FOUR
* * *
Sin.
What is sin?
Judge not, lest ye be judged.
Do you?
Carlos. Let's consider Carlos.
I was afraid. I still am. Not of him, but of life. Life is frightening. I learned that young as all around us kids my age fell victim to a seemingly endless array of teen problems. I learned that me, my body, is a target for men like Coach Koper. I learned that family can turn on you.
But I want to trust. I want to be able to trust. And yes, I want a man. I want to be held and loved and made love to.
But I was and am still afraid. Am I ready to be an adult? All my life I've been told no. All my life I've been told that girls can never stand on their own, that they always need a man to support them. All my life the emphasis has been on my failures, and I find it hard to believe that I can succeed anymore.
That's why I wanted the annulment. Why it had to be my father who obtained it for me.
But you know, it was wonderful, my wedding. It was. To be married, married without all the stress and responsibility of my father's church, without all the anxiety that Lucy went through. Just a simple civil ceremony, Carlos and I, my bridesmaid a friend from work and his best man someone he had known since he was a boy. And holding Carlos, kissing him and thinking that this could work, that I could be loved, that I was worthy of love. He was not perfect, not like Wilson or Ben, not a paragon who my family would approve of. Just a man, a flawed, human man with his own demons and his own past, trying to make sense of a senseless world and wanting someone he could share himself with.
That night I lay in his arms as his wife. We made love and it was good, like being caressed inside. The first words he taught me in Spanish were "I love you."
And now, in my belly, there is life.
Is this bad? Am I to be judged for being pregnant by my husband? Will this child bear the stigma my father's church and my own family have chosen to place upon me? In time, I know, my child will have cousins, from Matt, from Lucy, perhaps from the others. When these cousins play together, will Mom and Dad and my siblings look at my child and think what so many want to think, that this is a child born of sin, of foolishness, a stupid child of a stupid daughter who disappointed them because she was not what they wanted her to be?
You say that they will not, but I am not convinced. Because just as they look at me, I look back at them. I know their failings, know that despite all efforts to elevate themselves and proclaim themselves as moral that they are no more or less so than I. And I know as well that you who would gossip over cookies and juice in the church kitchen after each Sunday service, you who have taken such pleasure in my suffering, I know that your harsh words only echo your own lives, your own weaknesses and failures, your own knowledge of who and what you are and your own fear of it.
So say the words you want to say. Call me stupid, or call me bad. Call me a whore, if you want. But I know better, and deep down inside, so do you.
THE END
* * *
Sin.
What is sin?
Judge not, lest ye be judged.
Do you?
Carlos. Let's consider Carlos.
I was afraid. I still am. Not of him, but of life. Life is frightening. I learned that young as all around us kids my age fell victim to a seemingly endless array of teen problems. I learned that me, my body, is a target for men like Coach Koper. I learned that family can turn on you.
But I want to trust. I want to be able to trust. And yes, I want a man. I want to be held and loved and made love to.
But I was and am still afraid. Am I ready to be an adult? All my life I've been told no. All my life I've been told that girls can never stand on their own, that they always need a man to support them. All my life the emphasis has been on my failures, and I find it hard to believe that I can succeed anymore.
That's why I wanted the annulment. Why it had to be my father who obtained it for me.
But you know, it was wonderful, my wedding. It was. To be married, married without all the stress and responsibility of my father's church, without all the anxiety that Lucy went through. Just a simple civil ceremony, Carlos and I, my bridesmaid a friend from work and his best man someone he had known since he was a boy. And holding Carlos, kissing him and thinking that this could work, that I could be loved, that I was worthy of love. He was not perfect, not like Wilson or Ben, not a paragon who my family would approve of. Just a man, a flawed, human man with his own demons and his own past, trying to make sense of a senseless world and wanting someone he could share himself with.
That night I lay in his arms as his wife. We made love and it was good, like being caressed inside. The first words he taught me in Spanish were "I love you."
And now, in my belly, there is life.
Is this bad? Am I to be judged for being pregnant by my husband? Will this child bear the stigma my father's church and my own family have chosen to place upon me? In time, I know, my child will have cousins, from Matt, from Lucy, perhaps from the others. When these cousins play together, will Mom and Dad and my siblings look at my child and think what so many want to think, that this is a child born of sin, of foolishness, a stupid child of a stupid daughter who disappointed them because she was not what they wanted her to be?
You say that they will not, but I am not convinced. Because just as they look at me, I look back at them. I know their failings, know that despite all efforts to elevate themselves and proclaim themselves as moral that they are no more or less so than I. And I know as well that you who would gossip over cookies and juice in the church kitchen after each Sunday service, you who have taken such pleasure in my suffering, I know that your harsh words only echo your own lives, your own weaknesses and failures, your own knowledge of who and what you are and your own fear of it.
So say the words you want to say. Call me stupid, or call me bad. Call me a whore, if you want. But I know better, and deep down inside, so do you.
THE END