Mary Jane by Jessica Blau (best motivational books .txt) 📕

When it was time for the service, I put on my red robe, waited for the other choir members to sit, and then took the emptyfront-row choir chair beside the pulpit. I watched my mother chat with other mothers as she made her way down the aisle tothe second pew from the front. My father slowly stepped behind my mom. His tie knot bulged at his neck.

Usually I listened carefully at church, but that day I drifted in and out. When it was time for the first song, “Dona NobisPacem,” Mr. Forge put his pitch pipe to his mouth and played G, the first note. He pointed in order to me, Mrs. Lubowski, and Mrs. Randall. He meant that we three were to sing the opening lines. The song was a canon, a round, and with each additional verse, more voices would be added in until the entire choir was singing.

Mrs. Randall put her hand on her throat and shook her head. She’d been complaining of a cold when we’d first sat down. Mr. Forge nodded at her, and then looked at me and waved his handsupward. I stood, as did Mrs. Lubowski. When directed, I shut my eyes and sang: “Dona nobis pacem pacem, dona nobis pa-a-a-a-cem. . . .” I thought of Jimmy as I sang, and the peace he would feel if his addiction faded away, left his body.

Just as the song was picking up, I looked out at the congregation. My father was staring off into space, as usual. My motherwas staring up at me, her head tilted, her mouth closed with a thin-lipped smile.

I looked past my parents, down the aisles, and then my heart flipped around and I almost spit out a burst of laughter. Seatedin the back row, in matching black pixie-cut wigs, were Sheba and Jimmy. They had huge smiles painted across their faces andwere moving their heads to the music. I could see that Sheba was singing along. She looked far more pleased with me than mymother did. And Jimmy looked totally relaxed and joyful. Like this was a space where he didn’t think about doing drugs orbreaking dishes or throwing books.

When the song was over, I smiled at them. Sheba lifted her hands and gave me a silent applause. Jimmy lifted one fist andmouthed, Right on!

Sheba and Jimmy snuck out before the service ended. As I walked home with my parents, I couldn’t stop thinking about the way they had looked at me while I sang: as if I mattered, as if I were seen. My father wasn’t talking, as usual, but I didn’t feel the weight of his silence. My mother was talking, as usual, but I couldbarely hear her palaver.

Mom was making a pork roast for dinner that night. I paid close attention so I could make it for the Cones on Monday. I wonderedif they had a meat thermometer; I couldn’t recall seeing one during my many organizing and cleaning sprees.

After I set the table, I stood alone in the dining room and looked at President Ford on the wall. The words sex addict knocked around my head, like my brain wanted to put the worst thing I could think of in front of the face of our president.

“Mary Jane!” my mother called.

I went to the kitchen and put on the yellow quilted oven mitts I’d gotten for Christmas last year. Together, my mother andI placed all the food on the table: pork roast, mashed potatoes, buttered peas and carrots, Bisquick rolls and butter.

My mother sat and put her napkin in her lap. I sat and put my napkin in my lap. We both looked in the direction of the livingroom, where my father was in his chair, reading the Sunday paper.

“I don’t know why they sing songs from that Jesus Christ Superstar.” My mother was referring to the third song we’d sung, “Hosanna.” She didn’t like Jesus Christ Superstar, though she’d never seen it. I hadn’t seen it either, but we had the record from the Show Tunes of the Month Club. When Iplayed it, I had to turn the volume real low.

“I think if you heard the whole record, you’d like it.”

“Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar. What are people thinking? They don’t show respect for the church.”

I remembered Sheba’s and Jimmy’s faces one night when we sat in the car and sang Godspell songs. They both knew all the words to every song. Jimmy was so into it, he lifted his foot and stubbed out the joint intothe tread of his sandal. And I could tell by the way Sheba shut her eyes at certain lines that she respected the church.

My father entered the room. He folded his newspaper in half, set it on the table beside his plate, and sat. As always, hesurveyed the food before putting his hands in the prayer position. My mother and I put our hands in the prayer position too.I shut my eyes.

My father said, “Thank you, Jesus, for this food on our table and for my wonderful wife and obedient child. God bless thisfamily, God bless our relatives in Idaho, God bless President Ford and his family, and God bless the United States of America.”

“And God bless everyone in the Cone household and may all their illnesses be”—I paused as I tried to come up with the bestword—“eradicated.”

My father glanced at me for just a second. And then, as if my voice weren’t strong enough to reach God’s ears, he abridgedmy prayer with, “Health to the Cones. Amen.”

“Amen,” my mother and I both said.

My mother stood and served my father while he removed his tie. “Is someone else in the house sick? I don’t want you goingover there if everyone is sick.”

“I just want to make sure we cover everyone under that roof.”

“If you make the pork roast tomorrow, be sure it’s cooked all the way through. Her body likely can’t handle undercooked meat.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll come up and check the roast before you serve it.”

“They have a