Page 104 of Earth Girls are Easy… To Dominate
“What was that, Jimmy?” I yell and whip my napkin against his shoulder. “Did you have something to add? Our life is being dictated by your mother, and it’s nothing like what we decided. Are you going to tell her the truth? Are you going to stand up forus? That’s what I think a husband is for. I don’t want a man just to face the big, bad world for me. I want him to create structure and lead our family with a solid backbone! Tell her, Jimmy, about the structure you proposed for our family…how you will lead us to make your dream come true. Tell her, Jimmy!”
The whole restaurant goes silent except for a baby crying somewhere. The people in the booths around the perimeter of the room are engrossed in our conversation. I swear the wait staff skirts the edges of the room so as not to block the view of our table. My sobs echo off the vaulted ceilings despite the napkin covering my face.
Jimmy pats my back but remains silent.
I elbow his arm away. If he doesn’t have the strength to stand up for me, he doesn’t get to touch me. Var’n would have told her exactly where to stick her plan. Then his mini-selves would have beaten up Jimmy for being such a coward. I’d probably be spanked for not asking to stay, and if he didn’t choose to at first, I’d provoke him until he did. That’s what I mean by structure. If I fought with Var’n, he’d spank me, followed by compromises and cuddles. I always knew where I stood—at the center of his universe.
I guess I know where I stand with Jimmy, too—at the back of the line of people who control him. Even if we lived in our own apartment, with jobs independent of the church, I still don’t believe I could mold Jimmy into the man I want. A strong, dominant man isn’t made by his wife or mother. He’s born into it, shaped by his father, and learns to be an alpha male on his own terms. I can’t imagine Var’n taking orders from me, much less an alien mother.
I smother my giggle with my napkin. Hopefully, it sounds like another sob.
“Jenny, I think you have had enough excitement for one morning. You should excuse yourself from the table,” my father says, throwing his napkin on his plate.
“Nothing must be decided at brunch,” Mom says, wrapping her arm awkwardly around my shoulders. “I’m sure God will provide the path for the youngsters. They have their whole life to fulfill their purpose.”
“Mary Ann, you know as well as I do that Jenny’s clock is ticking. She won’t be fertile forever. It’s past the time they had their affairs in order. Why, I married Charles a week after high school graduation. We had the prophet’s blessing and our degrees, so there was no reason to wait. Perhaps allowing them to wait has been what’s holding them back.”
Is it too much to ask for the floor to swallow me whole? Not only have I proven myself to be a hysterical spaz with my outburst and sobs, but now the table is weighing in on my fertility with the restaurant in rapt attention. My heart pounds as panic squeezes my ribs. I lower the napkin in case that’s what’s impeding my breathing. My fist rubs my chest, catching on the implant from Var’n. Is it too much for him to beam me up? I know he's a stickler for consent, and I didn’t ask to stay, but couldn’t he miss me so much that he takes advantage?
Oh no, what will happen on my wedding night if Jimmy finds the implant? We will wear modesty shifts, so he won’t see the metal disc, but he could feel it if he reaches upward. Do men feel their wives’ bodies, or do they focus on the business end of things? Var’n wanted to touch me everywhere and see every inch of my skin. He loved looking at me and wanted me to love my body too. What would Jimmy say if I refused a modest shift? Would he die of embarrassment if I stripped off my clothes and presented my cunt to him? The wastoid would probably tattle to his mommy if I even said the word cunt, let alone showed him mine.
That’s a thought. I could just scream it at the top of my lungs, and this sham marriage wouldn’t ever reach the altar. Could I do that to my parents? They truly believe that if I don’t marry Jimmy, I won’t go to heaven, and their grandchildren won’t go either. In their minds, we will be left behind when the rapture comes to take us in the year 2000.
Come to think about it, the prophet describes rapture like being beamed into Var’n’s ship. The light, the rising, the heaven above Earth… I sigh. Even the ladies who weren’t lucky enough to know Var’n as his pet had their own kind of rapture.
Giggle.Oh, blasphemous me!
“Jenny, this isn’t funny,” Jimmy whispers.
“Why is it you can scold me for giggling, but you can’t stand up to your mother before she ruins our future?”
“Jenny!” My mother’s gasp accompanies Mrs. Courtier’s yelling of my name.
“Jenny, you must respect your elders,” Father scolds. “Apologize to Mrs. Courtier and Jimmy.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Well, I couldn’t allow my Jimmy to marry someone so wicked,” Mrs. Courtier says with a smirk that betrays her confidence that she’s won.
“Then don’t,” I say, rising from my chair. “It’s not my loss to be single. I’m whole on my own. If you would please excuse me, Mother and Father, but I’m tired and have a long bike ride to my apartment.”
I don’t look back as I stomp out of the restaurant. The hostess applauds as I pass her stand. The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen years old. I hope she’s not stuck in my position, or if she is, that she remembers I stormed my way out. There will be fallout with my parents for this little production, but I’ve made my choice. I’m not marrying Jimmy. Even if I never see Var’n again, even if it means I’m forced out of my church, I owe it tomyself to find a new path. Var’n taught me to love myself more than the opinions of others. It’s none of their business how I take care of myself—just that I do.
My fist rips the silver cross from my neck. It goes sailing down a sewer drain when I toss it aside. I stand a little taller at the bike rack because I bought the bike that I will ride tomyapartment. It’s my blood, sweat, and tears over the fryer that has funded my existence, not Jimmy or his family. I’ll never forget that I’m a material girl in a material world…now and after their Y2K rapture to heaven.
CHAPTER SEVEN
5 months later
“Hey, Lisa! What’s wrong with these shorts? Do I have them on backwards again?” I shout from our bathroom. Johnny moved in with us, and I’m not sure where he is right now, so I’m hesitant to step out of my steamy haven. As much as I love wearing the real uniform for my job, short shorts still outsmart me. This pair won’t button over my belly. The last time I couldn’t fit into a pair of shorts, I had them on backwards, but those didn’t have a button fly. I can’t imagine how one buttons shorts with their hands behind their back, but there are stranger things in fashion these days.
“Jenny, take a chill pill!” Lisa calls through the door. “It’s a brisk morning. You could get away with the short-sleeved polo over stirrup pants.”
“That’s a great idea for after you cut me out of these. I think I’m stuck,” I wail as I crack open the bathroom door to let her in. Tears gather at the corners of my eyes as I imagine my best friend calling the fire department to release me from my shorts.
Her eyes go wide over the hand covering her mouth when she takes in my clothes. “Oh, girl, have you been drinking from the deep fryer?”
“Hardy har har,” I grouse, releasing the fly of my shorts. They’re suspended by my hips. Will I ever get out of them? “I can’t believe I’ve put on so much weight in a few months. It’s not like my eating habits have changed.”
