Annie
Sunday morning meeting, Sunday afternoon field service, Monday night Bible study with Sister Jane, Tuesday night Bible study with half the congregation, Wednesday night preparation for Thursday’s meeting, Friday night preparation for Sunday’s meeting, and Saturday field service. This is the time I give to Jehovah each week. And I’ve done so my whole life without resentment, fitting the rest of my life in around these priorities. However, the resentment is creeping in. I’m not entirely sure who or what I’m resenting, but I’m feeling a little robbed of life lately.
We meet at Brother Sam’s house for field service at 8:45 a.m., passing the oval on the way there, where families are settling in for a day of netball, footy, meat pies, and socialising. This is how people my age spend their Saturdays. Soon, we’ll visit their empty houses and make a note to come back. Or perhaps someone will be home to tell us they’re not interested. Or they won’t bother answering the door at all, and we’ll pretend we didn’t just see the curtain move.
Everyone takes a seat, and as I look around the circle, I see they’re genuinely happy to be here. Seeing others embrace this life with enthusiasm evokes a loneliness so deep that my bones ache with it.
‘Any preferences for groups?’ Brother Oliver asks, looking around.
Sister Jane’s hand shoots up. ‘I’d like to work with Annie.’
I look accusingly at Mum, but she’s conveniently busy flicking through the Watchtower magazine in her lap. When Donna raises her hand and asks if she can go in our car, I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. There’s no escaping her—unless I leave the school grounds to watch a fight.
Mum joins the party, and the four of us climb into Sister Jane’s Holden Camry. The door’s hinges are rusted, and it requires two hands to pull it shut.
‘Door’s not closed properly, love,’ Sister Jane says into the rear-view mirror.
I wince as it screeches open, then pull it hard.
‘Still not shut,’ Donna says beside me.
I open it again, slamming it harder. The light above the door remains on.
Sister Jane laughs. ‘Put some muscle into it, dear.’
This time, I slam it so hard my mum jumps a foot in the air and the car rocks through the aftershock. Finally, the light is off.
‘I think that got it,’ Sister Jane says, turning the key in the ignition.
I glance sideways at Donna because she’s staring at me. ‘What?’
‘Are you okay?’
I nod and look out the window.
Mum and Jane begin talking about the swooping magpies outside the Kingdom Hall. Donna leans in and says quietly, ‘I hear there’s going to be an announcement at the meeting tomorrow.’
I look back at her, taking the bait. ‘About what?’
She flicks her gaze to the front to ensure the others aren’t listening. ‘Sister Carly has been seen a number of times with a worldly guy from Turram. Always unchaperoned. Brother Bill apparently saw them at that fishing spot past the rocks at Whistle Beach.’
I wait to feel some semblance of outrage at this news, but I feel nothing. ‘Maybe they were fishing.’
Donna waits for the conversation in the front seat to resume before responding. ‘I mean, they had fishing rods, but who knows? They were well away from the main beach.’
I nod slowly. ‘Dad used to catch flathead there at high tide. They’d just swim right up to him.’
Her face contorts with pity. ‘Have you spoken to him lately?’
‘He phones every week.’ We just have little to say to each other. He’s moved on from this life, the religion, his friends. His family. I know he’s seeing someone because there’s always telling noises in the background when we speak on the phone. The clink of dishes or the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner. Not the noises of a guest but a resident. He’s never mentioned it, and I’ve never asked. We don’t talk about anything outside of school, work, and the pets. Not Mum. Not Bridget. Even post-graduation plans are off limits. Contentious.
‘I thought we might call upon Kevin Reed,’ Sister Jane announces.
I snap my gaze to the rear-view mirror.
‘He wasn’t in a good way last time I called with Sister Marie,’ she continues. ‘We agreed a morning visit might be a better idea.’ She exchanges a knowing look with Mum when she says this part.
‘Was he intoxicated last time?’ Donna asks, leaning forwards.