Are You Tiffani Caine? Ch. 02

Emma caught her friend's sudden, dramatic shift in tone and stopped adoring underwear. Clearing a space next to Sara, she laid down next to her and took her hand. "OK, no BS. What's up?"

"Brenda said something...it's dumb because I should have thought of it before but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. I mean, I did, but it's like...I didn't put it all together until tonight when she said it. And now I can't get it out of my head."

Emma waited for a couple seconds of the ensuing pause before giving her friend's hand a squeeze and asking, "What?"

"She said...she said that men make women dress in this kind of stuff because they want to see them in it or...or use them in it."

"Oh. Oh. Well...yeah, I guess that's probably true." Pause, then, "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know. I feel like...I mean Man-Bun already used me. I assumed that someone would again. I've even kept up on my throat training because I doubt I'll be able to manipulate the next one into thinking I have skills that I don't. But this..."

"You gave him head and you survived it. You can do it again no matter what you have on."

"And do you really think they sent me out tonight because that's all the next guy will want?"

"No," Emma sighed. "Probably not. But then you thought you were going to be told to do it with a girl tonight and instead you came back with a bunch of frillies. You don't know what these people want you to do."

"Yeah, but..."

"Maybe they're a modeling agency. Maybe Victoria's Secret wants you on the runway for the next show."

"Emma..."

"I'm sorry, you're right. We both know where this is likely going."

"And I don't know what to do about it."

"Your options are the same as they were before, you know? Go along with it or...well, whatever you think will happen if you don't."

"But last time was just...mouth-stuff, you know? If the next guy wants more..."

Emma waited for a few moments for Sara to finish her thought, but when that didn't happen she quietly asked, "Then what?"

"I don't know. Mouth-stuff is different from..." She waved her hand over her lower body.

"Not from a Biblical perspective. Sodomy and adultery, remember? Same thing."

She was right about that, of course, and Sara wanted to snap that the Biblical perspective wasn't the only one - but of course it was. It had to be. Still..."I just don't know if I can, and I know I shouldn't."

"You shouldn't have with Man-Bun either. But some fates are worse than others."

"But I don't know which of these choices is worse."

"Well...I don't either. And I don't know which one I'd pick in your situation."

"I'm not sure I could ever face Isaac again if I...did it."

"Everybody has secrets, Sara. Everybody. I guarantee Isaac has something deep down that he can't bring himself to tell you."

"You really think so?"

"Has he ever admitted to anything really bad? Or really shameful?"

"Well...not really..."

"He's 27 years old. Do you think it's actually possible for a human being to get to 27 and not have done a few things they really don't want anyone else to know about?"

Having never thought of it that way, Sara took a moment to roll it around in her head before saying, "OK he might have done something...humiliating or whatever, but he never did anything really bad. He's a good person."

"So are you."

"I don't know about that."

"Don't get me started. You're a good person and you know it. I don't know what happened in the past, but you're a good person now and you have been for as long as I've known you."

"But even if he has secrets, I don't know if I could keep this one from him. I mean if I..."

"I guess you're the only one who can answer that, and I don't think you can answer it now anyway. I guess you can only answer it when you're on the edge of it."

"I just...ugh. I don't know and it's making me crazy. How could I say 'I do' with that secret hidden?"

"It's not like married people tell each other everything anyway."

"Pastor John says that complete honesty is the key to a successful marriage."

"Yeah, Pastor John always said a lot of things that didn't make sense when you started thinking about them. How many marriages would survive if the husband said, 'While you spent the last half hour bitching about me not fixing the plumbing I was fantasizing about duct taping your whole face shut' or the wife admitted, 'The reason I came so hard just now was that I was thinking about fucking your hot brother instead of you.' Not many."

"I could never do that. Isaac doesn't have a brother."

"Pastor John then."

"You're the worst person in the world."

"Agreed. But my point stands. Nobody needs to know everything you think, just like nobody needs to know everything you've done."

"But this is different. This is, you know..."

"Sex. It's sex. That's all it is. And yeah of course you don't want to have to keep a secret, but it's not like you're running around looking for this. If it happens - if, remember - then it's something someone is doing to you, something that's being forced onto you against your will. It's rape, just like if someone broke in while you sleeping and tied you up. And it's awful, Sars. It's terrifying and degrading and you'll need therapy, but...you'll survive. I know."

Sara knew she did know - Emma was a childhood sexual abuse survivor and she'd been raped multiple times as a young teen growing up in a tough neighborhood. And Emma was right, voluntary sex didn't kill you and neither did rape, not in and of itself. It was just a stain you had to live with. "It's a hard secret to keep."

"Yeah. Like I said, therapy. It gets you through."

"I don't know if I can. I don't even think I'd think about it like rape if I'm given the option of the consequences of saying no and picked the sex instead. It's a lot more like cheating than someone pulling me into an alley and forcing me with a knife to my throat."

"Listen, if you pay attention to counselors, like couple's counselors, marriage counselors, like that? If you go to them and say, 'Yeah I cheated on my partner a while back but it's over and I'm sorry, should I tell my partner?' Most of them will tell you to keep your mouth shut. Address the problem that made you cheat but don't tell your partner about the cheating."

"Ugh. I've already cheated on Isaac and here we are talking about me doing it again. I must be sick."

"Maybe. But you know why they give that advice, right? Because it doesn't do any good for the other person to know, and it doesn't help the relationship if they do."

"I hate this, Em. I hate this so much."

"Yeah. Any closer to a decision?"

"No."

"Well do me a favor: keep your options open for the moment." Another pause before she added, "Actually make it two favors. Get onto birth control."

Sara wished she could press herself deeper into her mattress, or maybe under it. Another logical consequence I hadn't thought about. The church taught that birth control was perfectly acceptable - in the context of a marriage. This wasn't in the context of marriage, but then nothing else she was dealing with was either. And it was certainly better than the alternative. It wasn't as though she was planning on having sex with anyone before her wedding night, but she could still be put in a position where she was ordered to meet some guy and talk and then things being forced on her. And that might lead to a big, round belly of a secret that she couldn't keep. "I'll go get a shot."

"Thank you," Emma replied, actually sounding like she was grateful. "That takes a load off my mind."

"Yeah. I guess it does for me too. Come on, I need to prep." Emma stayed while Sara hand-washed the lingerie set for tomorrow and laid it out to dry. They chatted all the while and Emma made Sara feel better the way Emma always did. A friend loves at all times, and a brother (or sister) is born for adversity. It was a marvel that people could have traveled such different paths and remained as close as she, Emma, Kait, and Amy were. God truly had blessed her in her friendships. It was that thought that carried Sara into sleep when Emma left.

Sunday, April 4

Brenda was right: Sara needed to trim.

Dressing for Easter service was a nerve wracking experience. Her dress was a thoroughly appropriate ankle-length white-and-pink print piece of no particular shape, and her shoes were chunky three inch white heels which, though higher than what she wore to anyplace except important services at church, were in no way immodest. And then there was her underwear, which made her feel like a horny girl trying too hard on her wedding night. It was silly, both in the absurd demands that led to the expensive fiasco the night before and in how hung up she was on it. It was just underwear, after all. Nobody was going to see it except her. Nobody knew she had it on except her and the Lord; she knew she wasn't going to blab and she was pretty sure the Lord wouldn't tell anyone either, so who cared?

Well, she did. It showed everything she had, and the fact that the dress covered it up again didn't make it better. She was being shamelessly immodest in God's house, and even if the immediate blame lay elsewhere she was still ultimately at fault.

Her pubic hair was the worst of it. A thick black tangle showed above the top of her panties and continued down into her crotch, hidden not a bit by the see-through fabric. Her thatch was so thick and untamed that it made a bulge in the panties and actually affected the fit in a detectable way. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was going to need to trim a heck of a lot - trim not shave, because she wasn't an actual whore no matter what her underwear said. Tonight, after church, after the charity kitchen, after dinner with Isaac and her family, she was going to have to swing by Wal-Mart and buy a feminine groomer and do something she thought she had permanently left behind her.

Ugh. She could keep chasing her brain around like a dog after its tail or she could go where she needed to be, on this day of all days. She put on her coat, went out into the chill bluster of the first week of April in Minnesota, and got to church 20 minutes later.

There is no more important day for Christians than Easter. Almost every church celebrates it, some with greater pomp and fervor than others. Holy Light was less all-in than many Pentecostal churches: where others celebrated the whole week leading up to it, Isaac's father had always believed that smacked too much of Catholicism. At Holy Light during the week run up there were classes on Tuesday evening for children and adults to examine, discuss, and learn about the importance of the Resurrection and its key place in Christianity, but that was the only thing before Sunday. Sunday - today - meant a long, festive, and joyous service, and every member of the church would make every effort to be in attendance and to participate jubilantly. That was why Sara was not surprised when she rounded the corner of the church from the parking lot and found a dozen church members on the sidewalk in defiance of the lowering gray sky and the chill, damp wind. One by one she greeted them and they paused their conversations to greet her back; as Isaac's fiancee, she held a certain degree of prestige in the assembly (even though she had no more responsibility or duty than any other member of the congregation) and people often made a point of talking with her when she passed by.

Inside there was noise, laughter, light. Children chased each other around the legs of adults who stood in conversation. Everyone was dressed in their best and looked happy. Sara moved through the crowd of friends and companions with a smile on her face, greeting and hugging everyone she met, wishing them all joy and being wished the same. In spite of everything she had done, in spite of everything she had had done to her, this was home. The Lord had made it so and there was nothing that any man - not even the Caller - could do to ruin that. This was where she belonged.

No matter what underwear I have on.

Isaac appeared out of the crowd and wrapped her in a warm, thoroughly chaste hug. "Hi honey. My mom is saving you a seat front and center. I expect to hear you singing."

Sara snorted an undignified laugh and thumped him playfully on the shoulder; her singing voice was legendary in the same way the bubonic plague was legendary. "I thought we're trying to grow the congregation. If I sing loud enough that someone can hear me I'll be the only one left in the building!"

Isaac guided her to the front pew where Isaac's mother Gina sat talking to some of the older parishioners who had been with Holy Light since its founding. Sara knew them of course, just like she knew every regular attendee, but they were of a different generation; she respected them, but (other than her future mother-in-law) she wasn't close to them. Still she chatted with them as the congregation filtered into their seats, and when Pastor John, Isaac's father, brought his notes out to the pulpit he stopped by to greet her, give her a hug, and tell her that he expected to hear her singing. Like father, like son.

It was going to be a special service today, with both Isaac and his father giving sermons and with additional music (including songs selected, performed, and in some cases written by the youth group). The Spirit was already on the congregation as palpably and as powerfully as Sara had felt in a long time, and unlike last time she was prepared to give herself over to it fully. My underwear is transparent and I'm wearing prostitute stockings. She pushed the thought away as best she could, laughed at an anecdote told by a neighbor, cleared her mind and readied her soul for what was to come. Today was a great day.

When Isaac and his father went to the podium the music began. The guitarist, pianist and violinist who always played for the service kicked into a new song called Death was Arrested to let stragglers get to their seats, and then The Lion and the Lamb to get people back up out of their seats and stomping their feet. Isaac and his father led the singing, their strong and joyful voices making blood pump and hands raise; Sara sang quietly enough to make sure her voice would be drowned out by her neighbors, but she couldn't help but grin when Isaac caught her eye and made the pump-it-up gesture with both hands.

Pastor John welcomed worshipers and seekers and then launched into Luke 24:1-12, reading the passage and then expounding for a couple of minutes on the importance of women in the account. It was brief but it energized Sara, who could feel the Spirit inside her, already swelling. This was going to be a service to remember.

When Isaac stepped to the podium to deliver the first sermon of the day on the events of the Resurrection, his voice boomed out like a cannon. Nobody sat, and many were the calls of approval and joy as the Holy Spirit began to explode forth from the congregation. Isaac talked of Mary, Mary Magdalene, and Salome coming to the tomb with anointing oils and how the Earth shook and the stone rolled back and the Light of the Lord poured forth. He told of the transporting joy the women must have felt in the face of this miracle, how they stood firm when the tomb guards ran and how the angel told them the glorious news that Jesus the Christ had risen. And then, as they ran to spread the news of the rising to the Disciples, how Jesus Himself stood before them, how they wept with joy as they clutched at His feet. When Isaac began to explain how we are all the women, how we all sing of glory on Easter, and how we must all spread the news to every ear and to every corner of the land, the congregation could no longer hold back - first one cried out in the divine language and then another and another, the blessing of tongues causing words to pour forth that no human could understand but every heart could feel. Sara found herself jumping in place as much as she could in her heels without breaking an ankle.

The youth group came out and played a series of catchy, easy-to-learn tunes that one of the girls had written, one of which was so good that it had the room stomping and shouting. Pastor John stepped in to read a passage from Peter, and later Isaac read from Romans, but they read to the accompaniment of music and the whole thing took on a vibe of one of the poetry readings that had so moved Sara when she was in college, except on a much more exalted plane. More congregants spoke in tongues as the Spirit moved through them, and as she heard their voices she could feel the Holy Spirit welling inside herself, lifting her heart to her throat, making her feel weightless and bodiless. Last time here she couldn't feel this but now she could, and the purity of it made tears of joy flow. The Lord had not rejected her. There was forgiveness and fellowship here, and the will of the Lord to save a soul could not be sullied by the actions of men.

There was fire in Pastor John's eyes when he came back to the pulpit, and he launched into a brilliant sermon about the meaning of the Resurrection, how the death of the Christ had been the absolution that had washed away humanity's sins and made salvation possible, but it was the miracle of the empty tomb that gave the mission to the Disciples and caused them to spread word of it far and wide. It was the Resurrection that gave humanity hope, for it was proof positive that our sins did not need to crush us and bear us down to torment. Jesus was the Light and Hope of mankind, and if we believed in him then nothing could harm us, not even death. Sara wasn't even aware that she began calling out in the language of the angels partway through the sermon, or that her body was moving on its own in a dance she did not control - the Holy Spirit picked her up, moved through her, controlled her, and she was awash in a blind bliss of ecstasy.

When she came back down into herself Pastor John was finished and the room was filled with song that Sara had joined at full throat without even knowing it; her limbs were trembling but she was dancing along with everyone else even though she felt too exhausted even to stand. Moments later a wave of weakness struck her and she plopped back into the pew, and still she sang loudly and unashamedly off-key and off-tempo. The Lord demanded to hear her voice, and she gave it to Him.

No one left the building when the service ended. There was too much fellowship to sunder so soon. Sara's weakness rapidly passed as it always did and she was on her feet, hugging the youth musicians and congratulating them, telling Pastor John that his sermon had made her fly, wishing everyone she saw a jubilant Easter.

Soon enough she and her friends all found each other. Waiting only for Isaac to join them so they could go to the charity kitchen, they chattered almost frantically about the power of the day, the evocativeness of the preaching, and the magnificence of the music. When Isaac arrived after a few minutes, he took Sara into a big hug and whispered, "I heard you singing, babe. It made me so happy."

Sara just grinned and shook her head. Isaac was only teasing her a little, because he did love it when the Lord overruled her insecurities and made her sing without self-consciousness. She clung to his arm for the next few minutes and then went with everyone else as they packed as many people as they could into cars and headed for the kitchen.

Lord's Bounty Kitchen and Food Shelf was a joint effort by several local Pentecostal churches. It was in Hawthorne, possibly the poorest and most dangerous area of Minneapolis and the sort of neighborhood that made everyone nervous, perhaps most especially the residents. Every single day Lord's Bounty fed people who might otherwise starve, and its good works had earned from the local gangs a measure of toleration, if not quite respect. Many of the young people in the gangs had grown up being fed by Lord's Bounty, and they were willing to offer the place, and those who worked there, a degree of protection: during the hours when Lord's Bounty was operating, cars that parked in the small lot behind the building would not be broken into, vandalized, or stolen, and the workers would not be harassed. The problem was that there were only six spaces in the lot and there were six churches who participated; this led to a scheduled rotation of when people from different churches could work here, and that in turn was the reason why fourteen people from Holy Light, Sara included, had crammed themselves into three vehicles for the trip.