Annie
There are two elders in our congregation, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why Mum has phoned Brother Oliver. She knows he’s my least favourite, if such a thing were allowed. I don’t like his voice, his stare, his words, his smile. His mannerisms make me uncomfortable. And now he’s sitting before me discussing intimate details of my life, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.
‘So there was some mutual masturbation?’ he asks, leaning slightly forwards as he awaits my reply.
I nod—barely.
Mum’s next to me, staring down at the open Bible in her lap. On the coffee table sits a pot of tea and a plate of jam biscuits. Brother Oliver has poured himself some tea but has the decency not to stuff his face with biscuits while asking me for details about my sex life.
‘Is this the first time you’ve given in to temptation?’ he asks me.
Mum looks up, bracing for my reply.
I don’t lie for myself—I lie for her. ‘Yes.’ I wet my lips, but it doesn’t help much. My mouth is so dry. ‘Not the first time we’ve hung out, just the first time we went that far.’ That part is true.
He nods as though he understands. ‘It appears the temptation has been there for quite some time. I imagine you now see the importance of associating with people who have the same set of morals you do, along with the value of a chaperone when spending time with the opposite sex.’
‘Yes.’ I’ll agree with anything he says at this point. I just want this conversation to be over.
‘I’m glad your mother called me so we were able to get on top of this before any more damage was done.’
That’s what I am now. Damaged.
‘I think the best thing to do at this point is ask for Jehovah’s forgiveness and strength, then make a plan to keep you focused on your baptism goal.’
I close my eyes and bow my head, trying to focus on the words he’s saying. He spares little detail as he spells out my sins for Jehovah, as if he hasn’t witnessed every misstep first-hand.
I am sorry for a lot of things—just not this.
Brother Oliver suggests upping my contribution to the congregation. I’ll spend my free time visiting sisters, run errands for the elderly, help the busy mums with childcare and Bible study, increase my hours of field service. Eat some fruit cake. Pray more. I’ll be so busy giving of myself to others that I won’t have time to fornicate. I think that’s the gist of the plan.
Mum sees Brother Oliver to the door, turning the outside light on and waiting for him to pull away. Then she returns to the room where I’m still seated and starts clearing away the tea and untouched biscuits.
‘They can just go back in the container,’ she says.
I watch her carry them away, hear the opening and closing of the Tupperware. And then silence. Or perhaps that’s the sound of heartbreak.
I stand slowly, adjusting the blouse Mum made me put on before he arrived, and walk out to the kitchen. She’s leaning against the bench, eyes closed and a hand pressed to her forehead.
‘I have to go talk to Hunter.’
Her head snaps in my direction, confusion in her eyes. ‘What?’
‘I can’t leave things like this. We need to talk.’
She can barely hide her disgust. ‘Oh, I think naked in a creek is a very sensible place to leave things. Did you listen to a word Brother Oliver said?’
The nausea’s overwhelming. It’s the shame trying to work its way out of my body. ‘None of this is Hunter’s fault. He doesn’t understand this life.’
‘This is his fault!’
I shake my head, eyes welling up. ‘I did this—me.’
‘Because of him.’
‘No, Mum. Not because of him.’ I blink, and a few tears escape the corners of my eyes. ‘This isn’t even really about him. What you saw is just a symptom of other things.’
‘What other things?’