Watch How We Walk (20 page)

29

THE MOON IS BRIGHT AND
round and white like a plate and the stars are back out, pricking the sky above her. Emily prays as she trails her sister:
Please Jehovah, don't let me lose Lenora, I have to be vigilant and watch over her, please give me the strength to keep up with her, I have to, please God, please, and forgive all my sins, please, I promise to be better, please.

Her lungs burn as she stumbles quickly through the snow along the cold, quiet road.
Please God, please,
she chants, eyes half shut, panting,
please, please, please,
until it is a mantra. She nearly forgets to say
in Jesus' name, Amen.

There are few cars on the road this late, but when she hears one coming she ducks behind a tree or crouches in the iced-over ditch until it passes. Her furious parents will come after them soon, if they haven't already. If they get caught, they must be together. She has to protect Lenora, though she isn't sure from what. All she knows is that ever since the meeting tonight, since Brother Wilde's horrible announcement, her entire body has been tense and cramped with pain. She feels like if she can keep Lenora in sight, everything will be okay, and when they get back home, their parents will explain that it was all just a big mistake, a misunderstanding, that nothing is wrong with Uncle Tyler, that he is not disfellowshipped after all and can still be in their family.

Please God, please, make it all be a misunderstanding. I promise I'll never complain or disobey again. Please.

Lenora is still striding a couple hundred feet ahead of her. Emily knows that if she stops moving, if she loses sight of her, things will become even worse. The wind gusts and the snow lifts from the ground around her in spirals. Emily shivers and tries not to be scared. Other than the crunching of her feet in the snow, the night is quiet and she focuses on the rhythm of step,
please
, step,
please
, step,
please
, but then a dog barks and it sounds big and close, and he's going to chase her and knock her down with his big paws and tear her throat open with his razor teeth, and her heart lurches and she doesn't know what to do. Her skin flushes hot even though she is cold and she shudders, stippled with goosebumps, especially across the back of her neck. The dog barks again, he must be nearly on top of her now, and though she knows she shouldn't, she runs. She runs faster than she ever has, and her lungs burn hotter and still she mutters
please please please please,
knowing that a huge, snarling German shepherd is snapping his drool-filled jaws at her boots, and will tear her apart like the wolves in the book of Jeremiah.

When the cramps in her sides are so sharp she can hardly move, she slows and looks behind her. Nothing. The bark is distant and faint. She is close to town now. Lenora is still ahead of her but much closer, so she jumps behind a hedge as her sister slows almost to a standstill and digs into her coat pocket.

She stops at a phone booth and makes a call. Emily sneaks closer, hiding behind a parked car, but is too far away to hear. Lenora hangs up quickly, leaves the booth, and turns down a side street. Emily waits at the end of the block so as not to get too close, and peers around the corner. Lenora is sitting on a bench near Emily's school, the backpack leaning against her feet. There is a streetlight over her like a spotlight in a play, as though her sister is the star. Emily stays crouched behind a pickup truck, watching, waiting, knowing that as long as she is there, nothing can happen to Lenora.

Please please please please. Please God, Jehovah, don't let anything else bad happen.

Lenora touches her nose gingerly and cringes. Emily touches the bridge of her nose too, and makes the same face.

Turn the other cheek.

Lenora didn't even cry when she got hit.

She must be waiting for whoever she called from the payphone. Emily knows it is a worldly person, and her stomach twists again.

Please God, I hope you're listening, I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry that Lenora said that stuff about Uncle Tyler and I'm sorry—

Emily wipes her runny nose and drags her coat sleeve across her wet, blurred eyes.

Please God, I'm sorry, I ruined everything. It should be me that gets in trouble, not everybody else. Please, someday, please forgive me.

A long brown car pulls up to the bench and idles. A tall boy in a black bomber jacket gets out, loud music seeps into the night, and he waves to the driver, who squeals his tires and jolts away. It's Theo. He sits down next to Lenora and she leans against him. She rests her head on his shoulder. Emily gnaws on the inside of her cheek.

Please Jehovah God, please make them be good, please help them do what's right so they aren't killed at Armageddon—

Lenora leans up toward his face, puts one hand on the back of his neck, and kisses him. They kiss for what seems like an hour. Emily feels her stomach flip over a few times, but she can't look away. She shivers on the hard, icy ground, her hands shoved deep in her pockets.

Please make them stop, I promise I'll be good for the rest of my life, if you just make them stop—

And finally they do. Theo helps Lenora from the bench and they walk down the street. Emily doesn't know what to do. Anyone could see them, anyone from the Hall could drive by and call their parents, or their parents themselves could be here at any time, and just like that, her sister could be called before a Judicial Committee. They would probably bring their father in too, and the elders, and Lenora would be forced to confess every last detail to them. They could even disfellowship her. Emily is pretty sure what she's doing is
fornication
and there aren't many things worse than that.

Emily follows them in the dark for a few more blocks to a park. More kissing, this time for even longer. Emily, who didn't think to grab her mittens, is blowing on her frigid hands, half hiding behind a slide.

Despite the cold, Theo unzips Lenora's coat and walks her backwards until she's leaning against a tree. He pushes himself against her and Lenora wraps her arms around his waist. His hands are inside her jacket.

Emily starts, then stops. Should she pretend she just found them and yell? Her sister would be furious, both at being interrupted and at getting caught, and would be ruthless. But she can't let her keep going, she can't let her get in trouble.

Please please please, I don't know what to do, I really don't—

And then they seem to stop on their own. Lenora pushes him away a little, and Emily can't hear what they're saying. They stand there and talk for a while. Theo frowns and leans toward her, then he steps back a few paces, about to walk away, then turns and comes back. It looks like he's asking her a question. Lenora shrugs, then looks down and rubs her forehead. Theo just stands in front of her, hands on his hips, waiting for her to say or do something, and neither of them seems to know what.

After a long impasse, Lenora looks up at Theo and shakes her head and says something, then scrunches her eyes shut. Theo stumbles back and nearly trips, then rights himself. He shouts but the words swirl in the cold wind that rushes across the park, as though dragging their argument far away so that no one has to hear it. Then they're both yelling at once and the only words that Emily can make out is Lenora's choked, “It's all your fault!”

Then Theo really does stomp off, walking at first, then breaking into a jog across the far end of the park, through the arc of one of the streetlights and into the dark. As Emily watches him disappear, a car rounds the corner toward the park entrance, too quickly for her to hide, and the driver brakes hard and leans on the horn. It's as though a hole's been torn through the night.

— Emily Morrow! her mother shouts.

— Get in the car — now!

Emily jumps from behind the slide. She doesn't look back. They are caught. She walks slowly through the snow to the car and gets in the back seat, as her mother yells, seemingly unconcerned that lights in nearby houses have begun to blink on.

— Are you crazy?! Walking into town by yourself at midnight — anything could have happened to you!

Emily looks down.

Please please please please God, let Lenora be okay.

— Where's your sister?

Emily looks at her father and then into the park, where she now sees no one at all.

— Emily! I asked you a question: Do you know where your sister is?

She shakes her head and doesn't look at either of her parents. She doesn't even bother to ask Jehovah for forgiveness this time. Her dad puts the car in park, gets out, and strides through the park, calling Lenora's name. He comes back alone. Her mother is silent and squints through the window as they drive home. Emily doesn't even bother to wipe her dripping nose. She is suddenly more exhausted than she has ever been before.

30

TEN IS A PERFECT NUMBER.
Divisible, easily fractured into equal shards. Ten is a milestone, commemorated with tin or aluminium. Tin, the metal that resists corrosion, that which preserves. Aluminium, lightweight, a good conductor. My sister — always silvery and fluttering out of sight.

Anxiety rattled my vision and constricted my throat; I would see Lenora on the streets, out of the corner of my eye, but when I caught up to her, panting and flustered, she would turn into a scowling stranger. The worst part was that I knew I was being irrational, but I didn't try to stop. I let myself slip into the world where reality and memory overlapped and shimmered like the metallic glint of the hottest summer afternoon.

The day that threw off my routine entirely was the windiest I'd ever seen in the city. Snarls of air tore the branches from trees and tossed them onto sidewalks. Pedestrians bent forward, shielding their faces with their forearms. Window casings howled like vengeful, too-near wolves. Doors rattled but when I opened them, no one was there.

First, I cleaned my apartment. The hall closet was full of every chemical disinfectant and cleanser available — bottles for windows, for bathtubs, for floors, for dust, for dishes, something to kill every household germ, imagined or otherwise. The air in my apartment burned my eyes, and always smelled synthetic. This time, unfortunately, sterilizing my place didn't make me feel any better.

Next I decided to make lunch. I wasn't hungry, but couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. I'd defrosted some chicken the night before and knew never to leave it uncooked for long. I slid the pan into the oven and closed the door. Then I dragged a chair into the hallway beneath the smoke detector and removed its batteries.

While my chicken quarter cooked, I opened the small blinds to let in some light. I stood on my toes and peered outside. Twigs were scattered in the snow and a woman hunched forward as her useless umbrella bent upward. Her hat flew off and she turned to chase it. A car swerved to miss her and its horn sounded distant.

My place lacked light; shadows would hover and parry, as though amorphous shapes constantly darted around me. It set me on edge. Often I'd see something hiding in a dim corner, but when I jerked my head, everything would be still.

I straightened the magazines on the coffee table and the books on the shelves, and suddenly smelled smoke. Grey curled from the oven and swirled upward like a mist. I snatched the potholders. The chicken was charred, almost entirely black, and I set it on top of the stove to cool. I opened the two small windows to air the place out. Cold whipped in and rustled the pages of the magazines. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, but it didn't help.

The chicken cooled and I scraped away the blackened layer and inspected it.

Perfect.

After I ate, I decided to go out and buy some groceries, since I had no milk or bananas and my last bit of bread was fringed with green fur. The temperature had plummeted when the wind began, and the slush that had melted was frozen into a varnish of ice, thick over the sidewalks. The sun glared down at me from the sky, and up at me from ground. It hurt my forehead. My scarf whipped around me and my eyes streamed. I squinted my way to the grocery store, counting, purely out of habit, the three hundred footsteps per city block.

I bought more than I had intended, not just milk and bread but cans of beans and a big bag of rice, some new kind of energy bars with ginseng and coated in chocolate, and a dozen eggs. The bags were heavy and it was lunch hour for other people and so the streets were crowded. I had two bags in one hand and one in the other, and every hundred steps I switched so my arms wouldn't get too sore. I was halfway home when I swung the heaviest bag from my right hand to my left and hit a woman in a fur coat in the leg.

— Watch where you're going! She glared at me through what looked to be expensive sunglasses.

— Sorry.

I tried to balance my groceries and ease the burning in my arms. Then a vicious gust of wind shoved me, and my heel slid on a patch of ice. My legs slid and buckled and I fell. My tailbone hit the sidewalk first. It felt like being stabbed in the spine, and the white hot pain jolted up to my neck. I couldn't move. My groceries were scattered on the sidewalk, the eggs were broken, and I couldn't help it, I just gave up. I sat on the icy concrete amid oozing yolks and grains of rice, unable and unwilling to bother moving, while busy people huffed and surged past me as though I'd deliberately blocked their way.

— You all right?

A tall guy in a black leather jacket loomed over me, blocking the sun and covering me in shadow. He extended a gloved hand. I looked at the groceries strewn around me. It looked as though there had been an earthquake that had affected only me. I cried harder and still couldn't get up. He withdrew his hand, squatted down, and put my fruit and vegetables and cans and boxes back into the bags. He tried, unsuccessfully, to pull me up.

— I suggest you leave the eggs behind.

He smiled and pushed his dark glasses up onto his head. That face.

Is it him? Is it?

Yes. Don't let him get away.

— Are you okay?

He cocked his head and glanced around nervously, then looked at me again.

We stared at each other on the sidewalk. I didn't know if he recognized me. The last time he saw me, I was only ten years old. Instinctively, I closed my eyes and fingered my bracelet, then ran my cold hand over my forearm. 53235.

Deuteronomy 32:35 —

Vengeance is mine, and retribution.

At the appointed time their foot will move unsteadily,

For the day of their disaster is near . . .

—
Sorry, did you say something?

He leaned in closer and I opened my eyes.

I shook. I raised one of my arms and it felt like it was attached to a concrete block. Slowly, I pointed at him.

— I know who you are.

He took a step back from me.

— I don't think so.

— Don't lie to me!

He shook his head and handed me back my shopping bags. I hadn't meant to be loud, but I must have been, since he was walking away and other people stared or went wide around me.

At the curb he hailed a taxi.

— Wait!

I shouted, dropped my bags again, and waved my arms. I'd found him and lost him again all in the same five minutes. Finally, I could move again, but it was too late.

A single piece of red paper fluttered to the icy pavement as he slammed the door and zoomed away. I ran to the curb and snatched the flyer before it blew into the eddies of the cold afternoon.