14 ICSA TODAY
I go to push the box into the hall. “We were just talking. I was only
being friendly.”
“Yeah?” Adam’s voice is threatening. “Did he know that?”
“Adam, he just wanted to go home to his family. Now come give
me a hand with this box.”
“Why don’t you go get him back, eh? I bet he’d love to give you a
hand. I bet he’d give you a lot more than that, given the way you
were bending over.”
“Oh, stop it,” I snap. “Come on.” Deep in my chest, my heart is
aching. Did that guy really think I was coming onto him? Was I
acting inappropriately?
Adam stares at me with a look of disgust. “I’m going for a walk,”
he hisses. Normally, he copies my accent when he talks. But
whenever he’s angry, his old voice hisses out, like it is now. I hate
that voice. It’s like there’s this whole other person inside him. He
slithers away like a snake, pushing past me out of the door.
I don’t know how long he’ll be. Could be 5 minutes, could be 2
hours. The only thing I know is that if he comes back to find me
gone, hell will utterly break loose on earth. Same if I’m playing
music or watching a film. Not much I can do but wait. I drag the
box down the hallway and into the living room. It’s filled with
little knick-knacks we ordered.
I sit on the sofa, fielding another dilemma: If I unpack them
now, he’ll be upset that I did it without him. But if I don’t, he
might come back and be angry that it hasn’t been done. For the
millionth time this week, I think about how much I want to leave,
but he’s such a good husband. He cares for me, keeps a roof over
my head. Who else would want me? Who else would put up with
me?
I make a cup of tea and stare out the window, at the long line of
cars stretching far down the street.
~
At 6 p.m. he comes back in. I smell the fish and chips straight
away, that pungent waft of soggy batter drenched in vinegar.
“Squashy!” he calls. “I brought you din-dins!”
I wince. Sometimes I wish he’d just talk like an adult. His baby
language frustrates me. I suppose it’s meant to be cute, but it
never stops. Never. He never, ever talks to me normally. Not
unless he’s yelling.
I want to say, “Fish and chips again? Fourth time this week?” I
want to say, “I’d planned to use up those vegetables in the fridge.”
I want to say, “I need to go out for a walk too, Adam.”
I say none of those things, because I don’t want another fight.
“Thank you!” Give him a big hug. “It smells so good! I’ll get plates.”
“Well, I’ve gotta take care of my Squashy. Who else will? Can’t let
her starve.” For real, he pats me on the head.
I fight to keep my happy, smiling, grateful face on, but deep down
inside I want to scream.
~
“Miranda!” Sura runs up to me. “I’ve got a job for you!”
“Ooh, brilliant!” Sura is Communications Officer. I asked to be put
forward for the role myself, but God didn’t think I had the right
qualities. But that’s already in the past. “I’d love to work with you!”
“Now, Miranda, it’s unpaid, but I already tested, and it seems that
you are exactly who I need. Would you like to be my assistant?
Maybe 2 to 3 days a week for the next 6 months?”
My heart sinks. It’d be great, but I need money.
“Sure…,” I falter. “Let me talk it over with Adam.” He’ll veto it for
sure he cannot stand me working for free. For once, that’s almost
a relief.
~
Three women stand in front of me. Adriana is our spiritual guide.
She’s very high up in the organization, and it’s an honor to have
her here. An extremely intimidating honor. Adriana is petite, and
very feminine. She’s standing in a long, floaty skirt and very thick
socks. I wish I’d brought mine—why must meditation halls always
have cold floors? Is it part of the design, to cultivate discomfort?
The other two women are Sura and Royce. “Great Protector,” the
tall, imposing Royce begins, holding her arms out to the silence
of the shady hall, in which my toes are already becoming numb
despite it being summer. “We are here to receive your wisdom, if
it be your will.” They all close their eyes and raise their arms up to
the ceiling.
“Dear God,” Adriana takes over, “what should Miranda’s mindset
be toward taking an unpaid internship with Sura?”
Suddenly all the women start skipping around, clapping their
hands and laughing, as God takes over their bodies just to tell me
what to do.
“And God,” Adriana goes on, as the women’s laughing and
clapping die down, “how would it be for Miranda if she does not
take this placement with Sura?”
The women groan. They are falling to the floor, clutching their
stomachs, writhing in agony. They are in pain right now, because
of me. It’s horrible to watch.
“Stop! Clear!” They shake their hands and make whirring noises to
get rid of the bad vibes. The bad vibes I caused them. “Now God,
what should Miranda’s attitude be toward money?”
My husband is standing at the other end of the dark hallway.
He’s staring at me with a face of thunder.
“Well, you certainly made a friend.” His voice is frozen knives.
I go to push the box into the hall. “We were just talking. I was only
being friendly.”
“Yeah?” Adam’s voice is threatening. “Did he know that?”
“Adam, he just wanted to go home to his family. Now come give
me a hand with this box.”
“Why don’t you go get him back, eh? I bet he’d love to give you a
hand. I bet he’d give you a lot more than that, given the way you
were bending over.”
“Oh, stop it,” I snap. “Come on.” Deep in my chest, my heart is
aching. Did that guy really think I was coming onto him? Was I
acting inappropriately?
Adam stares at me with a look of disgust. “I’m going for a walk,”
he hisses. Normally, he copies my accent when he talks. But
whenever he’s angry, his old voice hisses out, like it is now. I hate
that voice. It’s like there’s this whole other person inside him. He
slithers away like a snake, pushing past me out of the door.
I don’t know how long he’ll be. Could be 5 minutes, could be 2
hours. The only thing I know is that if he comes back to find me
gone, hell will utterly break loose on earth. Same if I’m playing
music or watching a film. Not much I can do but wait. I drag the
box down the hallway and into the living room. It’s filled with
little knick-knacks we ordered.
I sit on the sofa, fielding another dilemma: If I unpack them
now, he’ll be upset that I did it without him. But if I don’t, he
might come back and be angry that it hasn’t been done. For the
millionth time this week, I think about how much I want to leave,
but he’s such a good husband. He cares for me, keeps a roof over
my head. Who else would want me? Who else would put up with
me?
I make a cup of tea and stare out the window, at the long line of
cars stretching far down the street.
~
At 6 p.m. he comes back in. I smell the fish and chips straight
away, that pungent waft of soggy batter drenched in vinegar.
“Squashy!” he calls. “I brought you din-dins!”
I wince. Sometimes I wish he’d just talk like an adult. His baby
language frustrates me. I suppose it’s meant to be cute, but it
never stops. Never. He never, ever talks to me normally. Not
unless he’s yelling.
I want to say, “Fish and chips again? Fourth time this week?” I
want to say, “I’d planned to use up those vegetables in the fridge.”
I want to say, “I need to go out for a walk too, Adam.”
I say none of those things, because I don’t want another fight.
“Thank you!” Give him a big hug. “It smells so good! I’ll get plates.”
“Well, I’ve gotta take care of my Squashy. Who else will? Can’t let
her starve.” For real, he pats me on the head.
I fight to keep my happy, smiling, grateful face on, but deep down
inside I want to scream.
~
“Miranda!” Sura runs up to me. “I’ve got a job for you!”
“Ooh, brilliant!” Sura is Communications Officer. I asked to be put
forward for the role myself, but God didn’t think I had the right
qualities. But that’s already in the past. “I’d love to work with you!”
“Now, Miranda, it’s unpaid, but I already tested, and it seems that
you are exactly who I need. Would you like to be my assistant?
Maybe 2 to 3 days a week for the next 6 months?”
My heart sinks. It’d be great, but I need money.
“Sure…,” I falter. “Let me talk it over with Adam.” He’ll veto it for
sure he cannot stand me working for free. For once, that’s almost
a relief.
~
Three women stand in front of me. Adriana is our spiritual guide.
She’s very high up in the organization, and it’s an honor to have
her here. An extremely intimidating honor. Adriana is petite, and
very feminine. She’s standing in a long, floaty skirt and very thick
socks. I wish I’d brought mine—why must meditation halls always
have cold floors? Is it part of the design, to cultivate discomfort?
The other two women are Sura and Royce. “Great Protector,” the
tall, imposing Royce begins, holding her arms out to the silence
of the shady hall, in which my toes are already becoming numb
despite it being summer. “We are here to receive your wisdom, if
it be your will.” They all close their eyes and raise their arms up to
the ceiling.
“Dear God,” Adriana takes over, “what should Miranda’s mindset
be toward taking an unpaid internship with Sura?”
Suddenly all the women start skipping around, clapping their
hands and laughing, as God takes over their bodies just to tell me
what to do.
“And God,” Adriana goes on, as the women’s laughing and
clapping die down, “how would it be for Miranda if she does not
take this placement with Sura?”
The women groan. They are falling to the floor, clutching their
stomachs, writhing in agony. They are in pain right now, because
of me. It’s horrible to watch.
“Stop! Clear!” They shake their hands and make whirring noises to
get rid of the bad vibes. The bad vibes I caused them. “Now God,
what should Miranda’s attitude be toward money?”
My husband is standing at the other end of the dark hallway.
He’s staring at me with a face of thunder.
“Well, you certainly made a friend.” His voice is frozen knives.
