Chapter Four
Life was not the same for me anymore. All faith had gone out the door. I hadn’t been happy as a Christian, and yet after I had been consecrated as a Wiccan, I had met an even worse fate.
How could a god, Christian or otherwise, be so cruel? I did my chores, and I performed my duties. However, because of the blemish, as my father put it, I had put on the church, I was no longer allowed – which I was glad – to teach members in any way or form. I wasn’t allowed to play the piano for services, and I wasn’t allowed to speak up in church.
Conversely, had I stood in front of the entire congregation and declared that I had been deceived and had greatly sinned and begged for not only God’s forgiveness, but the members as well, then I would have been allowed to at least play the piano for services and lead a prayer once in a while.
I refused. Part of me stubbornly clung to the fact that maybe I had been right. Maybe the dark clouds or whatever they had been had not come because of me.
I did what I had to do and no more.
My hope, my fight, was gone. I didn’t give a crap about anything. I was numb inside.
I suppose that deep down I still loved my father and my husband, but at the same time I loathed the fact that they were so high and mighty in their attitudes and opinions of themselves, believing they could do no wrong.
I was more miserable than I had been in my entire life.
When I did have time to myself, which was the only good thing now – since I wasn’t as busy – I would watch television. Sometimes when I’d flip through channels I would see some preacher casting – or think he was – a demon out of some poor individual. But what really got me was when I would come across something on the news about some poor Muslim woman being stoned to death for some really stupid reason, like showing her skin!
I wanted to puke!
Who was this God anyway? He certainly wasn’t a loving one!
Therefore, something inside me told me that it wasn’t a god at all that made these laws – it was man!
No loving, caring, decent God would treat women like they were second-class citizens, let them be treated by men’s double standards, let them be treated like nothing more than either sex objects or slaves.
I wanted to follow in my mother’s footsteps and just run away. But where would I go? I didn’t attend college like she had begged me to. And when I did try, Greg wouldn’t let me. I was stuck just like my poor mother. But somehow she had managed to save up enough money to get away. I couldn’t help but wonder how she had done it.
One night while I lay in bed unable to sleep, listening to the howling wind that had blown up a storm, I remembered the dream I had had of the gorgeous blond man. But why I thought of him at that moment? I had no idea. He had said he would be watching me. If he was real, was he still watching? Did he know of the hell I had been going through? If so, did he care? And if he cared, why hadn’t he helped me?
I lay awake until the birds began singing a little after four a.m. I was tired, but knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep, so I got up and took a shower. Greg was still asleep when I came out. Lucky bastard! I thought. I had such mixed feelings for him and my dad anymore. I really wasn’t sure if I would continue to love them or not.
I made a fresh pot of coffee and went out to sit on the top porch step. The first rays of sunlight were stretching up over the horizon. It wasn’t exactly cool, simply pleasant, but would be heating up soon. Though it wasn’t often that I was up this early, I did love the fresh air this time of morning.
Cattycornered across the street to our right was our neighbor Jerry Crown, a family lawyer. He came out and, seeing me, smiled gregariously and waved. He was always friendly. I waved back. He didn’t say anything though, just jumped in his BMW, backed out of the concrete driveway, waved again and took off to the right. He always left early; told me once that he went to the gym every morning before going on into the office.
Jerry and his wife Charlotte, a gorgeous bleached blonde, came to our church once in a while – Probably because it was convenient. Jerry even stated once that he didn’t adhere to any particular denomination, but he believed in God. They mostly came on the holidays like Easter and Christmas and occasionally graced us with their presence otherwise.
I knew they weren’t real religious, though, and not because they didn’t come to church regularly. For one, Charlotte was a carefree soul. She always seemed really, really happy; nearly always smiling and in a good mood. Yelling, “Hey there, sugar!” when she’d see me.
I can honestly say that though I didn’t know her well, I believe I liked her about as much as I liked anyone. At least, I always felt I didn’t have to put on the false face and sweet air expected of me by my father, husband and regular parishioners.
I wondered if she realized just how lucky she was. Oh how I envied her freedom!
She dressed the way she wanted, oftentimes in attire that would have brought forth wrath from my dad and husband, had I adorned myself with such clothing. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but notice that neither of my two pastors ever made any comments to Charlotte or her husband about the way she dressed.
On the contrary, I caught not only Greg, but my father, looking at her in ways that suggested they weren’t entirely cordial.
In spite of their strict, rigid teachings and limitations on me, they were definitely men. It was all too clear that they liked Charlotte’s almost see-through blouses, tight jeans, short skirts, heavy makeup, and enticing perfumes.
That old double standard!
I was really beginning to hate men – Christian men, anyway. And I suppose I should add Jewish and Muslim as well.
The door opened then and Greg came up behind me. “What are you doing up so early? And why are you sitting out here?”
I stood, turned, faced him and said, “Wishing I was Charlotte.” And I walked past him.
He grabbed my arm to stop me. “Why would you want to be like her, Brenda? She’s married, but still dresses like a trollop.”
With a contemptuous laugh, I replied, “So! Have you told Jerry that you basically think his wife is a whore?” I yanked my arm back and went on in the house.
Now pissed, he came in behind me and slammed the door. “Stop, Brenda!”
I turned and eyed him straight on. “What? You going to hit me now?”
His brow wrinkled in a dark frown. “What is wrong with you?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know. You basically called Jerry’s wife a whore just because she’s a free woman and her husband doesn’t mind her looking her best, but I’ve seen you and Dad drooling over her when you thought no one else was looking. Hypocrites!” I went on to the bathroom, shut the door and locked it. I didn’t want to talk to him anymore. I just wanted to be left alone.
He came to the door and stood behind it. “We’re not finished, Brenda!”
“Oh yes we are! If you want me to make your breakfast, drop it right now! I need time to cool down. Or you can cook your own breakfast.”
Silence for a long moment, but then I heard his footsteps fading down the hall. Apparently he didn’t want to go without his breakfast. “Jerk!”