Growing up in South Australia and being a music lover, I've heard things and been involved in discussions about how boring Adelaide crowds are at all kinds of live events. We're the people that stand and maybe tap our feet rather than get up and dance. And with the Occupy Adelaide movement it shows that this apathy extends beyond the Entertainment Centre.
I walked down the path that joins Grenfell Street to Pulteney, cutting across the park in Hindmarsh Square where some 20 tents are set up, adorned with signs protesting corporate bullshit. But their protest is exactly that; bullshit.
I was in Los Angeles when the Occupy movement spread across the United States and hit the west coast. I arrived in Santa Cruz the day after the nearby Oakland Port was shut down for a day because of a peaceful protest (and Occupiers have planned to do so again next month).
I was against any Occupy movements in Australia to begin with because the socio-economic situation in America is so different to here. So in Hindmarsh Square today I walked up to a post with an article from the Adelaide Occupiers and started to read their mantra. I found myself agreeing with a lot of the things (to be honest, it did focus a lot on animal cruelty, and while I think that's an important issue it's superfluous to this gathering). I agree that big businesses are able to do what they want with little resistance from the Australian people (*ahem* BHP), and that something should be done about it. I found myself wanting to join in on Occupy Adelaide.
Until I met a member of the group. A short, portly woman, probably in her mid-fifties approached me wearing a red Adelaide Crows jumper (isn't the AFL a bit of a corrupt corporation, Ricky Nixon, anyone?) and started telling me about Council "making good on its promise to them". As we spoke there was a special meeting of Council in progress to discuss the fate of the group: must they head home, or head to roomier, more visible pastures across the road.
What a dilemma, I thought. Go home and do nothing, (I respect that while Occupiers may have jobs, if you have the liberty to take days off work to lay around in a tent all day, it paints a certain picture) or move across the road and camp in the sunshine all day, play guitar and...? The woman spoke about how Council claim the movement/camp is breaching a by-law of the city, and threatened that if they don't get the new location as promised and end up being evicted, "We've got 3000 people on the mailing list that will come down and do something big".
"If they want to pull us up on this by-law we'll remind them of the other by-laws that are breached every day," she said, elaborating that picking rubbish from bins was a breach of a council by-law.
"Aren't the people picking bottles and cans from bins the kind of people who would mostly benefit from the success of the Occupy movement?" I asked her. "Yeah," she replied, "but Council can't have it both ways."
Further to this, occupyadelaide.org says:
The car-park will be cleared and portaloos set up. We will be allowed to keep all of our resources and equipment, but overnight camping will not be allowed – just a few tents/marquees for storing gear, which will, of course, be attended overnight…. all with a nudge and a wink.
One of my biggest questions, especially when this Occupier told me there were 3000 people on the mailing list, was Why are there only 20 people here? Surely they are up-to-date on other Occupy movements around the globe and know that there's a greater chance of making a difference - or at least drawing attention to an important issue - if the numbers are up? For Occupy Adelaide? No... Occupier Kari writes on the website:
It seems our advantage is in our size – which is certainly non-threatening at the moment. In my view, if we are able to maintain this presence then we will be able to continue to do wonders for raising awareness and engaging the public, while also maintaining positive public opinion and good relations with the police and council.
But what's the point Kari? What's the point in having a small number of people, who when aren't playing hacky-sack are walking up to people and attempting to tell them how hard Council is being on them, do something that requires strength in numbers?
I have expectations of Occupiers working towards a protest that will affect daily operations of these establishments they're so against (none of which are named, but I'm looking at you, Woolworths!). They've got a sign up on one of the posts in the square about NewsCorp owning 70% of the country's media outlets, so why aren't they protesting outside of a commercial news station?
Occupiers in Houston, TX and Hartford, CT shut down ramps stopping people from commuting on freeways to work. Yes, there may be alternative routes, but they're stopping something. For at least a few hours, no matter who you were, you could not get to work. (Read more about the Occupy movement in America at www.occupywallstreet.org)
Sure, America has more than ten times the population of Australia, let alone Adelaide, but our biggest attack seems to be aimed at Council, which, let's face it, do a bloody good job in this city.
It's a little disheartening to see Occupy Melbourne so organised while two Adelaideans sit on camp chairs playing '90s pop songs on guitar. The only people I've seen photographing Occupy Adelaide (apart from giggling teenagers) were Occupiers themselves, and even then, why aren't those photos being uploaded to the website they're advertising on the street corner? But Melbourne Occupiers? They've got the idea! Demonstrations at a BHP AGM? Check! Bi-weekly staged general assemblies? Check! Petition meetings? Evicting the Lord Mayor? Check, check!
Adelaide is excellent at putting on thought-provoking demonstrations. Our marriage equality rallies are heavily attended and supported by more than just the LGBT community. GetUp! has pushed hundreds of people to the steps of Parliament House on North Terrace to support a ban on live exports, and let's not forget how involved those preacher-protesters in Rundle Mall like to get in on the action.
But the Occupy movement is completely lack-lustre, not only compared to other demonstrations we've put on, but compared to what is happening around the country and the world.
Adelaide protesters have set up camp in front of a hotel, when they could move a street over and Occupy Nestle, or they could move in the other direction and Occupy Adelaide Metro. One more late bus and I might just start that!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Red Paint
A slender hand slipped into a patent black handbag, searching through tissues, loose change and receipts until soft fingers clasped around a tiny glass bottle. Simona sat at a dressing table facing her reflection in a mirror, adorned in fairy lights and smiled to herself as she unscrewed the lid of her bright red nail polish. It was the first step in her getting ready process; a lick of quick-dry polish on her long fingernails before applying primer, foundation and layers of blush, pearlescent eye-shadow, heavy black eye-liner and long-lasting mascara. And then another coat.
Simona hummed a tune to herself, some pop song that always got stuck in her head when she went through her beauty routine. She waited a minute for the next application of polish to dry admiring her glamourous reflection, and carefully took her glittery fake eye lashes out of their container and smoothed them across her lids. Wrapped in a pink satin dressing-gown embroidered with tiny red blossoms Simona felt at ease. In front of the mirror with her face perfectly highlighted, she felt as striking as the red on her fingernails. She’d take it off later, probably early in the morning or after her beauty sleep, but as she twinkled her fingers in front of her, she felt like a million dollars. The red polish only came out on the special nights. The men lapped it up.
The rose-coloured satin dropped to the floor, showing a long thin body, narrow shoulders and hips. Despite her petite frame, her silk underpants were always a snug fit, and she never quite filled the cups of the matching bra. She brushed her hand slowly along the rack of clothes as a test to see what would best go with the colour of her nails. It was a ritual of hers, but she always chose the same colour to match. She pulled down a gold-sequin mini-dress, strapless of course (she had the shoulders for it, after all) and stepped into it. It was her favourite dress on the rack; the old faithful. It hugged her middle to accentuate what little curves she had. She stood with her hands on her hips and a close-lipped smile as she admired herself from all angles in the full length mirror between dress racks. She strapped the red stiletto heels to her long, slender feet and smoothed on red lipstick to match. Fluffing her hair and picking up her stocked gold purse - nail-polish and remover, lipstick and tissues - she turned off the light and walked out the door.
The night was warm for this time of year. Simona didn’t usually bother with coats as she never expected to be outside for long. She stalked the pavement as if it was a catwalk, other women on the street scowled at her, some muttering under their breath and other, rougher women hurling profanities as she passed. She was more beautiful than the others, had more class and maturity. She took that walk with pride with her chin up (after all, double chins don’t discriminate) and a few blocks a man in a green suit was holding a door open for her, tipping his hat as she entered.
Simona was met with a gust of warm air as she entered the yellow light of the posh hotel. The walls were faint cream, with ornate gold lamps lining the entrance hall. She walked straight ahead to the ladies room. A quick check of her hair and touch-up of her lipstick was required before going into the martini bar. She was right on time, but decided to wait a few minutes in the ladies’ room so not to seem too eager. A woman had to maintain a level of hard-to-get, even if she had the upper hand, as Simona always did. The men she saw treated her with respect, showered her with expensive gifts and always tipped well. But she was ever the professional, and very good at her job.
She walked through the double doors into the dimly-lit bar, a gentelman’s spot full of oak and rich leather furniture, crystal liquor decanters filled with top-shelf scotch rested on the corner of the bar. As requested, she waited, perched, on a bar stool at the far end, close to the window. The man she was meeting was very particular with his instructions. He wanted an independent woman that wasn’t afraid to play naughty or nice, someone that could sense his desires and change the atmosphere without being told what to do. Simona was an expert. She knew how to give people what they wanted most, it came to her like a sixth-sense. A well placed sigh – or hand – was as important as her perfect appearance, ruby-red nails, plump lips and flowing hair. She had manicured her technique as a lover as well as she had prepared her exterior.
A short, dark haired man walked into the room, looked around, more to see if there would be many witnesses, before setting his gaze on her. This must be him, she thought. She stood up as he approached at least a few inches taller than him, and bent her neck down to kiss his cheek. “Hello there, I’m Simona,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “Hi, yeah. Umm. Barry. Look, I haven’t done this before so, ah-,” he said with a squeak, as he shoved a firmly-packed envelope into her hand. “That’s okay, would you like a drink, to relax?” she suggested. She knew that first-timers were always difficult. Barry seemed like he could be easily lead, but he was aloof and avoided her eyes.
“Let’s just go, I’ve got a time limit, right? Can we just go to the room?” he asked, tugging on his collar. Beads of sweat formed along his receeding hair line. She turned up the charm she was already oozing with and linking her arm in his lead him out into the foyer, and into an elevator. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. She took his clammy hand in hers and he recoiled as if he has a shock. “I don’t want to do that. Let’s just get to the room and then you can do what I’ve paid you for.” Simona was starting to think Barry hadn’t made the decision to hire a woman for a few hours himself. He seemed against most of her subtle advances, hints of affection. She liked her clients to feel like they were special, the only one (unless they requested otherwise). “Just relax, this is going to be fun,” she cooed as the stepped out of the elevator. She stroked the lapels of his blazer softly. “I like your nail polish,” he replied, with nervous laughter.
After a short walk down a narrow hallway, Simona and her edgy client found the room; a basic bed-television-bathroom deal with a small balcony. He had obviously gone for the cheaper option, since Simona’s service came at a premium fee. He loosened his tie, and ripped off his blazer. Simona stood behind him, reaching around to undo his buttons. Despite them being the opposite of a woman’s shirt, she had had enough practice in unbuttoning a man’s shirt and didn’t fumble. She ran her fingers through thick, curly chest hair and kissed the nape of his neck. Barry’s confidence was growing with his desire to have her, and he turned around and threw her on the bed. He lifted her legs and took down her red silk underpants before she finished saying “Wait!” It had sometimes been a bit confronting for men to go straight down there, she has found, even though this is what they’ve paid for.
His distorted face turned bright red in a second, he forced her legs closed and turned away in disgust. “You’re not a bloody woman, you’re a thing!” he said. “You fraud! You fucking liar!” His fists were clenched and his knuckles white; Simona pulled her underwear back up and her dress back down. “I thought you knew,” she offered. “It says on my website…A lot of men think it’s just as good.” She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Give me my money back, you dirty freak! I didn’t pay for – for – whatever the hell you are!” He lunged at her, knocking her hand away from his shoulder and gripping her shoulders. He was stronger than he looked, and Simona began to get frightened. She worked independently; there was no pimp or madame for her to call to send in reinforcements. Sure the hotel staff knew who she was, but they turned a blind-eye to this sort of rendezvous. He pushed her and she landed with her arm, in an attempt to break her fall, twisted behind her back. He stormed out of the room onto the balcony and lit up a cigarette.
She reached for her purse and took out the envelope, placing it on the bedside table. Water filled her dark eyes as she went to turn the door handle. “Wait!” Barry barked from the balcony. “Come out here, give me my money back. Don’t you sneak out you bitch!” She took heavy steps to the table and picked up the envelope, walked outside and, standing a little too close for comfort in the small space, handed it to him. He grabbed her wrist. “No one makes a fool out of me,” he said, as he shoved his free hand between her legs. He pushed her against the balcony rail. “What the hell is this anyway? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything on the phone? People like you should be put on a leash,” he said, with a shower of his spit clouding her face. “Let me go! You’ve got your money. I just want to go home!” Barry withdrew his hand and scowled at her. She had tears running down her cheeks and he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
It wasn’t the first time Simona had a rough client, and she could defend herself. She forced herself up and, with the hidden strength in her nimble body and with her hands on her shoulders pushed him back against the door. With a grapple for power, the small man lost the upper hand and Simona had him bent over backwards on the balcony. A vein in his forehead pulsed as he tried to push this would-be defenseless date off. “I’m leaving!” she said, her whole body trembling. “Let me go, let me go!” She loosened her hold on Barry’s shoulders and stood upright, but his ego was too bruised to let her go easily. He jumped up and made to grab her throat, but sensing his increasing rage she shoved him with all her might. With the flash of a second he was gone. His shoes disappeared behind the balcony in a blur, and she heard a cracking thud moments after.
She stood frozen to the spot for what seemed like an eternity. The sun was rising over the other tall buildings in the distance before she walked back into the room. She was almost calm; slightly rattled. If a client ever got rough it was either part of the foreplay or easily controlled. Her confusion was exhausting. She needed to clear her head before she decided whether to run, or front up to the law. But for that moment, she just sat on the bed and picked up her purse, taking out the nail-polish remover, a tissue, and began erasing the night’s work.
Simona hummed a tune to herself, some pop song that always got stuck in her head when she went through her beauty routine. She waited a minute for the next application of polish to dry admiring her glamourous reflection, and carefully took her glittery fake eye lashes out of their container and smoothed them across her lids. Wrapped in a pink satin dressing-gown embroidered with tiny red blossoms Simona felt at ease. In front of the mirror with her face perfectly highlighted, she felt as striking as the red on her fingernails. She’d take it off later, probably early in the morning or after her beauty sleep, but as she twinkled her fingers in front of her, she felt like a million dollars. The red polish only came out on the special nights. The men lapped it up.
The rose-coloured satin dropped to the floor, showing a long thin body, narrow shoulders and hips. Despite her petite frame, her silk underpants were always a snug fit, and she never quite filled the cups of the matching bra. She brushed her hand slowly along the rack of clothes as a test to see what would best go with the colour of her nails. It was a ritual of hers, but she always chose the same colour to match. She pulled down a gold-sequin mini-dress, strapless of course (she had the shoulders for it, after all) and stepped into it. It was her favourite dress on the rack; the old faithful. It hugged her middle to accentuate what little curves she had. She stood with her hands on her hips and a close-lipped smile as she admired herself from all angles in the full length mirror between dress racks. She strapped the red stiletto heels to her long, slender feet and smoothed on red lipstick to match. Fluffing her hair and picking up her stocked gold purse - nail-polish and remover, lipstick and tissues - she turned off the light and walked out the door.
The night was warm for this time of year. Simona didn’t usually bother with coats as she never expected to be outside for long. She stalked the pavement as if it was a catwalk, other women on the street scowled at her, some muttering under their breath and other, rougher women hurling profanities as she passed. She was more beautiful than the others, had more class and maturity. She took that walk with pride with her chin up (after all, double chins don’t discriminate) and a few blocks a man in a green suit was holding a door open for her, tipping his hat as she entered.
Simona was met with a gust of warm air as she entered the yellow light of the posh hotel. The walls were faint cream, with ornate gold lamps lining the entrance hall. She walked straight ahead to the ladies room. A quick check of her hair and touch-up of her lipstick was required before going into the martini bar. She was right on time, but decided to wait a few minutes in the ladies’ room so not to seem too eager. A woman had to maintain a level of hard-to-get, even if she had the upper hand, as Simona always did. The men she saw treated her with respect, showered her with expensive gifts and always tipped well. But she was ever the professional, and very good at her job.
She walked through the double doors into the dimly-lit bar, a gentelman’s spot full of oak and rich leather furniture, crystal liquor decanters filled with top-shelf scotch rested on the corner of the bar. As requested, she waited, perched, on a bar stool at the far end, close to the window. The man she was meeting was very particular with his instructions. He wanted an independent woman that wasn’t afraid to play naughty or nice, someone that could sense his desires and change the atmosphere without being told what to do. Simona was an expert. She knew how to give people what they wanted most, it came to her like a sixth-sense. A well placed sigh – or hand – was as important as her perfect appearance, ruby-red nails, plump lips and flowing hair. She had manicured her technique as a lover as well as she had prepared her exterior.
A short, dark haired man walked into the room, looked around, more to see if there would be many witnesses, before setting his gaze on her. This must be him, she thought. She stood up as he approached at least a few inches taller than him, and bent her neck down to kiss his cheek. “Hello there, I’m Simona,” she said in a low, seductive voice. “Hi, yeah. Umm. Barry. Look, I haven’t done this before so, ah-,” he said with a squeak, as he shoved a firmly-packed envelope into her hand. “That’s okay, would you like a drink, to relax?” she suggested. She knew that first-timers were always difficult. Barry seemed like he could be easily lead, but he was aloof and avoided her eyes.
“Let’s just go, I’ve got a time limit, right? Can we just go to the room?” he asked, tugging on his collar. Beads of sweat formed along his receeding hair line. She turned up the charm she was already oozing with and linking her arm in his lead him out into the foyer, and into an elevator. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. She took his clammy hand in hers and he recoiled as if he has a shock. “I don’t want to do that. Let’s just get to the room and then you can do what I’ve paid you for.” Simona was starting to think Barry hadn’t made the decision to hire a woman for a few hours himself. He seemed against most of her subtle advances, hints of affection. She liked her clients to feel like they were special, the only one (unless they requested otherwise). “Just relax, this is going to be fun,” she cooed as the stepped out of the elevator. She stroked the lapels of his blazer softly. “I like your nail polish,” he replied, with nervous laughter.
After a short walk down a narrow hallway, Simona and her edgy client found the room; a basic bed-television-bathroom deal with a small balcony. He had obviously gone for the cheaper option, since Simona’s service came at a premium fee. He loosened his tie, and ripped off his blazer. Simona stood behind him, reaching around to undo his buttons. Despite them being the opposite of a woman’s shirt, she had had enough practice in unbuttoning a man’s shirt and didn’t fumble. She ran her fingers through thick, curly chest hair and kissed the nape of his neck. Barry’s confidence was growing with his desire to have her, and he turned around and threw her on the bed. He lifted her legs and took down her red silk underpants before she finished saying “Wait!” It had sometimes been a bit confronting for men to go straight down there, she has found, even though this is what they’ve paid for.
His distorted face turned bright red in a second, he forced her legs closed and turned away in disgust. “You’re not a bloody woman, you’re a thing!” he said. “You fraud! You fucking liar!” His fists were clenched and his knuckles white; Simona pulled her underwear back up and her dress back down. “I thought you knew,” she offered. “It says on my website…A lot of men think it’s just as good.” She stood up and put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Give me my money back, you dirty freak! I didn’t pay for – for – whatever the hell you are!” He lunged at her, knocking her hand away from his shoulder and gripping her shoulders. He was stronger than he looked, and Simona began to get frightened. She worked independently; there was no pimp or madame for her to call to send in reinforcements. Sure the hotel staff knew who she was, but they turned a blind-eye to this sort of rendezvous. He pushed her and she landed with her arm, in an attempt to break her fall, twisted behind her back. He stormed out of the room onto the balcony and lit up a cigarette.
She reached for her purse and took out the envelope, placing it on the bedside table. Water filled her dark eyes as she went to turn the door handle. “Wait!” Barry barked from the balcony. “Come out here, give me my money back. Don’t you sneak out you bitch!” She took heavy steps to the table and picked up the envelope, walked outside and, standing a little too close for comfort in the small space, handed it to him. He grabbed her wrist. “No one makes a fool out of me,” he said, as he shoved his free hand between her legs. He pushed her against the balcony rail. “What the hell is this anyway? Why the fuck didn’t you say anything on the phone? People like you should be put on a leash,” he said, with a shower of his spit clouding her face. “Let me go! You’ve got your money. I just want to go home!” Barry withdrew his hand and scowled at her. She had tears running down her cheeks and he punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her.
It wasn’t the first time Simona had a rough client, and she could defend herself. She forced herself up and, with the hidden strength in her nimble body and with her hands on her shoulders pushed him back against the door. With a grapple for power, the small man lost the upper hand and Simona had him bent over backwards on the balcony. A vein in his forehead pulsed as he tried to push this would-be defenseless date off. “I’m leaving!” she said, her whole body trembling. “Let me go, let me go!” She loosened her hold on Barry’s shoulders and stood upright, but his ego was too bruised to let her go easily. He jumped up and made to grab her throat, but sensing his increasing rage she shoved him with all her might. With the flash of a second he was gone. His shoes disappeared behind the balcony in a blur, and she heard a cracking thud moments after.
She stood frozen to the spot for what seemed like an eternity. The sun was rising over the other tall buildings in the distance before she walked back into the room. She was almost calm; slightly rattled. If a client ever got rough it was either part of the foreplay or easily controlled. Her confusion was exhausting. She needed to clear her head before she decided whether to run, or front up to the law. But for that moment, she just sat on the bed and picked up her purse, taking out the nail-polish remover, a tissue, and began erasing the night’s work.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Our PM is a Ginger Julia
Good on the Labor party for distracting the country from our disappointing run in the FIFA World Cup. It’s a shame to see the Socceroos out, but they worked hard. The same could be said for Kevin Rudd. He did work hard, but he worked hard on the wrong things in the end.
I believe the right thing has been done. Ever since Kevin went up in ’07 with his ginger comrade, I was wishing for her to be going up for top job. We need more gingers in politics. But I have to say; doesn’t Julia Gillard look a bit like a ginger Björk?
I stole the Björk picture from Interview Magazine and Julia Gillard from nationaltimes.com.au
I think the Ginger Julia should take a leaf out of the Icelandic weirdo's book and snaz up her fashions.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Introducing..... Correcta-Girl!
Correcta-Girl travels around the city fighting poor grammar and spelling. Her arch-nemisis is Misplaced Apostrophe Man, and she is forever correcting his work. Her parents are Super Dad!! and The Comforter, a slightly bogan couple who decided, when naming her, to spell her name "differently". This has forever been a cause of great torment for Correcta-Girl, who can correct everything except the spelling of her own name. She is normally hand drawn, but I was a little bored...
Stay tuned for more remarkably well-spelled adventures of Correcta-Girl!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Step Into The Light
Sarah sat proudly in the front row as she watched her husband walk to the altar and take the microphone. He had worked so hard for this moment, with Sarah encouraging him along the way; just like the perfect wife should. Jeremy’s first sermon in front of the 300-strong congregation of Latter-Day Saints was looking to be a success. The room was full of twenty-something couples, many married, and some soon to be, like the naïve and devoted Jessica and the strong-willed and handsome Brett. So his topic on the dedication needed for a successful and loving marriage was chosen well, and aptly executed; just as Sarah would have had it.
Sarah believed her marriage was the epitome of perfection. She gazed upon Jeremy, looking neat in his beige suit with freshly-cut hair, and listened intently to his every word, as if were spoken from the mouth of God himself. “We know Jesus didn’t marry, but if he did, we know the values that he would place in that union would be incomparable to anything on earth. As stated in the holy book, no relationship, save that of the one between a father and son, is more important than that between a man and his wife,” Jeremy said, gushing with pride as he looked down to his beaming wife. “The right man can add substance to a woman’s life; and if she’s the right woman, with a kind and open heart she may just enrich the life of that man in ways he never thought possible.”
He laughed as he spoke the words, and as he looked around the room noticed expressions of admiration from the young men and their dutiful women. None were more captivated than Sarah, who believed her marriage with Jeremy was orchestrated by God himself, and their daughter Ella, and the blessing growing inside Sarah’s stomach was a profound example of God’s love.
As Jeremy continued his message Sarah reflected in silent prayer, thanking God for such a devoted and clever husband, a healthy – and clean – sex life (thank goodness Jeremy wasn’t into anything dirty) and the blessing of his six-figure salary. “Oh Jesus, I also want to thank you in advance for what we feel will be the ultimate blessing, a healthy son,” she whispered. Her gaze rested on Ella, and her smile widened as she put her hands around her enlarged stomach.
Any day now Jeremy was going to be a father for the second time, something he told the congregation was the most important part of life, almost at the same time as the seat of Sarah’s wooden chair became a puddle of her own bodily fluid. Her gushing smile became a grimace, lines appeared in her normally wrinkle-free forehead and she let out the slightest sound of discomfort.
“Sarah, honey, I can’t prove to the honest people of this church that we have a model marriage with you disrupting the service like that,” Jeremy teased, chuckling at what he believed to be an innocent joke. Sarah’s body jolted and she groaned in pain, and panting, rushed out the words, “Sorry honey, but God is about to bless us…with a new baby…and God waits for no man!” Applause rang out in the air, right up the crisp white walls to the highest of ceilings, out the open rectangle windows and echoed in the heavens. Jeremy rushed down from his podium to his wet-bottomed wife, now crouched on all fours on the ground as women with children of their own turned to each other in excitement and broke their respectful silence they’d reserved for Jeremy’s sermon.
“Well, isn’t she lucky, not only does she have one of the holiest husbands these walls have seen, but she gets to receive the gift of life right under God’s own roof,” one woman exclaimed as Sarah let out yet another, louder moan. Within minutes an ambulance arrived and Sarah, red-faced, damp, in pain, yet still glowing with joy was wheeled down the aisle and driven to the hospital. Jeremy returned to the podium. “Now everyone, please, back to your seats I’m sure my wife will be okay in the hands of our fine paramedics,” he said. “Church isn’t over for another half hour, and then we’ve got Sunday school for the little ones, so if you could save your excitement until later I’d like to continue.”
“Congratulations and God bless you Jeremy. Three cheers everyone,” an older woman yelled from in the middle of the room. “Hip hip, Hooray! Hip hip, Hooray! Hip hip, Hooray!” cheered the group. “Oh, who am I kidding folks, with any luck I’ll have a son this very day and if you don’t mind I’d love to join my beautiful Sarah at the hospital,” Jeremy announced, waving a hand in the air and shaking his head, as if trying to shake the proud smile off his face.
It was seventeen hours and thirty-two minutes until Jeremy became a father to a healthy son; just what he and Sarah wanted most. From the moment the surgeon came out to deliver the news of a new baby, Jeremy envisaged blue all-in-ones, tiny soccer boots, and Tonka trucks in the yard. He was deep in thanks to the Lord when the doctor told him there were complications with the delivery; Sarah had lost a lot of blood and they’d have to sew up half of her vagina. He almost didn’t hear the doctor tell him she was in a coma, and was in a critical condition, and would have to be kept in hospital under observation until she’d fully recovered. “I see,” was his soft-spoken response. “Can I see my son now?”
Michael wasn’t a big baby, but he was strong and healthy. His fingernails tore at the walls of Sarah’s womb and vagina and his large head, with the help of an over-active elbow, ripped her from one hole to another, as if the selfish baby fought as much as possible to cling to the warmth and safety inside his mother’s body. He would have suffocated himself to have stayed in his personal haven.
Sarah was awake but groggy the day after Michael ripped his way into the world, and therefore able to start breast-feeding the greedy baby. It was Jeremy’s ultimate pleasure to watch his son having a feed on his wife’s enlarged breasts, but something was missing when he looked at her. Before she’d returned to consciousness, Jeremy was informed that it could take years for his wife to comfortably go to bed with him again, and the chances of a third conception were one in a million. But in this time of heightened joy, all Jeremy could do was love his son and thank his wife for the safe delivery of what God had blessed them both with. Jeremy even caught himself thinking that Sarah’s health situation was okay, because a boy was born. A young, handsome boy that would grow up to keep the family name going for future generations. Sarah and Jeremy had done their best and besides, Sarah thought, their marriage was perfect. Who needed all of that sweaty panting and often painful mess she endured almost too often; three times a week was considered the minimum amount of times for the dutiful wife to offer herself to her husband.
Michael was one-and-a-half years old when Jeremy started to feel the sting of a sexless marriage. A few months earlier, Sarah, in an attempt to give her husband what she knew was important in a marriage, allowed Jeremy to try to make love to her, with little success. It put her back in hospital after a rather enthusiastic attempt on Jeremy’s side. “It’s okay, Sarah,” he reasoned. “If God wanted us to be one in the bedroom as we are in every other aspect of our lives, he would allow it and smile down on us. You have given me two beautiful children and that is all I could ask of you.” He was consoled by thoughts of his healthy, growing son and adorable daughter, and the way his devoted wife held the family together and continued to support her husband (even when, in his occasional counseling with young couples, did he boast about his thrice-a-week relations with his wife). The church was a massive gossip pit and everyone knew that this was a lie, but Jeremy, as a future leader of the church, had to keep up appearances.
* * * * *
He didn’t tell me these things the first time we were together, he didn’t think about his family at all. And that’s the way I liked it. For the first time in his life, he had a dimple in his right cheek when he smiled at me. He didn’t think of Sarah when he stared at my round buttocks, wrapped firmly in a red polka-dot skirt. He didn’t think of his daughter when he stared at my cleavage that purposely showed out of a low-cut top. And he certainly didn’t think of his perfect son when he kissed me after one too many Christmas drinks. I always felt it was wrong to go after a married man, especially one of the church, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he was like outside of that light-filled room. Sarah introduced us one Sunday after I pretended to admire Michael, and said that Jeremy could help me with some things around the house as I was living alone. It was obvious she didn’t expect either us to agree, but he packed his screw driver and walked around to my house one Monday night.
At first it was just a cupboard door handle and the hinge that needed fixing, but the cup of tea and conversation was what kept him coming back, finding tiny flaws in as much as possible so he had an excuse to come back. He told Sarah he was coming to help paint my bathroom when we kissed for the first time. Kissing very quickly turned to touching, and we had sex in my bathroom that didn’t need painting. “We can’t do this again,” he said, a few hours after he should have been home. It was my first time, and Jeremy made me feel amazing. But my post-de-flowering euphoria was stripped at his decision not to see me again. Sarah was blissfully unaware of what had happened, and not even suspicious of any foul-play. She trusted me; she thought I was a nice girl. She set me up on dates with other men from the congregation. So when she went to visit her parents for a week with the kids, she didn’t think twice when Jeremy told her he was too busy with work to take the week off.
He showed up unannounced on my front doorstep within half an hour of Sarah’s departure. He didn’t say anything. He stormed in and grabbed my waist and kissed my neck. “Let’s go,” I whispered. I lead the way out of the hallway into my messy bedroom. He told me Sarah would only let him make love to her if he was on top, and that he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be with her, but it wasn’t as good as it was with me. We laid on the bed wrapped up in each other until the sun began to peek through the blinds, as we did every night that week.
The last night he came to my house he broke it off. He said he couldn’t go to church anymore and questioned his beliefs because of the relationship that was developing with us. He said he wished his family didn’t exist so he could stay with me forever. But Sarah was back the next day and I didn’t hear from him again. He left a scrunched up note on my kitchen counter that I didn’t have the strength to read. A week later, he called me. “I can’t do this anymore, I have to tell Sarah,” he said, half in tears. “Do whatever you think is right,” I said, and just before he hung up as I heard him start, “Did you get my…” Within an hour I heard banging on the front door. I knew it wasn’t Jeremy, he always knocked so softly. I swallowed the lump in my throat and opened the door to a distraught Sarah; tissue held to her cheek, her eyes flooded with tears.
“We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go?” she demanded between sobs. I lead her through to the kitchen and offered her a seat at the table. What is she doing here? I thought. He can’t have told her already. “Can I get you a tea or coffee?” I asked. She shook her head and stared at me with wet, black eyes. “No. I don’t want anything from you,” she answered. “You know why I’m here. I just heard from Jeremy. Who in God’s good name do you think you are?” I apologised. All of a sudden I felt the guilt that was absent since I started wanting to be with this woman’s husband. “You know he doesn’t love you,” she barked. The beautiful, perfect, holy wife was reduced to a blotchy, snotty mess. She suddenly spoke with a snarl, and constantly clenched and unclenched her fists around a ratty tissue on the table in front of her. “I don’t deserve this, I’ve been a perfect wife and I love my husband as much as any child of the lord could,” she said more to herself than to me. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want this to happen,” I lied. I wanted to tell her that it was her fault. She was the one who wouldn’t have sex with her husband. “He doesn’t love you!” she declared in a self-convincing tone.
“I thought you were a smart, decent girl. I would have never expected something like this from you,” she said. “You don’t know how much damage this could have done if you had let this continue. I thank God that Jeremy has seen the light and wanted to be honest with me. You’re lucky I’m a God-loving woman, anyone else would have struck you down in this situation!” Sarah gasped at her own spitefulness and broke her piercing glare for a few seconds. “I know, I’d deserve it,” I stuttered, despite feeling like what happened between Jeremy and I was natural. “You’re damn right you would!” she squeaked. “There is only room for five people in my family. My husband, our children, myself, and Jesus! And I think I speak for everyone in that family when I say we don’t want you. Jeremy could never love someone like you!”
I avoided looking at her face. Sarah was right. Maybe Jeremy didn’t love me but I felt like he did, and I knew I loved him. I know he was only the first man I’d ever been intimate with, but he was everything I wanted. She started babbling about “health issues” and about the “love a married couple share”, but my attention had turned to the note; I looked at the scrunched piece of paper on the kitchen counter and excused myself from the table. “Where are you going? We’re not finished!” Sarah screamed from only a metre away, banging her fists on the table.
I love you were the only words written on the paper. While Sarah was ranting about the morals of a decent woman, I turned to her and said, “he does love me”. I didn’t care about her feelings any more, and I smiled. “He loves me!” I said again. I took my car keys off the counter and ran out the door, leaving a bewildered Sarah behind in awe of this new revelation. I walked down the driveway and noticed the perfect woman had left her children in the car. But I kept going; I drove straight to his office, he wasn’t there. I went past his house, and he wasn’t there either. I drove to the church and his Land Rover was parked outside. The church was nowhere near as amazing when it was completely empty. The giant cross on the altar didn’t have the weight it held on a Sunday morning. I looked at it and knew I didn’t belong there, but would do almost anything to be with Jeremy.
He sat in the first row, where Sarah had sat the day she went into labour with Michael. “You shouldn’t be here, this is a holy place,” he said without turning around. He knew that I wasn’t serious about religion. When he told me he questioned his beliefs I was glad, despite his confusion. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he said. “I don’t know why I feel this way about you.” “Jeremy,” I said, before the door swung open again. Sarah burst through the doorway and stormed into the middle of the aisle. Dropping to her knees and throwing her hands in the air, she let out a load moan before collapsing completely into a blubbering mess.
Jeremy stood staring at his perfect wife, witnessing her fall from grace, but still didn’t move. He didn’t look at me either. His left eyebrow was raised in confusion and he gritted his teeth. I should have known this would happen, I thought. “I love you, too,” I said over the howling of the banshee on the floor behind me. “I love you Katherine, but I must stand by my wife,” he said, still not meeting my gaze. He walked past me and crouched down next to Sarah and helped her stand up. “You love her?” she sobbed. “Yes. But I love you too, Sarah. I wish there was a way that I could love both of you, without hurting anyone. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do but I can’t choose. Only God can help me now.” At that moment, light filled the room until we were squinting at each other, before it settled like a spotlight on each of us. Sarah was the first to notice the anomaly.
“It’s God! He’s chosen for us!” She wiped tears from her cheeks and snot from her nose, adjusted her jacket and beamed. She stepped in between Jeremy and I and took our hands with hers. “We’re meant to be together,” she said. “Yes! The answer to our question! It’s obviously what God wants for all of us,” he said joyously as he turned to me. “Please join our family and become my second wife,” Jeremy said, smiling as bright as the light that surrounded us. They were both suddenly standing bolt upright, as if the tragedy that had struck their marriage less than an hour ago had been wiped from their memories. Maybe Jeremy did love me, and maybe Sarah was so righteous in her perfection, she’d believe any coincidental sun movement was a sign from God.
“Wow. You two are nutjobs,” I said, moving towards the door. “I am outta here.”
Sarah believed her marriage was the epitome of perfection. She gazed upon Jeremy, looking neat in his beige suit with freshly-cut hair, and listened intently to his every word, as if were spoken from the mouth of God himself. “We know Jesus didn’t marry, but if he did, we know the values that he would place in that union would be incomparable to anything on earth. As stated in the holy book, no relationship, save that of the one between a father and son, is more important than that between a man and his wife,” Jeremy said, gushing with pride as he looked down to his beaming wife. “The right man can add substance to a woman’s life; and if she’s the right woman, with a kind and open heart she may just enrich the life of that man in ways he never thought possible.”
He laughed as he spoke the words, and as he looked around the room noticed expressions of admiration from the young men and their dutiful women. None were more captivated than Sarah, who believed her marriage with Jeremy was orchestrated by God himself, and their daughter Ella, and the blessing growing inside Sarah’s stomach was a profound example of God’s love.
As Jeremy continued his message Sarah reflected in silent prayer, thanking God for such a devoted and clever husband, a healthy – and clean – sex life (thank goodness Jeremy wasn’t into anything dirty) and the blessing of his six-figure salary. “Oh Jesus, I also want to thank you in advance for what we feel will be the ultimate blessing, a healthy son,” she whispered. Her gaze rested on Ella, and her smile widened as she put her hands around her enlarged stomach.
Any day now Jeremy was going to be a father for the second time, something he told the congregation was the most important part of life, almost at the same time as the seat of Sarah’s wooden chair became a puddle of her own bodily fluid. Her gushing smile became a grimace, lines appeared in her normally wrinkle-free forehead and she let out the slightest sound of discomfort.
“Sarah, honey, I can’t prove to the honest people of this church that we have a model marriage with you disrupting the service like that,” Jeremy teased, chuckling at what he believed to be an innocent joke. Sarah’s body jolted and she groaned in pain, and panting, rushed out the words, “Sorry honey, but God is about to bless us…with a new baby…and God waits for no man!” Applause rang out in the air, right up the crisp white walls to the highest of ceilings, out the open rectangle windows and echoed in the heavens. Jeremy rushed down from his podium to his wet-bottomed wife, now crouched on all fours on the ground as women with children of their own turned to each other in excitement and broke their respectful silence they’d reserved for Jeremy’s sermon.
“Well, isn’t she lucky, not only does she have one of the holiest husbands these walls have seen, but she gets to receive the gift of life right under God’s own roof,” one woman exclaimed as Sarah let out yet another, louder moan. Within minutes an ambulance arrived and Sarah, red-faced, damp, in pain, yet still glowing with joy was wheeled down the aisle and driven to the hospital. Jeremy returned to the podium. “Now everyone, please, back to your seats I’m sure my wife will be okay in the hands of our fine paramedics,” he said. “Church isn’t over for another half hour, and then we’ve got Sunday school for the little ones, so if you could save your excitement until later I’d like to continue.”
“Congratulations and God bless you Jeremy. Three cheers everyone,” an older woman yelled from in the middle of the room. “Hip hip, Hooray! Hip hip, Hooray! Hip hip, Hooray!” cheered the group. “Oh, who am I kidding folks, with any luck I’ll have a son this very day and if you don’t mind I’d love to join my beautiful Sarah at the hospital,” Jeremy announced, waving a hand in the air and shaking his head, as if trying to shake the proud smile off his face.
It was seventeen hours and thirty-two minutes until Jeremy became a father to a healthy son; just what he and Sarah wanted most. From the moment the surgeon came out to deliver the news of a new baby, Jeremy envisaged blue all-in-ones, tiny soccer boots, and Tonka trucks in the yard. He was deep in thanks to the Lord when the doctor told him there were complications with the delivery; Sarah had lost a lot of blood and they’d have to sew up half of her vagina. He almost didn’t hear the doctor tell him she was in a coma, and was in a critical condition, and would have to be kept in hospital under observation until she’d fully recovered. “I see,” was his soft-spoken response. “Can I see my son now?”
Michael wasn’t a big baby, but he was strong and healthy. His fingernails tore at the walls of Sarah’s womb and vagina and his large head, with the help of an over-active elbow, ripped her from one hole to another, as if the selfish baby fought as much as possible to cling to the warmth and safety inside his mother’s body. He would have suffocated himself to have stayed in his personal haven.
Sarah was awake but groggy the day after Michael ripped his way into the world, and therefore able to start breast-feeding the greedy baby. It was Jeremy’s ultimate pleasure to watch his son having a feed on his wife’s enlarged breasts, but something was missing when he looked at her. Before she’d returned to consciousness, Jeremy was informed that it could take years for his wife to comfortably go to bed with him again, and the chances of a third conception were one in a million. But in this time of heightened joy, all Jeremy could do was love his son and thank his wife for the safe delivery of what God had blessed them both with. Jeremy even caught himself thinking that Sarah’s health situation was okay, because a boy was born. A young, handsome boy that would grow up to keep the family name going for future generations. Sarah and Jeremy had done their best and besides, Sarah thought, their marriage was perfect. Who needed all of that sweaty panting and often painful mess she endured almost too often; three times a week was considered the minimum amount of times for the dutiful wife to offer herself to her husband.
Michael was one-and-a-half years old when Jeremy started to feel the sting of a sexless marriage. A few months earlier, Sarah, in an attempt to give her husband what she knew was important in a marriage, allowed Jeremy to try to make love to her, with little success. It put her back in hospital after a rather enthusiastic attempt on Jeremy’s side. “It’s okay, Sarah,” he reasoned. “If God wanted us to be one in the bedroom as we are in every other aspect of our lives, he would allow it and smile down on us. You have given me two beautiful children and that is all I could ask of you.” He was consoled by thoughts of his healthy, growing son and adorable daughter, and the way his devoted wife held the family together and continued to support her husband (even when, in his occasional counseling with young couples, did he boast about his thrice-a-week relations with his wife). The church was a massive gossip pit and everyone knew that this was a lie, but Jeremy, as a future leader of the church, had to keep up appearances.
* * * * *
He didn’t tell me these things the first time we were together, he didn’t think about his family at all. And that’s the way I liked it. For the first time in his life, he had a dimple in his right cheek when he smiled at me. He didn’t think of Sarah when he stared at my round buttocks, wrapped firmly in a red polka-dot skirt. He didn’t think of his daughter when he stared at my cleavage that purposely showed out of a low-cut top. And he certainly didn’t think of his perfect son when he kissed me after one too many Christmas drinks. I always felt it was wrong to go after a married man, especially one of the church, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he was like outside of that light-filled room. Sarah introduced us one Sunday after I pretended to admire Michael, and said that Jeremy could help me with some things around the house as I was living alone. It was obvious she didn’t expect either us to agree, but he packed his screw driver and walked around to my house one Monday night.
At first it was just a cupboard door handle and the hinge that needed fixing, but the cup of tea and conversation was what kept him coming back, finding tiny flaws in as much as possible so he had an excuse to come back. He told Sarah he was coming to help paint my bathroom when we kissed for the first time. Kissing very quickly turned to touching, and we had sex in my bathroom that didn’t need painting. “We can’t do this again,” he said, a few hours after he should have been home. It was my first time, and Jeremy made me feel amazing. But my post-de-flowering euphoria was stripped at his decision not to see me again. Sarah was blissfully unaware of what had happened, and not even suspicious of any foul-play. She trusted me; she thought I was a nice girl. She set me up on dates with other men from the congregation. So when she went to visit her parents for a week with the kids, she didn’t think twice when Jeremy told her he was too busy with work to take the week off.
He showed up unannounced on my front doorstep within half an hour of Sarah’s departure. He didn’t say anything. He stormed in and grabbed my waist and kissed my neck. “Let’s go,” I whispered. I lead the way out of the hallway into my messy bedroom. He told me Sarah would only let him make love to her if he was on top, and that he couldn’t remember what it felt like to be with her, but it wasn’t as good as it was with me. We laid on the bed wrapped up in each other until the sun began to peek through the blinds, as we did every night that week.
The last night he came to my house he broke it off. He said he couldn’t go to church anymore and questioned his beliefs because of the relationship that was developing with us. He said he wished his family didn’t exist so he could stay with me forever. But Sarah was back the next day and I didn’t hear from him again. He left a scrunched up note on my kitchen counter that I didn’t have the strength to read. A week later, he called me. “I can’t do this anymore, I have to tell Sarah,” he said, half in tears. “Do whatever you think is right,” I said, and just before he hung up as I heard him start, “Did you get my…” Within an hour I heard banging on the front door. I knew it wasn’t Jeremy, he always knocked so softly. I swallowed the lump in my throat and opened the door to a distraught Sarah; tissue held to her cheek, her eyes flooded with tears.
“We need to talk. Is there somewhere we can go?” she demanded between sobs. I lead her through to the kitchen and offered her a seat at the table. What is she doing here? I thought. He can’t have told her already. “Can I get you a tea or coffee?” I asked. She shook her head and stared at me with wet, black eyes. “No. I don’t want anything from you,” she answered. “You know why I’m here. I just heard from Jeremy. Who in God’s good name do you think you are?” I apologised. All of a sudden I felt the guilt that was absent since I started wanting to be with this woman’s husband. “You know he doesn’t love you,” she barked. The beautiful, perfect, holy wife was reduced to a blotchy, snotty mess. She suddenly spoke with a snarl, and constantly clenched and unclenched her fists around a ratty tissue on the table in front of her. “I don’t deserve this, I’ve been a perfect wife and I love my husband as much as any child of the lord could,” she said more to herself than to me. “I’m really sorry, I didn’t want this to happen,” I lied. I wanted to tell her that it was her fault. She was the one who wouldn’t have sex with her husband. “He doesn’t love you!” she declared in a self-convincing tone.
“I thought you were a smart, decent girl. I would have never expected something like this from you,” she said. “You don’t know how much damage this could have done if you had let this continue. I thank God that Jeremy has seen the light and wanted to be honest with me. You’re lucky I’m a God-loving woman, anyone else would have struck you down in this situation!” Sarah gasped at her own spitefulness and broke her piercing glare for a few seconds. “I know, I’d deserve it,” I stuttered, despite feeling like what happened between Jeremy and I was natural. “You’re damn right you would!” she squeaked. “There is only room for five people in my family. My husband, our children, myself, and Jesus! And I think I speak for everyone in that family when I say we don’t want you. Jeremy could never love someone like you!”
I avoided looking at her face. Sarah was right. Maybe Jeremy didn’t love me but I felt like he did, and I knew I loved him. I know he was only the first man I’d ever been intimate with, but he was everything I wanted. She started babbling about “health issues” and about the “love a married couple share”, but my attention had turned to the note; I looked at the scrunched piece of paper on the kitchen counter and excused myself from the table. “Where are you going? We’re not finished!” Sarah screamed from only a metre away, banging her fists on the table.
I love you were the only words written on the paper. While Sarah was ranting about the morals of a decent woman, I turned to her and said, “he does love me”. I didn’t care about her feelings any more, and I smiled. “He loves me!” I said again. I took my car keys off the counter and ran out the door, leaving a bewildered Sarah behind in awe of this new revelation. I walked down the driveway and noticed the perfect woman had left her children in the car. But I kept going; I drove straight to his office, he wasn’t there. I went past his house, and he wasn’t there either. I drove to the church and his Land Rover was parked outside. The church was nowhere near as amazing when it was completely empty. The giant cross on the altar didn’t have the weight it held on a Sunday morning. I looked at it and knew I didn’t belong there, but would do almost anything to be with Jeremy.
He sat in the first row, where Sarah had sat the day she went into labour with Michael. “You shouldn’t be here, this is a holy place,” he said without turning around. He knew that I wasn’t serious about religion. When he told me he questioned his beliefs I was glad, despite his confusion. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he said. “I don’t know why I feel this way about you.” “Jeremy,” I said, before the door swung open again. Sarah burst through the doorway and stormed into the middle of the aisle. Dropping to her knees and throwing her hands in the air, she let out a load moan before collapsing completely into a blubbering mess.
Jeremy stood staring at his perfect wife, witnessing her fall from grace, but still didn’t move. He didn’t look at me either. His left eyebrow was raised in confusion and he gritted his teeth. I should have known this would happen, I thought. “I love you, too,” I said over the howling of the banshee on the floor behind me. “I love you Katherine, but I must stand by my wife,” he said, still not meeting my gaze. He walked past me and crouched down next to Sarah and helped her stand up. “You love her?” she sobbed. “Yes. But I love you too, Sarah. I wish there was a way that I could love both of you, without hurting anyone. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do but I can’t choose. Only God can help me now.” At that moment, light filled the room until we were squinting at each other, before it settled like a spotlight on each of us. Sarah was the first to notice the anomaly.
“It’s God! He’s chosen for us!” She wiped tears from her cheeks and snot from her nose, adjusted her jacket and beamed. She stepped in between Jeremy and I and took our hands with hers. “We’re meant to be together,” she said. “Yes! The answer to our question! It’s obviously what God wants for all of us,” he said joyously as he turned to me. “Please join our family and become my second wife,” Jeremy said, smiling as bright as the light that surrounded us. They were both suddenly standing bolt upright, as if the tragedy that had struck their marriage less than an hour ago had been wiped from their memories. Maybe Jeremy did love me, and maybe Sarah was so righteous in her perfection, she’d believe any coincidental sun movement was a sign from God.
“Wow. You two are nutjobs,” I said, moving towards the door. “I am outta here.”
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