Fly in the Ointment by Sinister Cutlass (top business books of all time .TXT) 📕

Megan pedaled home on her bike with the pink-and-white handlebar streamers.  She thought of the impending hills and homework and babysitting that awaited her, and she sighed heavily.  She was 18, a senior, and a proud B-student at West Park High School.  She was doing OK.

It is true that Megan had failed to earn her driver’s license; a sin against Americanism that forced her, to the consternation of her staid conservative parents, to pedal everyday through the ‘Mexican ghetto’ while in the bloom of young womanhood.

 While Megan’s parents minded this, Megan didn’t so much.  Riding home from school was her special time to shut off her school brain and enjoy the breeze that rustled the maples and ran cool fingers through her pink-beribboned hair.  When she recognized this little bit of fearlessness in herself, she chuckled a bit.  And they say Mormon girls are all the same!   

 Up ahead of Megan, a slim white figure with sandy short hair strolled.

 “On your left,” Megan called, veering to the center of the road.

The figure half-turned, revealing her face, and Megan’s stomach clenched.  She determinedly floored the pedals, hoping to avoid a conversation. 

“Oh!  Hi, Megan,” said the walking girl.

Megan sped past her, but her legs gloomily ceased their work, and she slowed to a crawl.  Guilt, which is the pimp of all dutiful Mormon women, tapped Megan on the shoulder and tugged at her Anna and Elsa backpack.  Guilt silently reminded Megan of her obligation to be kind at this girl she hadn’t seen for three years.   

Kathryn, as Megan remembered, had been dour and doughy, with owlish round glasses.  Now she was trim, in a very flattering striped top, and using some trendy black wire frames.  But that was far less shocking than the way her skin glowed with health, the way her small heart-shaped lips smiled often, and the way her clear, dark eyes captured Megan in their steady gaze.

When she found her voice again, Megan said, “Hi.”

 Six years ago, Kathryn and her family had moved into Megan’s congregation, or ‘ward’, as the Latter Day Saints call it. 

From the beginning, it had been clear that Kathryn would never be comfortable among the lip gloss and chunky heels, the bubbly enthusiasm and regulated friendshipping, the afterschool gymnastics and lacrosse, of the Young Women. 

Kathryn’s mother had evidently failed to take her daughter aside, during that critical summer after fifth grade, and introduce her to good friends 24 Hour Fitness, Tan Republic, Calvin Klein, and those besties Abercrombie and Fitch.

Her mother had also failed to instruct Kathryn in reticence when it came to talking about the books she read for English, the excitement and social drama of her debate tournaments, and her family’s monthly trips to the theater.  Kathryn learned this last one quickly, however, when her excited gushing one Sunday about a staging of Fred Ebb and John Kander’s Cabaret earned only glassy stares and a thudding silence from the Young Women.

When she had cried to her parents, they’d advised, “Katie, take an interest in the girls.  Ask them about themselves.  Every girl likes to talk about herself.” 

 So, twisting her fingers, Kathryn had stumbled over to Natalie, she of the gold braces and platinum highlights.

 “So, um…  how’s school?”  Kathryn tried.

 Natalie’s frosted pink lips parted, and she stared at Kathryn, astonished by the unforgivable faux pas.  Her fierce Revlon eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the room for girls who would willingly serve as her witnesses in court.  Her tongue held a bit of blue gum in her cheek.

“What’s your favorite subject?” Kathryn prompted further.

Natalie resumed chewing and snapping her gum, still desperately looking for support as she rocked on her heels.  She shrugged at Kathryn.  “I dunno.  Volleyball?”

Kathryn’s face fell.  “Oh.  Um… d’you win any games?”

“Yeah.”

“Well… that’s good.”

“Yep.” 

After this triumph, Kathryn decided she didn’t like the feeling of being flayed alive, and she did not speak for the next three years.

She was mute in Sunday school, and on Wednesday activity nights she slunk around, copying whatever the least forbidding clique was doing.  Of the few signs of life Kathryn showed, Megan remembered two in particular. 

The girl had mysteriously chuckled when the Mia Maids teacher mentioned something called ‘Mountain Meadows’. 

Later, when the teacher tried to compare the personal ethics of the Mormon presidents favorably against those of contemporary U.S. presidents, Kathryn had blurted, “What about Brigham Young’s polygamy?”

On this occasion, she had received only the smooth, confident retort: “That was called of God.”

Not long after that, Kathryn disappeared from the West Park ward.  Gradually, it became clear to Megan that the girl and her family were never coming back.  With a pang of guilt, she remembered what now seemed like a fateful incident at Wolf Lake. 

The fit, tan Sister Bingham zoomed around the artificial lake in her big white sports boat, trailing four Young Women on inner tubes.  Kathryn swam over to Megan, who was idling in the shallows near the boat launch.  With a ridiculously chummy smile and vacuous pleasantries, Kathryn attempted a conversation.   Megan feigned deafness and drifted over to Natalie, Ashley, and Kelsey.  They tread water and gossiped, and a shaken Kathryn did not join them.         

This damning memory heavy on her conscience, Megan had asked her dad if they couldn’t be good missionaries and coax Kathryn’s family back into the fold.  Her dad had been vague, muttering that it wasn’t that easy.  When Megan pressed him, he explained that Kathryn’s dad had done the unthinkable: he had written a letter of resignation, striking out his name from the Salt Lake City records, where it had been inscribed upon the date of his own birth. 

This was a most final and binding arrangement.  Without the link Kathryn’s dad provided – as a worthy Mormon male – to the Kingdom after death, Kathryn and her family were thereby cut off from the salvation that would have been their birthright.  

Megan had accepted this explanation and dropped her inquisition. 

It was also true that Kathryn’s dad had issued the (surprisingly necessary) threat of legal action if anyone from the Young Women program dared show up at the house (most assuredly with a plate of baked goods and a saccharine message) when he was out, but Megan’s dad neglected to share this with her.

Megan hadn’t seen Kathryn since.  On occasion, her mind lingered on the memories, and the old guilt flared up.  For a long time, Megan had hoped to run into Kathryn and do or say something to induce her to return. 

 Here was her opportunity at last.  But her quarry, the object of her intended crusade, looked happier and prettier than ever. 

Megan knew that upon Kathryn’s death, her soul would dissipate like so much sea spray, while Megan’s own soul would become eternal and join those of the faithful in the Celestial Kingdom. 

How the H-E-double hockey sticks does she live with herself, knowing she’s going to lose everything? Megan wondered.  How does she keep her morals when there’s no reason for young men to hold back from her?  Why does she look so… normal?  In fact, even better than she did before?  She’s probably living in sin with some boy.

Despite herself, Megan drew nearer to the apostate.  Megan would later reflect that perhaps this was that fearlessness of hers - which definitely qualified her as a unique individual different than other Young Women in the Mormon Church - asserting itself.

Kathryn spoke first.  Her voice had changed, along with her appearance.  Gone was the piteous, quavering squeak punctuated by the odd confrontational outburst.  Here to stay was a deep sense of composure, with a voice soft and sly.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” she said.  “How are things?  You’re a senior, right?”

Megan nodded. 

“So you must be engulfed in the pre-college rush, huh?” Kathryn continued.

Megan shrugged.  Other than making sure her grades didn’t fall any lower, she was really only considering one college.  Besides, her after-school seminary teacher – a dust-colored septuagenarian with chapped lips, liver spots, and an oily smile who was fond of Book-of-Mormon-thumping and who quivered strangely when female students asked doctrinal questions – had already insinuated that if his students maintained a B average and paid attention in his class, then he could pull a few strings and get them into the Y with a few good scholarships if needed.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Megan, without much interest. 

“Got senioritis?” Kathryn said, quirking her lips sympathetically.  Megan wrinkled her nose in agreement.

So far, Kathryn was doing most of the talking.  Megan realized this, and decided to get a move-on with her missionary work.  The apostate would surely appreciate inquiries about her own life.  “Are you going to college too?” Megan returned.

Kathryn’s posture was long and relaxed as she discoursed with the greatest of ease: “Yeah… I still haven’t decided where to go.  I’ve applied to like five schools, but I’m still waiting to see which one will offer me the most aid, because God knows…“

Megan winced.

“I’m gonna need a shi– er, a ton of it,” Kathryn finished, her face flushing a bit.  She looked worriedly at Megan, and quickly continued, before Megan could reply.  “It’s really expensive, but if I get the chance, I’d like to go to Shimer College, in Chicago, where they read the Great Books.”

Kathryn then relaxed, pleased to have established a substitute conversation topic that she found happy and interesting.  She added, “Rereading The Jungle only a few miles from the Union Stockyards would be pretty trippy, wouldn’t it?  I wonder if the stockyards still exist?”

What Megan had read of The Jungle was contained in one essay prompt, which she did not recall, on the subject of Progressive Era muckraking journalism.  So she said, “You sound like you really like that school.”

“Yeah…” Kathryn sighed dreamily.

She then noticed that Megan was clearly committed to smiling.  Kathryn then embarked on what she presumed to be a universally friendly topic....