This amazing warmth creeps up
my spine, and on a total whim I dial
his number. Will he answer? Will—
Hello? Is this really you, Whitney?
Oh, girl, I’m so happy you called.
He remembers me. “Hey, Bryn?
I can’t talk very long . . . kinda messed
up. Gonna sleep soon. Jus’ wan’ you
to know I miss you. It’s crazy, cuz,
I mean, you fucked me up good.
But I do miss you. ’Member the beach?”
Sliding in and out now, still I hear,
I’ll never forget the beach, Whit.
God, you were stunning, all long
brown legs in that white skirt.
“Hey, Bryn? I don’ wan’ back
in the life. But could you maybe
bring me a li’l taste of the Lady?
Jus’ a li’l. I could meet you. . . .”
Jus’ wanna see his face
one more time.
It’s Early Afternoon
By the time I ascend from
a deep pit of sleep, head
pounding and disoriented.
What did I do again? Guys.
Right. The movie. James.
Thump-thump. Agh! Make
it stop. Thinking hurts. Why?
Now it all whirls back.
The truck. The beer bottle.
A nice kiss or two. Ambien.
Bryn. Bryn? Oh my God, did
I talk to Bryn? Did I ask him
to score some H for me, or
was that only a dream? No.
Not a dream. We’re supposed
to meet up tomorrow. What
the fuck have I done? I pull
myself from bed. As soon as I
stand, the room somersaults.
I barely make it to the bathroom
on time and as I empty bile
into the toilet, stink sweating
and skull beating pain, a trill
of excitement trembles through
my veins. I’m going to see
Bryn again! And visit the Lady.
I just have to fake my way
through this day first.
A Couple of Days Before Christmas
Gives me the perfect excuse
to do two things—go shopping
alone, and take money out of
my bank account. Do I feel
guilty? Yeah, a little. But I’ll
be careful with the H, no needles
or pipes, just a whiff now and then,
when the crazy shit takes over.
Mom drops me at the mall
midmorning, promises to pick
me up in three hours. As I watch
her drive away, regret plucks.
Still, I go inside, and the moment
I see Bryn, smiling exactly the way
he did the first day we met, every
last bit of guilt vanishes. He doesn’t
wait for me to reach him, but rushes
straight toward me and for one
ridiculous instant, I’m scared.
But his hug is friendly. Loving.
Wow. You look great. So happy
you called. I never thought
I’d see you again. Hey, I’ve got
the stuff. Let’s take a drive.
When I start to protest, he kisses
me silent. We can’t do this here.
Just a quick stop at the beach?
How can I say no?
A Poem by Joan Streit
How Can I Say No
To my child—tell her
she can’t come home,
she doesn’t belong
here—my flesh and
blood
daughter? When you
give your full measure
of love to the Lord, it
isn’t
permissible to sidestep
his laws, no matter what
your heart whispers. Eden has
always
been willful, and when she met
her punishments with stonewall
stares, I wondered if she was
thicker
than most. Spare the rod,
spoil the child, as God would
have. That’s how I was raised,
and I knew no better way
than
that to bring my girls up right.
Some might think I could have
been kinder, a cool drink of
water
to soothe their thirsting souls.
I say it takes a scalding tap
to scrub sin away.
Eden
Forgiveness
Is the most precious thing
in the world. God’s forgiveness
tends to be expected by believers.
Taken for granted, really.
I knew God had forgiven me
the moment I heard him speak
through the priest who’d heard
of this place and sent me here.
A Bible story is embedded in
my brain: A woman, caught
in the act of adultery, was brought
before Jesus by the Pharisees,
who told him Moses would have
had her stoned to death. What
would he do? This was a test,
of course, but rather than interfere
with their laws, Jesus said, He that
is without sin among you, let him
first cast a stone at her. Instead,
they left, one by one, leaving her
there alone with Jesus, who told
her he did not condemn her, only
she was to go and sin no more.
I never feared God’s condemnation.
It was Andrew’s that terrified me.
I Told Him Everything
I’ve had a long time to think
about a partial confession.
But keeping secrets from Andrew
would be the same as lying
to him, and that I can never do.
Some of what I said stung.
A powerful hurt reflected in
his eyes. He listened without
comment until the very end,
hanging his head once in a while.
But I didn’t stop until every
ugly truth gurgled out, bubbles
in a cauldron, and I really thought
he’d tell me, “Sorry for your trouble.
Been nice knowing you.” But no.
Instead, he kneeled in front
of me, laid his chin on my knees,
and I understood his pain was
for himself. Oh, Eden. If I’d had
any idea your mother was capable
of such cruelty, I would’ve risked
prison and taken you away
in a heartbeat. Now all I can do
is try and make it up to you.
Can you ever forgive me?
He Asked Me
To forgive him. I was stunned.
Still am. His heart is huge, and
he swears it belongs to me forever,
no matter what. We just have to
figure out where we go from here.
The notarized, signed emancipation
papers arrived. We filed them
right away and got a court date
after the first of the year. Now the
hearing notice has to be served
on my parents. Shouldn’t be hard.
Papa—no, Pastor Streit—is well
known in Boise. I haven’t heard
back from Marlene about Elko
County. Sarah warned me that
the wheels of bureaucracy turn
slowly, but tomorrow is Christmas.
I can’t imagine spending it locked
up at Tears of Zion. Oh, and Eve
must be so cold! Those rooms
were like ovens in the summ
er.
They must be like freezers when snow’s
on the ground. Thinking about
it makes me so angry! I wish
there was something I could do.
I Never Would Have Imagined
Spending Christmas at a place
like Walk Straight, either. Much
like Thanksgiving, most of the girls
don’t have wonderful holiday
memories, but I do have a few.
With Papa being a pastor,
Christmas took on even deeper
meaning, and we did it in style
when I was little. Not that we had
a lot of gifts. My parents didn’t
believe in them. This is Jesus’s
birthday, not yours, Mama told
us. Still, we always had a lovely
tree, and the carols filled me
with happiness. The presents
we did receive were usually
clothes, and something new
to wear was a rare thing. Right
now, I’d love a sweater or pair
of jeans that no one else wore first.
There will be a Christmas party
here, with excellent food and
communion. But one day, I will
celebrate the holidays with Andrew,
in a home of our own. What a dream!
Another Tradition
My family adhered to—
because as pastor, Papa
pretty much had to—was
Christmas Eve church
services. I asked Sarah
for permission to attend
a local service tonight,
and not only did she agree,
but she also said it was okay
for Andrew to come along.
He’s been at a nearby motel
for several days, but will
have to go back to Boise soon,
to start the new semester.
He picks me up in a rented
car—a small sedan, very unlike
anything he drives back home.
It’s not much to look at, he
apologizes, but it’s comfortable.
Where to, beautiful lady?
“I thought it would be proper
to say thank you to the priest
at Guardian Angel Cathedral.
He’s the one who helped me.
I don’t know much about
Catholic protocol, though,
so you’ll have to help me
out.” I give him directions
and he starts the car, after
a Christmas Eve kiss.
I haven’t been to Mass in
a very long time, you know.
But I’m grateful to the priest
who helped you, and I’m happy
to thank him personally.
It’s about a fifteen-minute
drive, plenty of time to talk.
Andrew’s been thinking,
he says, and he wants me
to consider something carefully.
I know your emancipation
is underway. But I don’t want
us to be apart for another year.
I looked into transferring
to the university here, but
the logistics are a nightmare.
Besides, my mom still needs
my help at the ranch, and to tell
you the truth, I can’t imagine
living in this city. I’d do it for you.
But I’m wondering if there
isn’t a better way. We’ve been
driving along Charleston Blvd,
and make a right turn down
the strip. I haven’t been anywhere
near this part of the city since
I moved into Walk Straight,
and my discomfort grows as we
approach the big casinos. My voice
is thick when I ask, “Like what?”
Please don’t think I’m crazy,
because I’ve thought and thought
about this, especially as it regards
your sister. What if we approach
your parents directly? Sarah’s right.
It’s possible they don’t realize
exactly what’s going on at Tears
of Zion. Your mother is a harpy,
for sure, but that doesn’t mean
she can’t be reasoned with.
“You can’t be serious! When she
was here, she wouldn’t even talk
to me except to tell me, yet again,
how I’m damned to eternal hell.
She doesn’t know what reason is.”
The Cathedral
Is only a block off the strip,
behind the Encore. Andrew
pulls into the parking lot
a few minutes before the four p.m.
Mass is scheduled to begin.
I start to open the car door,
but he stops me. Wait. I want
to give you your Christmas
present before we go inside.
He reaches into his jacket
pocket. Sorry I didn’t wrap
it, but I figured you wouldn’t
care. Out comes his closed fist,
which he opens slowly. Centered
in his palm is a gold ring with
three square diamonds, two
small stones flanking a larger
one in the middle. It’s my mom’s,
but she wants you to have it.
Will you marry me, Eden?
“I . . . uh . . .” The air is being
sucked from the car. Either that,
or I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
“Are . . . are you sure?” He erases
the space between us, kisses me
gently. I’m one hundred percent
positive. There is no one in the world
but you for me. We’re young, I know.
But if our love has survived the past
eight months, eight years or eighty
can’t possibly destroy it. I want you
to be my wife, and I want us to live
together out in the country, far, far
away from this city and its memories.
You don’t belong here any more
than I do. You can have a career
if you want one. In fact, I’ll help you
through college. Or you can stay
home and raise a bunch of kids.
Or colts. Or puppies. So . . . ?
I can’t comprehend how we’ll work
it out, but I know we’ve got to try.
The idea of him leaving me behind
scares me more than the thought
of facing my mother. “Yes. Yes!”
This kiss leaves me panting,
probably not the right way to go
to church. I take a deep breath.
“Let’s go inside or we’ll be late.
I’ve got something to thank God for.”
A Catholic Mass
Is like no church I’ve ever
experienced. Compared
to Papa’s boisterous call
to stand up, confess, and
speak in tongues, the priest’s
soft liturgical repetition
is soothing, the music—
both traditional carols and
melodies familiar to most
parishioners, but not me—
more lullaby than praise
song. Christmas trees and
tall poinsettias surround
the altar, sentries guarding
Baby Jesus, who smiles
at us all from his crèche.
My left hand wriggles into
Andrew’s right, which plays
with his mother’s ring,
circling that telltale finger.
I haven’t really spoken to
God very much i
n the time
since I left Tears of Zion.
I talk to him now, in my heart.
“Forgive me for losing faith
in you. Forgive me for
blaming you for the actions
of people who hurt me in
your name. Forgive the things
I’ve done and help me to walk
forward in your light. Give
me the strength I need to fight
for love and Eve’s safety.
Thank you for speaking to
Andrew’s heart and bringing
him back into my life. I will
never take him for granted,
will always cherish and honor
him. Please guide my way
in the future. In your name.”
Amen. Around me, others
are chanting an entreaty for
peace, and an overwhelming
sense of serenity washes over
me. This is how God should
feel. Not like a punishment.
Not like something to fear.
I don’t want to live afraid
anymore. Not of God. Not
of Tears of Zion. Not of Mama.
Andrew Is Right
The only way to move past
the things that scare me most
is to confront them head-on.
I won’t have to do it alone.
Not with Andrew at my side.
As everyone bows their heads
for the benediction, it strikes
me that the things I’ve regretted
have been the wrong ones—things
beyond my ability to control
then, or change now. If I could
wish for anything, it would be
to go back and be just a regular
high school kid again. I swear
I’d find a way to have more fun.
Join clubs. Go to dances. Maybe
try out for musicals or sing in
the choir. Of course, I’d have to
convince my parents, but since
this is all fantasy, anyway, I can
make them be open to everything,
including Andrew. Because he’d
have to be there, too. Okay, that
kind of wish can’t come true.
But Andrew is here with me now.
Post-Mass
I seek out Father Gregory,
whose expression says
I look familiar, but he’s not
sure why. I could pretend
we met under different
circumstances, but that
would negate the reason
I’m here. “Hello, Father.
I’m not sure you remember,
but you helped me find
my way into a safe haven,
and I wanted to thank you