Jo's heartbreak, Ben's release, Maggie's faith
Part I
Part I
"When you got there, I was sure you'd come too late." -Miracle Child Newsboys
I came down the stairs slowly, on my way to set the table for dinner. This is the fifth day in a row mom has failed to call me to set the table. When I asked her why, she smiled this spray on, plastic-y thing and said "you deserve a break once in a while."
But five days in a row is not a break, it is a trend. I do not deserve a break. And she is lying through her teeth. She fails to make me set the table, not because she wants to give me a break, but because of Jo. And Ben. I know it's because of them (or more accurately, the lack of "them"). I am sure of it. Though I fail to see why my sister's almost fiance running away is connected to my table setting abilities and responsibilities.
Saffy rubs up against my legs right before I enter the kitchen, so I lean over and pet her.
I hear silverware being rattled about in the draw, and I am about to burst into the kitchen to reprimand my mother for doing my chores for me, when mom's use of my name stops me.
"I'm worried about Maggie."
Dad, apparently, is just as confused as I am, and asks my question for me. "Don't you mean you're worried about Jo?"
"No," mom says. "Well yes. But at least heartbreak is normal. Maggie's not normal."
"She's never been," Dad, my hero, defends me. "That's why she's so great."
Saffy's black fur, alpaca soft, moves away from my fingers and I am left bent over, staring at the hardwood floor, petting the memory of a cat.
"Why is she so sure Ben is coming back? That's not normal. A good sister is supposed to be mad at the guy who breaks her sister's heart. She shouldn't be pining for his return."
"Maggie is a good sister," my champion parries again.
"I know," mom says. "She's a great sister. That's what makes it so weird."
I slip back up the stairs, the green and blue slippers Jo croquested for me making my steps as quiet as Saffy's, the resident ninja.
I shouldn't have eavesdropped.
I drop onto my bed, the patchwork quilt wooshes out around me. I look up at the ceiling, pondering my mother's words.
One thing she said was true: I'm not normal. There is nothing normal about a fourteen year old girl who is positive the man who broke her sister's heart should come back and propose. But that's exactly what I think Ben should do.
Then again, Jo's not normal either. There is nothing normal about a twenty one year old girl with her first boyfriend.
I grab my journal off the nightstand and start flipping through the notes and sketches and verses, and song lyrics I have written over the last seven days. There are a lot. I've had a lot to write about. Still, I could be wrong. I close my eyes, and almost before I can ask the question there is an answer so strong it could be described as a shout.
"BEN," and one of my favorite memories of him. The afternoon he told me he wanted to marry Jo. Somehow, that day I had reverted back to a kindergartener and Ben was my babysitter. He was chasing me around the front yard. When we finally fell in a breathless, laughing pile on the grass, he asked me for my permission.
"Meg Anderson," he said. "Would it be alright with you if I asked your sister to marry me?"
I nodded hard. I still had no air in my lungs, with which to verbalise my consent, but I gave him a really tight squeeze, and he seemed to understand.
"Stop asking," God adds. "You already know the answer."
Then what should I do? I ask.
"Pray. Love Joanne. Love Ben. Ask other people to pray."
What should I pray for? I ask.
"Pray for Ben's release," He replies.
God doesn't explain, even when I ask.
"Trust me," is all he says.
So I do.
I breath in and out and lie on my bed before dinner time, table setting forgotten. Just breathing in God's presence.
"go be with Jo," God whispers.
I sit with my sister in her sorrow until mom calls us for dinner. It's really hard not to comfort her with the knowledge Ben will be coming back some day. But she asked me not bring it up, cause it only hurts deeper.
For months I go on like this. I pray for Ben's release, even when I don't know why. I say nothing about it to Jo and put up with weird looks from Mom and Dad. I set the table every night. Once in a while I read the note Ben left for Jo. She threw it away, but I rescued it from the trash can.
Jo,
I'm leaving Decatur. I'm going to New Hampshire to visit my aunt and uncle. I'm going to try to get a job.
I love you.
I don't know why I'm leaving, so I can't possibly explain it to you.
Don't wait for me, Jo. Don't try to contact me.
I know that I am breaking your heart, but if I stayed around longer, I'd break it worse.
I love you.
Ben
When I read his note I understand. But then I think of Jo, and I don't any more. So I just go back to praying for Ben's release.
I came down the stairs slowly, on my way to set the table for dinner. This is the fifth day in a row mom has failed to call me to set the table. When I asked her why, she smiled this spray on, plastic-y thing and said "you deserve a break once in a while."
But five days in a row is not a break, it is a trend. I do not deserve a break. And she is lying through her teeth. She fails to make me set the table, not because she wants to give me a break, but because of Jo. And Ben. I know it's because of them (or more accurately, the lack of "them"). I am sure of it. Though I fail to see why my sister's almost fiance running away is connected to my table setting abilities and responsibilities.
Saffy rubs up against my legs right before I enter the kitchen, so I lean over and pet her.
I hear silverware being rattled about in the draw, and I am about to burst into the kitchen to reprimand my mother for doing my chores for me, when mom's use of my name stops me.
"I'm worried about Maggie."
Dad, apparently, is just as confused as I am, and asks my question for me. "Don't you mean you're worried about Jo?"
"No," mom says. "Well yes. But at least heartbreak is normal. Maggie's not normal."
"She's never been," Dad, my hero, defends me. "That's why she's so great."
Saffy's black fur, alpaca soft, moves away from my fingers and I am left bent over, staring at the hardwood floor, petting the memory of a cat.
"Why is she so sure Ben is coming back? That's not normal. A good sister is supposed to be mad at the guy who breaks her sister's heart. She shouldn't be pining for his return."
"Maggie is a good sister," my champion parries again.
"I know," mom says. "She's a great sister. That's what makes it so weird."
I slip back up the stairs, the green and blue slippers Jo croquested for me making my steps as quiet as Saffy's, the resident ninja.
I shouldn't have eavesdropped.
I drop onto my bed, the patchwork quilt wooshes out around me. I look up at the ceiling, pondering my mother's words.
One thing she said was true: I'm not normal. There is nothing normal about a fourteen year old girl who is positive the man who broke her sister's heart should come back and propose. But that's exactly what I think Ben should do.
Then again, Jo's not normal either. There is nothing normal about a twenty one year old girl with her first boyfriend.
I grab my journal off the nightstand and start flipping through the notes and sketches and verses, and song lyrics I have written over the last seven days. There are a lot. I've had a lot to write about. Still, I could be wrong. I close my eyes, and almost before I can ask the question there is an answer so strong it could be described as a shout.
"BEN," and one of my favorite memories of him. The afternoon he told me he wanted to marry Jo. Somehow, that day I had reverted back to a kindergartener and Ben was my babysitter. He was chasing me around the front yard. When we finally fell in a breathless, laughing pile on the grass, he asked me for my permission.
"Meg Anderson," he said. "Would it be alright with you if I asked your sister to marry me?"
I nodded hard. I still had no air in my lungs, with which to verbalise my consent, but I gave him a really tight squeeze, and he seemed to understand.
"Stop asking," God adds. "You already know the answer."
Then what should I do? I ask.
"Pray. Love Joanne. Love Ben. Ask other people to pray."
What should I pray for? I ask.
"Pray for Ben's release," He replies.
God doesn't explain, even when I ask.
"Trust me," is all he says.
So I do.
I breath in and out and lie on my bed before dinner time, table setting forgotten. Just breathing in God's presence.
"go be with Jo," God whispers.
I sit with my sister in her sorrow until mom calls us for dinner. It's really hard not to comfort her with the knowledge Ben will be coming back some day. But she asked me not bring it up, cause it only hurts deeper.
For months I go on like this. I pray for Ben's release, even when I don't know why. I say nothing about it to Jo and put up with weird looks from Mom and Dad. I set the table every night. Once in a while I read the note Ben left for Jo. She threw it away, but I rescued it from the trash can.
Jo,
I'm leaving Decatur. I'm going to New Hampshire to visit my aunt and uncle. I'm going to try to get a job.
I love you.
I don't know why I'm leaving, so I can't possibly explain it to you.
Don't wait for me, Jo. Don't try to contact me.
I know that I am breaking your heart, but if I stayed around longer, I'd break it worse.
I love you.
Ben
When I read his note I understand. But then I think of Jo, and I don't any more. So I just go back to praying for Ben's release.
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