Be Perfect

Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect…

The thought grated against her nerves. It was hard enough being his daughter among everyone else’s high expectations, but dammit, he was the worst of them all. Not like he was perfect all the time, at least at home, but that never stopped him or them from believing the lie.

Better to pluck out an eye…

Yet he still had both of his, firmly in place.

I knew. He knew I knew. But they all believed the charade. Drinking the Kool-Aid with smiles on their faces and Jesus on their lips. They couldn’t be that ignorant. Not on purpose anyway. But every Sunday, he’d spin and twist a litany of verbs and adjectives to the glory of heaven and they’d jump right in, pressed firmly against the silky web. Caught. Not even struggling to break free. Then the purses would open. Wallets on full display. Glad tithings of joy. Anything to be closer to him. Not Him—him.

He didn’t know I took this job. He wasn’t interested enough to ask where it was, just glad I was finally asserting myself into the world. Earning my keep.

The laborer deserves his wages…

I think he only ever spoke to me in scripture. I couldn’t tell you anything about what the man really thought. Nor could he tell you anything about me. Not anything true at least. He never remarried. And we never talked about her. There were plenty of women who would gladly have taken her place, but he was never interested. I think he felt the empathy given to a widower was more effective for his manipulation—ministry.

I wasn’t following him, but that day I was heading home early from school I saw his car pull out of the storage center and noticed the help wanted sign. I didn’t think much of it—him—but the sign made me think. The job was easy, hours were perfect, late enough but not too late. I started the next week, after-hours, just to help tenants with any questions. Office hours were for rentals, check-ins, check-outs, and paperwork. My job was to just be a presence, for a couple hours and do a nightly walk-through. Not security. Just gathering carts and returning them to the loading gates. People are messy and careless, they leave empty boxes in the aisles, plastic wrap bunched up on the floor, and my responsibility was to clean up after them. It wasn’t glamorous but again, the hours were great and I definitely needed the money.

Don’t forget to tithe your ten percent…

It comes back into our house, so that seemed pointless. But much of our life seemed pointless. I pretended to follow the rules, and he pretended to care about me. I was fine with the arrangement. I spun my seat a few times and kicked my feet up on the desk. No one was around to tell me not to, so I played like I was the boss. Shuffled a few papers, straightened the pens, tapped on the keyboard—the screen came to life. It was a list of all tenants, storage number, phone number, monthly payments, other stuff. No password? That seemed wrong, but that didn’t bother me. I typed his name and the list filtered down to SU#2403. That was his. Why did he have one of those? We had a garage, an attic, plenty of empty bedrooms. I sat staring at the screen and my mind quickly wandered. Did he keep money piled up to the ceiling? Maybe he had some weird fetish, and this was where he kept his boxes of contraband. That wouldn’t surprise me. Then I felt a sudden drop in my stomach. Maybe it was all her stuff. Maybe albums of pictures and robes, shoes and blouses, dresses, hats, jewelry. The house was barren. No photos, nothing to remember, nothing at all. Like she never existed.

My fingers began to sweat as I rolled each number to her birthdate. 060381. I pulled on the lock. It stayed frozen shut. I pulled again but it still resisted. I thought I was really the smart one, but he kept me in the dark once again. As I started to head back to the office my mind wouldn’t accept defeat. It felt more like a challenge. I really wanted to get in there, needed to get in there, but I was probably making the whole thing up in my head. It was probably just boxes of books, sermons, paperwork that he held onto for business reasons. I had just let my imagination run wild and it–I turned around.

091721.

The lock greeted me with a click. I stood there staring at the separated metal waiting to be released from its post. I stepped back, suddenly aware of what had happened.

I wasn’t breaking a law. We’re family.

I’m not sure that was right, but my impulse didn’t care. I lifted the handle and watched as the barrier rolled up and out of the way. My head tilted to the side. My brain hadn’t caught up to what I was seeing. It was nothing I had expected. Disappointment was quickly replaced by confusion. Then embarrassment. Shame. Even guilt.

She still mattered.

Maybe he wasn’t the man I’d made him to be.