Watch How We Walk (24 page)

37

I FINISHED THE SECOND BEER
and felt detached but no more relaxed. My fingernails dug hard into my forearms, and I winced when I gouged one of my blisters through the bandage. I felt like I was going to explode.

Thankfully, there was no lineup at the women's washroom, and I locked myself in a stall again. My chest heaved even as I sat on the toilet, so I waited a few minutes until my breathing slowed down, then I opened my purse and took out my penknife. I pushed up my left sleeve. There was a bit of room left. I hadn't been etching as much since I'd started the tightrope training with Janice, but I needed it tonight. Things felt overwhelming and out of control, and I was scared of what I was about to do with Theo.

I drew a half-dozen Xs on the inside of my forearm, and felt better. One of them went a little deeper than I meant to, and blood dripped onto the floor. I tore off a wad of toilet paper and held it on my arm for a while. I felt much more poised.

I reapplied my dark red lipstick, fought back a grin, and left the washroom. This was it.

In a matter of hours, I would lose my virginity.

I had another beer and swayed with the others on the dance floor. I felt lighter, airy, somehow separate from myself. Despite some sort of unspoken code in the club, I was smiling. I felt free, finally, and transformed. I was Lenora. I danced and drank and danced and danced and drank until the music and the lights and the crater inside were nothing but one big far-off blur.

The strobe lights pulsed and the fog machine hissed and everything eddied into afterimages and blurs. When the lights came up, he kissed me. The floor seemed uneven and I stumbled, and he put his arm across my shoulders to steady me as we left the club.

We went to a dingy all-night coffee shop, where we sobered slightly, but not so much to prevent us from holding hands across the stained table. We ate stale butter tarts and drank black coffee and talked about music. His hands were dry and lightly calloused. After the dark haze of the Cavern, the coffee shop was too bright and I squinted.

I excused myself to go to the washroom, and nearly tripped over a chair. I reddened and hoped that Theo didn't see. I stared at my teased hair and red stained lips in the mirror.

I think it's working.

Good.

But I don't get it. Why do you want me to sleep with him?

Because you're me now.

Yes.

Someone flushed the toilet and left the stall. I jumped. I hadn't noticed that anyone else was in there. It was one of the waitresses and she stood next to me, watching my reflection.

— Don't worry, honey, I won't bite.

Her hair was blond with dark roots, and frizzed out from her head in a big perm. She reapplied her pink frosty lipstick and smiled. I held on to the edge of the sink and tried to look sober. I couldn't tell if I was still swaying or not. My ears rang from dancing too close to the speakers.

— You better have a decaf and sleep it off. Don't worry, it will all seem better in the morning.

Her heels clicked across the floor and she was gone.

38

EMILY, HER CAST OFF AND
fingers working again, pulls on her black wool dress and sits on the edge of her bed. The house has never been quieter. She feels like she can't wake up. She pinches her arm, but it isn't enough. She claws at the inside of her elbow. There is some blood, and that feels better. All of her lower eyelashes are gone. Red rings her eyes. Even though she is too old for stuffed animals, she grabs Zig Zag and clutches him tight to her chest and doesn't let go. Her dad stands in her doorway, looking down at the blue carpet.

— It's time to go.

She can't get up from the bed. Her mind tells her limbs to move but they refuse. Her father walks over to her and gently pulls Zig Zag from her arms. He sits down next to her, puts his arm around her, and says nothing. They sit like that for a while.

— I know, Em, I know. It's hard. It's . . . I don't know. His voice breaks.

— Is this the Great Tribulation?

He doesn't answer this but hugs her to him, hard.

— Is it?

He smiles sadly.

— Kind of.

— Then why is it only happening to us?

He stands up and pulls her off the bed.

— I don't know, Em. I don't know.

In the car, Emily sits in the back, and at first, no one says anything.

— Why isn't the funeral at the Hall?

Her father sighs and her mom turns and looks out the window, her jaw tight.

— It's complicated, Emily. We can talk about that another time.

Her mother makes an unmistakeable sound as she takes a drink from her travel mug. She snorts.

— Oh, just tell her the truth! She's not stupid, Jim.

— Vivian—

— Don't ‘Vivian' me!

Her mother turns toward the back seat, one arm across the headrest, and faces Emily.

— Viv, don't.

— It's because your sister committed suicide, Emily. She killed herself. The elders won't allow a funeral in the perfect, holy Kingdom Hall if it's a suicide. We're not allowed to bring Lenora there. It might send the wrong message to all the true and faithful sheep—

— Enough!

— She wanted to know. That's the truth. No suicides allowed! Pretend it doesn't exist! Pretend everything is perfect and righteous.

Why wouldn't they let Lenora be there? Was she disfellowshipped? Can you do that after someone's died? Worse, was she demonized? How would anyone know? Emily doesn't ask her parents if the brothers and sisters from the Hall will be there. The rest of the drive is silent.

There are a few other cars in the parking lot when they arrive, but none that Emily recognizes. Inside, the people who work there whisper and shake her father's hand and lead them down the hallway. There is a big room with flowers and rows of chairs, kind of like the Kingdom Hall. No one else is there yet.

At the front of the room is a big wooden casket. Emily can't see her from the doorway, but she knows her sister lies inside of it. Emily's whole body tenses. Her mom holds her hand and they stand there, in the doorway.

Emily hasn't seen her sister since she found her. She can't remember the last thing she said to her before that day in the woods. She can't remember anything except Lenora's red mitten on the ground, and the red splatters across the snow, and she tries hard not to see that every time she closes her eyes, but it doesn't work.

Her mom is crying, and Emily can't stop shaking, her teeth rattle like marbles, but she doesn't cry. She's scared that if she cries, something unspeakably terrible, somehow even worse than this, will happen. She doesn't even want to move.

More people begin to arrive, and there are relatives she hasn't seen in months or years who hug her and say “You poor thing” or “What a shame” or “Don't you look like a grown-up these days” or else nothing at all, just leaving wet teary patches on the shoulders of Emily's dress. She picks at her arm, letting it bleed into her sleeve.

She wonders how they fixed up Lenora's head.

Lots of Lenora's friends from school come, and some of the teachers, but not Theo. She sees Lenora's friend Marla, wearing black lipstick like the last time Emily saw her. Some of the relatives nudge each other and whisper.

— Hey there, girl. How you holding up? She punches Emily lightly on the arm. Emily doesn't know what to say, she has no idea how she is holding up, but she smiles gratefully at Marla.

— I brought a poem to read. One of Lenora's favourites. That okay? Marla isn't really asking anyone in particular, and both of Emily's parents answer.

— Of course—

— Sure, yes, absolutely—

Emily didn't know that Lenora read poetry. What else about her sister doesn't she know? She wonders if she will ever find out. The envelope she found still sits hidden under her mattress, but she doesn't want to know what it says. Not yet.

More and more teenagers arrive, and some cry, many hug, but no one else besides her family is from the Kingdom Hall. Emily wants to ask if at least the elders will come, but she knows the answer.

Emily and her mom and her dad are allowed to go into the room with Lenora before everyone else. The funeral director closes the door behind them. It's too hot and Emily puts her hand on her chest and clears her throat. The flowers smell thick and sweet and disgusting. Though she can't remember the last time she ate, her stomach hurts. She closes her eyes.

— Are you okay? Her mother brushes her hair from her forehead. They stand near, but not too near the casket. They don't look at each other, and they don't look at Lenora.

Then her parents go over to Lenora first, together. They hold hands, which Emily never sees them do, and they cry. Emily stands to the left of them and a few steps behind, and she can see Lenora from there. She is motionless, her expression blank, and Emily shivers. She looks clean and plastic, like a doll. Worse, she's dressed like she's going to the Kingdom Hall.

— I'm so sorry—

Her mom slumps against her dad, who sways and stumbles. Emily can't look at them any longer. It feels wrong. She sits down at the back of the room, puts her hands over her ears and closes her eyes, and wishes for a way to not smell the thick, syrupy reek of the flowers. She feels like she's drowning. After a while, they come back and sit next to her, then motion Emily closer to the casket.

The dead are conscious of nothing at all
. She has heard that statement a hundred times at the Hall, yet still she knows that Lenora can hear her. She's not really gone. She's probably, somehow, faking all this too.

Emily walks over to her. She steels herself, holds on to the edge of the coffin, and leans in. She whispers, speaking quickly, as though she doesn't have much time.

— It's okay, Lenora. Don't worry, it's just me. No one else can hear us right now. I have your letter safe and sound, hidden in a secret place. No one will find it. I got it before anyone else . . . Emily's throat tenses up but she continues.

— I didn't know what you wanted, but I brought you some stuff. Things I think you'd want. Mom and Dad don't know.

Emily opens her Hall purse and pulls out a few of the mixed tapes that Lenora's friends had made her and puts them next to her right hand. She slides her Walkman under the pillow.

— I didn't want them to put you in that boring outfit, but Dad insisted. I said, ‘She hasn't worn that in ages, she hates that outfit,' but he did it anyway. Mom said, ‘What does it matter' and just let him. I wouldn't have though; I would have put you in your favourite striped tights and big boots and black skirt and one of those weird band t-shirts. I'm sorry I couldn't do that. I'm sorry I didn't try harder.

Emily cries for real now, but still whispers.

— I'm sorry I didn't come and look for you sooner, and I'm sorry I didn't make you stay home instead of going out with stupid Theo. But I'll make it up to you. I promise. I'll do everything you wanted to do, and it'll be like you were never really gone.

Emily takes a pair of Lenora's tiny nail scissors from her purse. She turns to look behind her. Her parents' heads are bent close together and they aren't looking at her. She reaches toward Lenora and very quickly clips off a chunk of her hair. Her hands shake and she shoves the lock and the scissors back into her bag.

She doesn't know if there's a name for what she's just done, but she knows it's a sin.

Emily has a hard time paying attention during the funeral. She has to sit at the front with her family, but she keeps turning to see who is there. Most of the kids are unfamiliar to her. Finally, a tired-looking Uncle Tyler comes in and sits by himself near the back. She starts to wave, then stops, remembering that she isn't supposed to acknowledge him anymore. It's too late though; he's seen her and nods, with a sad smile on his face. Emily looks away.

After the funeral director speaks, other people go up and talk about Lenora. Everyone says she looks so beautiful. Everyone is a liar. Lenora doesn't even look like herself. It's kind of like being at the Hall, with the microphone and podium and the quiet, but with hardly any Jehovah's Witnesses. Marla reads a poem called “Poppies in July” and Emily's parents squirm uncomfortably. Emily can hear people crying, but doesn't know who they are. Lenora's English teacher gets up and talks about how creative she was and what a good student with a great sense of humour. Lastly, Uncle Tyler goes to the podium. Her parents tense up. Emily doesn't know where to look.

— Lenora is my niece. His hands shake and he looks like he hasn't slept in a few days. Emily doesn't know why, but she's scared of what he's going to say.

— I loved her very much. She had a lot of energy, a lot of passion and intense emotions. Things are never easy for teenagers, but doubly so for religious kids. Sometimes, they have to conform to expectations that are unrealistic. Sometimes, this is impossible. There is a murmur throughout the room. Her father looks down, but her mom looks straight at Uncle Tyler. He pauses for a long time, then looks down too.

— I'm going to miss her a lot— He starts to cry hard now, and everyone near Emily looks at their shoes or out the window. When he tries to speak again, it sounds like he is choking.

The funeral director takes his elbow and walks him back to his seat.

After that, their father prays, his voice wobbling the whole time. His prayer says the usual things about forgiveness and sin, guidance and wisdom, but this time he mentions the Resurrection a few times, and Emily can tell he is trying hard not to cry in front of everyone.

At the cemetery, they walk — as though in slow motion — toward the freshly dug grave. Emily is dizzy. A big hole in the ground. They are going to put her sister in there. She knows this, she knows what death is, but this doesn't make any sense. Lenora, hidden away in a big hole. It doesn't seem like she's faking anymore.

Emily is paralyzed. She cannot walk over to the pit where they're going to put her sister. Her mother takes her hand and murmurs something but she pulls away and shoves her. Her mom doesn't even get mad. They let her stand there, back by the road, away from everyone.

They lower the casket and start to put the dirt over it. Lenora's friends cry. Uncle Tyler cries. Her parents cry. Everyone but Emily cries. The funeral director says something else and Emily can't hear. After he stops, her father says another prayer, and when everyone lifts their heads back up, people start to leave. They go back to their cars, dust off the windows, and drive away.

They just leave.

Her parents wait in the hearse and leave Emily there by herself for a while. She can move again, and slowly she walks over to the grave. It starts to snow, big heavy flakes. The air is thick and white and it's hard to see. She kneels beside the mound. Snow lands on her eyelids and melts and runs down her hot face.

— I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise I promise . . .

She chants until all the dirt is layered over in white. She doesn't even know what she is vowing, but Lenora will. Lenora will know.

She will be Lenora when she grows up.

Emily doesn't care that her knees are all wet. She doesn't feel the cold. She doesn't feel anything. She lies on top of the grave on her back. The elders would think this was wrong, maybe even pagan, but she doesn't care.

She stretches out her arms and legs and makes a snow angel.