“But…” I said, still not completely absorbing the import of this news. My father rose from the chair, walked over and kissed me on the cheek.
“We are proud of you now,” he said with menace, “you would do well to take any time tonight to…grieve for your girlhood. Tomorrow, I will not stand for you to behave in an unchristian-like manner before you husband.” It seemed he could sense I was on the edge, about to crack. He rose quickly and then walked out of my room, closing the door behind him. When the door closed, the sudden realization of what was happening to me flooded into my mind. I could not hold back the tears now. As my Father had predicted, I grieved for my lost freedom, such as it was. I threw myself face down on the bed, quietly covering my pillow with hot tears.
I don’t know how long I cried, but the candle had burned a substantial amount when I got a hold of myself. I thought of myself as the wife of the fat, strange looking pastor. In the community, it would make me an important woman, an honored woman. I would have a little bit of power and some leeway when it came to interacting with others. But I would belong to that man. His ugly face and his fat, repellent body. I shuddered when I thought about it, but what could I do? My father had decided and so I would leave. I would go away from my home and never come back. If I saw my parents again, it would be at church or at a meeting at my husband’s house. And my brother… I suddenly realized. I would only see my brother maybe a dozen times again and never alone. For the rest of my life.
An existential dread coated me. I had accepted God’s punishment, the sudden coldness of my brother. But, in my heart, I had reserved a tiny bit of hope. Hope that God would forgive me for my sin and allow my brother to come back to me. I’d always known I was going to get married, but it had been such a distant event. Now I was going to be married and I would leave my brother, having our last words hissed at one another in strain and tension.
I sat up in my bed. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I would be gone in the morning, before my brother awoke. My mother would just tell him that I was married. I couldn’t bear for that to happen. I knew my brother was angry at me and that he was ashamed of our actions, but I think thought that it was better to go to him now when he did not want me than to never speak to him privately again.
I got up from my bed and moved to the door. We were discouraged from leaving our rooms in the night. I looked at the clock, it was 2:00 a.m. Everyone would be asleep. I had snuck out on occasion, to go to the bathroom. I knew I could be quiet. I carefully opened the door and then slid out into the hallway. It was quiet and still. I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I did not want to give my Father one last chance to thrash me before I left. And I was nervous about seeing my brother.
I moved towards his door. I had rarely ever been in my brother’s room and certainly never at night. But I moved there as though it were a common destination. Any time not in the hallway was good. I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. It was mostly dark in the room, but I could see my brother’s bed. I could see his chest rising and falling under the blankets. I rushed over to the chair next to his bed.