Watch How We Walk (8 page)

— Yeah. I'm okay.

They pull into the Dairy Queen parking lot.

13

EMILY BREATHES AS DEEPLY AS
she can, holds it as she counts to ten in her head, then exhales, as Uncle Tyler turns onto Willow Street, toward the Kingdom Hall. The caramel sundae sloshes and heaves like a swollen, polluted river in her stomach.
Please Jehovah, don't let me throw up in Uncle Tyler's car. In Jesus' name, Amen.

She exhales loudly a few more times, and the nausea passes. When they reach the Hall, the parking lot is empty.

Her uncle smiles, his sunglasses still on. With her parents, Emily has never missed a service meeting. This is unlike other Sundays, the pattern is wrong. Ice cream in the middle of the day, a fast car, loud music, an empty Hall.

— I guess we missed the meeting. Uncle Tyler's voice fills the car over the radio. He doesn't sound worried.

— You said we had lots of time.

— My watch must be wrong. His car doesn't have a clock on the dash like Emily's father's car does.

— Don't worry, you won't get in trouble. I'll tell your mom it was my fault. She can give me crap about it, I don't care. I'm used to it.

Emily cringes at the almost-swear. Substitute swears are just as bad as actual ones, they mean the same thing and everybody knows what you're really saying.

— But how will we know which territory we're supposed to be in today? There is no way he can know that; Uncle Tyler is not an elder, not even close. He's too young, first of all, but that's not it. There are other reasons Emily cannot quite identify. He's not worldly, he's baptized, but he's not like her father, serious and strict and always studying the books and magazines from the Watchtower Society. He isn't like other men at the Hall, who rarely even smile, who have secrets and committees, wives and kids. Uncle Tyler doesn't seem to care what other brothers and sisters do, although they all keep watch over one another. No one is ever left out.

They can't just pick any road to start on, another car of Jehovah's Witnesses would likely already be there, or could have been there last week. The door-to-door schedules are carefully planned by the elders; they keep track of everyone's time sheets and who is assigned which territory. You can't call on someone too often, or they won't listen and will be even less interested.

— We don't need a territory today, I have some back calls we can make instead. It'll be okay. We won't get in trouble.

— You have back calls?

— Sure I do. I'm not as bad as your parents think I am, you know.

Emily's stomach starts to improve, the ice cream stops sloshing, and her face isn't as hot.

— Are they studying?

— What? Uncle Tyler looks out the window at the names of side roads.

— Is who studying?

— Your back calls. Are any of them studying with you?

Uncle Tyler laughs as he pulls into a long driveway on River Road, toward Pine Shore Trailer Park. No, he is coughing. He hacks into his fist, turning red, clears his throat, then responds.

— No. They're not studying. Not yet, anyway. Soon, probably. They're definitely interested. You can tell your dad that; pretty soon they'll be studying the Truth.

Studying is the next step toward becoming part of the Truth, becoming one of Jehovah's Witnesses. After they study the literature — the various magazines and books like
Is There a Creator Who Cares About You?
or
The Truth That Leads to Eternal Life
—
the new Bible students start coming to the meetings, although they aren't allowed to raise their hands to answer any of the questions yet. After studying for a year or so, the new people are eligible to get baptized at one of the district assemblies or the summer convention. Once you're baptized you are a Jehovah's Witness forever, unless you get disfellowshipped. Lenora got baptized when she was just fourteen years old, which is young to be baptized, but Lenora is smart.

Emily hasn't personally known anyone who has been disfellowshipped, though she has seen one or two of them come to the meetings once in a while. You can become disfellowshipped if you commit a grievous sin and aren't repentant. A disfellowshipped brother or sister is cast out from the congregation, and no one is allowed to talk to them, not even their own relatives. If they continue to come to the meetings at the Kingdom Hall, they must sit at the back, alone, and not speak to anyone. Everyone whispers and then are shushed, because you must treat them as though they are dead. It says so in the Bible, in
1
Corinthians:
Remove the wicked from among yourselves.

Her uncle shuts off the car near the first block of trailers. Emily tries not to be nervous. Deep breaths slow her heartbeat back to normal, but things don't feel right. The sun glares against the wet snow and hurts her eyes. She squints, picks up her Hall purse, and gets out of the car.

Uncle Tyler forgets his briefcase in the El Camino.

Emily has only been to the trailer park once before, last year, and it was not like going door to door on a regular street. The people are louder, the dogs run loose, toys are strewn on lawns, and kids stare at them, or worse, climb trees and throw chestnuts at them.

The park is brown with muddy slush, with rusted skeletons of bikes left outside in winter. It has snowed lately, then melted, then snowed again, which always makes a mess. Emily walks carefully behind Uncle Tyler, avoiding slush and dog poop, wondering why this place is called a park. There are no swings, no picnic area, and it's far too cluttered. None of the trailers have wheels; they are there for good.

Uncle Tyler knocks on the door of trailer number seventeen. There's no sound from inside. Emily shivers and wonders if they'll have any kids she can talk to, maybe a boy her age who has a lot of Lego sets, or even video games. Not very many kids from the Hall have video games, but she's played a ping-pong game, and
Pac-Man
at Uncle Tyler's place.

Someone pulls the curtain aside from the window, then a man with a big blond moustache flings open the door.

— Tyler, my man, how's it going! He wears tight black jeans and a t-shirt that says Styx in orange letters.

He shouts into the trailer over his shoulder.

— Hey Jeff. Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty, Tyler's here! He shakes his head at her uncle.

— The lazy bastard. And who might you be, young lady?

Emily looks up toward her uncle. He nods.

— Emily.

— This is my niece, Emily, my sister's kid. I'm taking her out in door-to-door service this afternoon.

— Right on, I get you. He bends down toward Emily and extends his hand.

— I'm Michael. Come on in out of the cold.

Michael's living room furniture is green and scratchy and dirty dishes cover the coffee table, along with an assortment of beer bottles and ashtrays. Emily tries not to look at the mess. She sits on the edge of the couch, her Hall purse at her feet. She can still smell it though, cigarette butts and stale beer, and gags. She doesn't want to hurt Michael's feelings, so she covers it up with a cough, and decides from then on to breathe only through her mouth.

— What've you been up to, man?

— Not much. The usual. Uncle Tyler shifts around on the couch next to Emily and settles in.

On the walls are posters of various worldly bands, like Trooper and Queen and Kiss. Some hang crooked. Emily looks at the floor, a yellow shag rug, in dire need of a vacuum. That's what Emily's mom would say:
in dire need
. At home, Emily's mom vacuums every day, and it is Emily's job to go after her and pick up by hand any bits of lint missed by the vacuum. She crawls across the rug in the wake of the vacuum, pick pick pick, gone are the little white bits of lint, while Lenora sneers in the doorway, spitting words as though they are rotten, words like “demeaning.”

— Don't force your OCD on us, Mom!

Sometimes when their mom isn't looking, Lenora will toss bits of lint from her towel or a tissue onto the rug. Lenora doesn't tell Emily what OCD means.

— Hey. What's up? A man stands in the living room doorway, rubbing his eyes.

— Jeff. What's up.

Jeff leans against the door frame in a slouchy red bathrobe. His feet are bare and hairy.

— Emily, that's Jeff.

Jeff waves. Emily nods.

— Emily's my niece.

— They're out performing the will of God today. Why don't you see if Tyler can ask God to cure your hangover?

They laugh. Jeff moans.

— Shit, man, seriously. Don't talk so loud. Hurts.

— Where did you two go last night? That new place over the border?

— Yeah man, Tool Box, very cool, good music, and live shows too.

Uncle Tyler coughs again, jerks his head toward Emily.

— You guys still have my old Atari hooked up?

— Sure. Michael stands up.

— You like
Pac-Man
, Emily?

She nods.

— It's in the bedroom. Want a drink? Pepsi or orange juice?

The bedroom is a mess and the orange juice has pulp, which makes Emily gag again. She can't see any of the floor beneath the piles of clothes — t-shirts, jeans, boxer shorts, socks. Wood panelling lines the walls and the room smells like dirty laundry. Michael turns
Pac-Man
on and gives her a folding chair.

— Have fun, Emily. He closes the bedroom door behind him. Emily wonders whose room she's in.

Pac-Man
absorbs Emily's attention, and she does not feel guilty that she's playing video games instead of helping her uncle, or instead of going door to door. She forgets they've missed the service meeting as the little yellow head swallows everything in sight, and her points accumulate until a hand cramp forces her to take a break. According to the white plastic clock on the wall, she's been playing for an hour and ten minutes.

Laughter brims from the trailer's living room, and Emily wonders what could possibly be funny. Not the
Last Days
they currently live in, not the knowledge of impending Armageddon, which will bring an end to this world and its wicked ways, which is what Uncle Tyler should be telling them. Some of the books published by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society have pictures of Armageddon in them — lava and rocks raining down from heaven, everyone running and cowering, the ground cracked open, swallowing people whole, bolts of lightning, bodies in pieces. It is Emily's job to let as many people as possible know about Armageddon, so that they have a chance to learn the Truth, and survive, even live forever.

After Armageddon, God will make the entire world into Paradise on Earth, and even the dead will be resurrected. Emily doesn't know anyone who's died, not really, just some really old brothers and sisters from the Hall, but no one who was a relative or a friend.

Most of the books have pictures of Paradise in them too, which is always outside in the sun. There are usually mountains in the background, several types of trees and flowers, children playing with lions, lots of other animals (some not even from the same continent), baskets of fruit, and people hugging each other. They hug because they were dead before, and the picture is after the Resurrection, and everyone is overjoyed to see each other again.

Everyone from the Truth who is dead will be resurrected after Armageddon, even people who were good and pure but died before Jehovah's Witnesses existed. God knows who they are and will decide, just as He chooses who survives Armageddon. Then they will have a chance at eternal life in Paradise, with no more war, disease, greed, pestilence, or even bad weather. Emily is not positive about the bad weather part — all those trees and flowers and fruits would need rain, but all the pictures show Paradise as very sunny.

There are, however, some exceptions to the Resurrection. People who murder themselves, which is called committing suicide, will not be resurrected. Killing yourself is worse than killing another person, though Emily is unsure why. She thinks it should be equal to the murder of an enemy or an attacker, since there is still only one life lost, but it's not the same. She will ask her father, he will know that, as well as about the weather in Paradise, if it is always summer, or will there still be winter, and what about thunderstorms.

Emily can't hear what her uncle Tyler and Michael and Jeff are discussing in the other room. Music blares, and there's a strange smell. It's like cigarette smoke but sweeter, and unfamiliar. Emily wonders when they will leave and try Uncle Tyler's other back calls. She turns off the Atari, then the light, and steps into the hall.

The smoke in the living room is thick, and Jeff coughs. When her uncle sees her, he jumps off the couch.

— Emily, oh, there you are. How was
Pac-Man
? I was just coming to get you.

— It was good. I got my highest score ever. What's burning?

— Nothing, nothing, everything's fine. That's some special incense that Michael has, it's to make the room smell better, kind of like an air freshener, that's all.