you’re old! Aren’t you?” Jessica peered
at Anjali, as if she were having trouble deciphering her dark skin,
her thick black hair. Anjali’s mother had always said that brown
skin aged better than white did, that it didn’t show the lines as
fast.
“I’m twenty-nine.” A terribly old maid in
Jessica’s mind, no doubt, and in Anjali’s mother’s mind too, for
that matter. It was easier, living in modern America. Somewhat.
Jessica considered a moment, then nodded her
head, decisively. “You’re pretty enough; you should get married.
Isn’t there anyone?”
“There was.” It was hard to say the words.
She had successfully avoided talking about it, thinking about it,
for so long. “It ended, almost a year ago.”
“But you still love him.” It wasn’t a
question, so Anjali didn’t bother to answer. Those who were
heart-whole didn’t spend their nights in frozen graveyards. Instead
she picked up her pen again, straightened the pile of papers. This
conversation had gone on long enough.
“I need to get back to work, Jessica.”
The girl hesitated for a moment, as if she
were about to say something else. But then she just nodded, and
disappeared. One moment there, the next, gone. People could
disappear so quickly.
She was walking in to campus the next time
Jessica showed up, walking east along the Avenues, from 2nd and Q
up through R, S, T, to U and University, then turning right,
wending through a curvy mess of old streets, big houses that stood
out from the city’s appallingly regular grid and the mass of neat
little three-bedroom homes. This part of town reminded her of New
England, where she had gone to college; it comforted her, a little.
A strange, late snowfall the previous night had given way to bright
sunshine, melting and refreezing, coating the trees in crystal, the
grass in glittering light.
“I met Matthew in the springtime,” Jessica
said. She kept pace beside Anjali, her footsteps leaving no imprint
in the pristine snow. Appropriate, Anjali couldn’t help thinking;
her own footsteps broke a battered, muddy trail.
“My parents and I had just moved here; we
were excited. Brother Brigham had such plans for the city—he even
laid out the streets, wide enough for four oxen to walk
abreast.”
“They’re pretty wide.” It did make for an
attractive city, Anjali had to admit. Salt Lake was orderly, clean,
well-laid-out. Lots of white buildings, no trash on the streets.
Did the missionary boys walk the streets in the early morning,
picking up the trash? And what did they do with the homeless here?
Only in the heart of downtown did you ever see them at all. It was
morbidly amusing, imagining dark scenarios where they were rounded
up like cattle, exterminated to maintain the image of the clean
city of God. A science fiction horror story. But undoubtedly they
were only taken to shelters, forced to listen to a little preaching
in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Not a bad
deal.
Jessica smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I met
Matthew at a church social; he couldn’t dance with me, of course,
but he brought me punch, and we talked. I wanted to dance with him
so badly that night…”
It made her chest ache, listening to the girl
chatter. She didn’t want to remember how she met Neil, when she was
still in college and he was in grad school. He was talking to her
roommate, flirting with her, trying to make her laugh, and
succeeding. Anjali had just listened to him, enjoying the sound of
his voice, the hair falling across his face. She had wanted to
reach up and brush it back, uncovering blue eyes. She took a deep
breath, banishing the memory. “Neil doesn’t like to dance.”
“Well, that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Jessica paused, eyes speculative on Anjali’s face. “As long as he
likes dancing in bed… .”
“Jessica!” Anjali was actually shocked—the
girl looked so sweet, so innocent and virginal.
She laughed. “I was married, you know.
For
at Anjali, as if she were having trouble deciphering her dark skin,
her thick black hair. Anjali’s mother had always said that brown
skin aged better than white did, that it didn’t show the lines as
fast.
“I’m twenty-nine.” A terribly old maid in
Jessica’s mind, no doubt, and in Anjali’s mother’s mind too, for
that matter. It was easier, living in modern America. Somewhat.
Jessica considered a moment, then nodded her
head, decisively. “You’re pretty enough; you should get married.
Isn’t there anyone?”
“There was.” It was hard to say the words.
She had successfully avoided talking about it, thinking about it,
for so long. “It ended, almost a year ago.”
“But you still love him.” It wasn’t a
question, so Anjali didn’t bother to answer. Those who were
heart-whole didn’t spend their nights in frozen graveyards. Instead
she picked up her pen again, straightened the pile of papers. This
conversation had gone on long enough.
“I need to get back to work, Jessica.”
The girl hesitated for a moment, as if she
were about to say something else. But then she just nodded, and
disappeared. One moment there, the next, gone. People could
disappear so quickly.
She was walking in to campus the next time
Jessica showed up, walking east along the Avenues, from 2nd and Q
up through R, S, T, to U and University, then turning right,
wending through a curvy mess of old streets, big houses that stood
out from the city’s appallingly regular grid and the mass of neat
little three-bedroom homes. This part of town reminded her of New
England, where she had gone to college; it comforted her, a little.
A strange, late snowfall the previous night had given way to bright
sunshine, melting and refreezing, coating the trees in crystal, the
grass in glittering light.
“I met Matthew in the springtime,” Jessica
said. She kept pace beside Anjali, her footsteps leaving no imprint
in the pristine snow. Appropriate, Anjali couldn’t help thinking;
her own footsteps broke a battered, muddy trail.
“My parents and I had just moved here; we
were excited. Brother Brigham had such plans for the city—he even
laid out the streets, wide enough for four oxen to walk
abreast.”
“They’re pretty wide.” It did make for an
attractive city, Anjali had to admit. Salt Lake was orderly, clean,
well-laid-out. Lots of white buildings, no trash on the streets.
Did the missionary boys walk the streets in the early morning,
picking up the trash? And what did they do with the homeless here?
Only in the heart of downtown did you ever see them at all. It was
morbidly amusing, imagining dark scenarios where they were rounded
up like cattle, exterminated to maintain the image of the clean
city of God. A science fiction horror story. But undoubtedly they
were only taken to shelters, forced to listen to a little preaching
in exchange for a warm meal and a place to sleep. Not a bad
deal.
Jessica smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I met
Matthew at a church social; he couldn’t dance with me, of course,
but he brought me punch, and we talked. I wanted to dance with him
so badly that night…”
It made her chest ache, listening to the girl
chatter. She didn’t want to remember how she met Neil, when she was
still in college and he was in grad school. He was talking to her
roommate, flirting with her, trying to make her laugh, and
succeeding. Anjali had just listened to him, enjoying the sound of
his voice, the hair falling across his face. She had wanted to
reach up and brush it back, uncovering blue eyes. She took a deep
breath, banishing the memory. “Neil doesn’t like to dance.”
“Well, that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Jessica paused, eyes speculative on Anjali’s face. “As long as he
likes dancing in bed… .”
“Jessica!” Anjali was actually shocked—the
girl looked so sweet, so innocent and virginal.
She laughed. “I was married, you know.
For
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