A Certain Slant of Light (20 page)

  
"Five minutes," her mother called.

  
Jenny rose and went to the dressing table. There was no per
fume or makeup there. Only a brush and comb and a white Bible. She took the brush and slowly pulled it through her hair, smooth
ing the locks with her free hand as she made each stroke. Now
she pulled the few gold strands of hair out of the brush bristles
and, laying the brush back in place, dropped these into the white
wicker wastebasket.

  
I followed her into the bathroom that stood open to the hall
and watched her clean her teeth with a pink toothbrush.

  
Do it,
I told myself. But I couldn't.

  
"Don't forget the camera," Jenny called as she rinsed her
brush, watching nothing in the mirror.

  
"Thank you!" Jenny's mother came into the doorway. "Let's
hit the road."

  
Jenny smiled but only with her lips. Her eyes were not even
living.

  
"You look very pretty, honey," said Jenny's mother, as she
drove.

  
"Thank you," said Jenny. "You look nice, too." The mother
had changed into a cotton dress and matching cardigan, but I
don't think the girl had even looked at her clothes. I sat in the
back seat, feeling like a coward.

  
"Did Brad Smith ask you out?" said the mother.

  
"No," said Jenny.

  
"He's probably shy. I think he will. His mother already talked
me."

 
 
They pulled into the lot of a large park where fifty cars were
dready waiting. A vast pergola sheltered three rows of picnic
tables covered with thin plastic—one set of two tables was
•ammed with dishes of all shapes wrapped in silver foil, like a
raveyard for food.

  
"Cathy, where's Dan?" a woman asked Jenny's mother.
"He went to get the cake. He should be back by now. Are you
re he's not playing softball?"

  
Jenny walked to the closest table where a woman with a bottle
ras feeding her baby.

  
"Hi, Jenny," said the woman.
"Hi." Jenny blinked at the baby. "Hi, Randy." I followed Jenny to the grass field where several people sat on
)lankets and beach chairs, calling out to the others who were
)laying ball on the makeshift diamond. The only man in a dress
suit came up to bat. Someone called, "Go get 'em, Pastor Bob."
Jenny clapped her hands mildly but was staring into the sky and dssed seeing Pastor Bob hit a fly that was caught by the second
iseman. I wanted to touch her again, but there were so many
people.

  
A dozen women set out stacks of paper plates and boxes of
plastic forks. When a gray-haired woman in a red baseball cap rang a hand bell, everyone migrated to the picnic tables, but no one sat down. The pastor, sweating but smiling, held up a hand and everyone closed their eyes. Everyone but me. Pastor Bob
closed his eyes as well. It was silent except for a baby crying.

  
"Dear Lord," the preacher boomed. "Thank you for your
many gifts. Bless this food to our good and your will. Protect all
those in your flock who cannot be with us here today. In the name
of Christ Jesus, Amen." The Amen was echoed, even by Jenny.
When the preacher lowered his arm, he laughed and said,
"Ladies, tell us menfolk the plan here."

  
As the woman with the bell pointed out how the food line
should work, a man in a green polo shirt came hurrying up with
a large pink box. Jenny's mother frowned at him.

  
"Where have you been?" she complained. "I was worried."

  
"Oh, it was my fault. I forgot to gas up the van. I had to walk
a mile to buy a gallon."

  
She gave an unsure laugh but accepted the kiss he planted on
her cheek.

  
"Hi, Puppy," he said to Jenny. Then he was gone, taking the
cake box to the food table.

  
"Hi, Daddy," she said, not noticing that it was too late for him
to hear.

  
I watched as Jenny walked through the line, taking a tiny bit
of each dish onto her plate, smiling and nodding as the boy who
sat beside her talked and talked. She ate very little and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin after every bite, meticulous as a balle
rina practicing at her barre.

  
When the trash was cleared away, the pastor had the men
bring most of the wooden benches, the folding lawn chairs, and
the blankets to the grass. They put these in a large circle and
everyone gathered. Some men stood behind the circle. No woman stood. The shadows were lengthening across the park. The pastor
told the story of Daniel surviving all night in the pitch dark sur
rounded by hungry lions.

  
I stood behind Jenny. Her posture was neat, but her head was
down, as if she were in prayer. She sat on the end of a bench with
her mother beside her and her father at his wife's feet, sitting on
a towel. Beside Jenny a little boy lay on the lawn with his head in
his mother's lap, falling asleep as she stroked his hair.

  
"And we have the faith of Daniel," Pastor Bob was saying. "Don't we? Because we know God will shut the mouths of our
enemies. When we obey His will, we can trust Him to protect us,
can't we?" A few voices answered softly,
Amen.
"Let us pray."

 
 
Jenny's eyes closed and her hands folded. I decided I couldn't
wait forever. I stepped over the sleeping child and sat where
Jenny was sitting. The ringing sound of crystal vibrating was all
around me. I felt as if I had pressed myself into cold marble. I
stayed in her, and in a moment, I started shaking. It was frighten
ing, but I wouldn't let myself run. I tried to see James in my
mind's eye, smiling at me. The ringing stopped with a popping
sound. I felt like an ice sculpture starting to crack into pieces.
Then it happened. I felt the shape of her, the shape of myself, in
side the fingers and shoulders and knees of her. I even felt the
snug shoes and the difference between her warm arms inside her sweater and her cool legs exposed to the breeze. I could feel the
tickle of Jenny's hair brushing my cheek. My hand went to my
mouth when I heard myself cry out in amazement. I opened my
eyes to see every face in the circle turned to me, and then the
ground flew up and I was in the dark.

  
"Give me that blanket."

  
I could hear excited voices. Rose-colored flashes appeared as my face was passed over by shadows and then sunshine glowing
through my eyelids.
My eyelids.
I opened my eyes and saw a clus
ter of heads hovering with concern.

  
"It was during the prayer," someone whispered.

  
"Maybe it was the Holy Ghost," came another voice.

  
"She just didn't eat enough," said Jenny's father. He picked
me up under my arms and knees. "Let's not get too excited."

  
I was overwhelmed by having so many people pay attention to
me. I couldn't speak. The feeling of the father's strong arm
around me, the texture of his shirt felt through my own skin. I
was still shaking.

  
"Oh, honey," I heard Jenny's mother coo.

  
The father set me down on a bench by one of the picnic ta
bles. I couldn't help myself. I began to cry, sobbing into my hands
and, to my surprise, making tears, the salt of a forgotten sea.

  
"Maybe she saw a vision," someone said.

  
"She's just embarrassed," said Jenny's mother, stroking my
hair anxiously. "Everyone go back to prayer meeting. I've got
her."

  
I finally took a deep breath and stopped crying. Jenny's
mother, Cathy, tucked the blanket on my lap around me tightly
and gave me a tissue. I wiped my wet face with the fragile paper
and looked at her.

  
"What happened, Jen?" she asked.

  
"I felt so strange," I said, startled by the sound of my words
spoken in Jenny's voice. My teeth were chattering.

  
"Are you about to start your period?" she whispered.

  
"I don't know," I said.

  
"It's okay," said Cathy. "We'll check your calendar when we
get home."

  
"Mother?" I just wanted to say the word and see her respond.

  
"What, hon?"

  
I laughed, which was apparently an odd thing to do.

  
"Do you need something to eat or drink?" she asked, looking
concerned.

  
"Do you have an apple?"

  
"I don't think so." Cathy scanned the somewhat ravaged food
table. "Lime jello? How about some grape punch?"

  
"Yes, please." My back was to the grass field. I could hear two soft voices singing a lullaby hymn. I turned around now to see the
pastor and Jenny's father, Dan, hovering on the outskirts, listen
ing. A man wearing a police uniform stood with them, a baby
sleeping on his shoulder.

  
Cathy brought me a bright yellow plastic cup half filled with
dark liquid. I held it with both hands. I had seen plastic before
but never felt it. It was as smooth as it looked but had a faint, pe
culiar scent. I found that if I squeezed the cup and released, it
made a popping sound. Cathy gave me a strange look as I drank
the punch.

 
 
"Oh, my," I whispered. It was shocking how glorious it tasted.