care of myself—just that I do.
My fist rips the silver cross from my neck.
It goes sailing down a sewer drain when I toss it aside.
I stand a little taller at the bike rack because I bought the bike that I will ride to my apartment.
It’s my blood, sweat, and tears over the fryer that has funded my existence, not Jimmy or his family.
I’ll never forget that I’m a material girl in a material world…
now and after their Y2K rapture to heaven.