The Makeover of James Orville Wickenbee Page 19

  Laman and Lemuel did not comply with their father’s urgings in the dream anymore than they’d followed his counsel and guidance otherwise. The two had been upset from the beginning of the story that their father had forced his family to flee from their home in Jerusalem. And who could blame them, really?

  I sunk down a little into the leather chair. I could completely relate to their resentment at having to leave their home and their fine things, possibly their servants, their wealth, their nice clothing, and even their food. As I looked up at the ceiling, I could feel my bottom lip quiver because I knew exactly what it felt like to lose such things.

  The heavy, dark feeling enveloped me again, and I had to sit up and open my lungs in order to inhale sufficient air as those awful days during eighth grade flashed before me in patches: the ripped wallpaper and dank smell of the only motel that would admit us; Mom’s empty, trance- like stare; the weasel- like, suspicious eyes of the motel manager as he repeatedly asked for rent; my classmates’ looks of disgust and scorn at my appearance; my own self- disgust when I looked in the flaked mirror of the creaky bathroom and saw the girl whose father had abandoned her.

  The memories made me cough and swallow and want to throw up, but instead I sighed deeply and shut the Book of Mormon. What was the point? I could read this book a hundred times and I would never receive a message from that spirit Alex and James and the missionaries talked about. Even if there were a god, he wouldn’t be getting in touch with me. Why would he? My own father hadn’t found me worth sticking around for.

  Even though I told myself otherwise, and even though Dr. Griffin had tried to convince me that what my father had done had nothing to do with me, deep within I suspected it was because of me our father had left. That he’d stopped loving me because I wasn’t his little princess anymore, because my legs had gotten too long and I was no longer small and cute. But deeper still, I feared he had discovered that I just hadn’t been worth loving in the first place.

  No, even if there were a god, I was sure he wouldn’t feel I was worth his time either. He hadn’t been there for us during that awful period, had he? No manna had dropped down from heaven to help us. Oh, no. It’d been up to me. And I’d had to lie and deceive and steal just so my family could survive. At one point I’d gone into the local Giant Eagle and walked out with two boxes of granola bars. I’d taken my least favorite kind just to feel better about it, but I’d taken them. It was Uncle Bartho who’d come to our rescue and “saved” us, not God. Only Uncle Bartho wasn’t around anymore. If there were a God, why had he taken Uncle Bartho?

  I picked up the paisley pillow and held it between my hands, squeezing the sides together. The truth? The truth was I wanted to be in that high building with the good clothes and nice furniture and plenty to eat and where I would at least be perceived as somebody of stature and worth. I never wanted to find myself down below in the filthy lowlands again. Oh, James was right— I often acted superior. I tried to dress correctly and look my best and I’d done my share of scoffing at those who didn’t. But it was never really the scoffing at others part of being in the “high building” that I found appealing. I just wanted to climb as far away as possible from that sleazy motel that had swallowed our lives. That was something James couldn’t have known when he’d had me face the mirror. I suspected that even Alex, as well as he knew me, would never fully understand the strong urgency I felt to make sure we always remained well away from where we’d been.

  I took another deep breath and blew it out slowly. Maybe I didn’t even want there to be a god! If there were a god who knew everything, not only would he know about some of the less- than- saint- like things I’d done in order to survive, but he’d also know the whole ugly truth: Even though I looked good on the outside, inside things weren’t lined up correctly and probably never would be again.

  Even if Dr. Griffin had been right about my having been perfectly acceptable before my father left, I wasn’t acceptable any longer. Perhaps it was true that I could repent of some of the things I’d done— the missionaries said we could repent of almost anything— but there was little I could do about what I’d become inside. There was something very basic missing inside me and bitterness and anger had filled in the gap.

  There was a hatred there as well. Hatred for my father who had left us. In fact, there were days when I hated my father so much that I found myself hoping something terrible had happened to him. Sometimes I was so angry that I would whisper aloud to Uncle Bartho, or to that god I didn’t even believe in, that I hoped my father was dead.

  I highly doubted that harboring such feelings would qualify a person like me for “sainthood.” A god, in the unlikely case that there was one, would know that inside I didn’t come close to being in the emotional and spiritual shape it would take to join a church that required nothing less than full and complete commitment.

  Chapter Twenty- Nine

  •••

  Only two days after I’d broken the news to my brother and James and the missionaries that this time I was firm in my decision to discontinue my studies of the Mormon faith, James received his mission call from Salt Lake City. It wasn’t a phone call at all, as I’d expected, but a large packet of papers in a white envelope.

  “You read it, Jana,” he said, pulling out the packet and handing it to me. “The rest of us are too nervous!”

  “Dear Elder Wickenbee,” I somehow managed to pull out of my mouth. “You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter- day Saints in”—I paused and looked up with what I hoped was a smile—”the Philippines Quezon City Mission.”

  “The Philippines!” Mama Wickenbee, the sought- after chemist, hurried to the desk to get the world globe while Papa Wickenbee, the genius physicist, rushed to pull out volume P of an old World Book encyclopedia set. They both came back crying.

  “It’s so far!” Mary Jane cried. “They’re sending my boy so far!”

  “I thought Philippines had two L’s,” moaned Rudolf, his pudgy face bright red. “I don’t even know how to spell it, and now my youngest son is going there!” He pulled out a large hanky, wiped his eyes, and blew hard.

  I was fully empathizing with Mary Jane and Rudolf and had the urge to cry openly and honk my nose in objection as well. Instead, I bit the inside of my bottom lip hard, which helped me retain my composure.

  Just eight weeks later (or two years minus fourteen days ago depending on how— or when— you look at it), I was biting my lip hard again right here at the airport as Alex and I said good- bye to James before his flight to Salt Lake City and the Church’s missionary training center. As our dear friend disappeared through the gate, I wondered if I would ever again play chess with him, visit with him, or enjoy his company now that we were literally parting ways.

  James’s visa was delayed, requiring him to spend some extra time in the MTC. But he hadn’t been in the Philipines long when my brother received his own white packet from Utah. I was numb by then.

  “Well, at least we know where Montana is and how to spell it,” I stated after Michelle had done the honors and had read the first few lines on the top letter. Surprisingly I felt no disappointment whatsoever that Alex was going out west to an area of the country I’d once referred to as a dirt farm and not to a more exotic or culturally significant area of the world. I was actually highly relieved my twin brother was staying stateside, and I studied his face to see how he felt about the assignment.

  Uncle Phil wondered too. “Are you disappointed you’re not going foreign?” he asked Alex gently.

  “No, Man, if Montana is where the Lord needs me, then Montana is exactly where I want to be!”

  “Good attitude!” Phillip extended his hand to Alex as Ruthie beamed at them both. She hugged her nephew, then slipped him a card with what I assumed contained a check made out for the same generous amount she’d presented to James not that long before.

  Aunt Nadine tried to calm Reggie, who was crying. “I want to go t
o the mountains with Alex,” he moaned. “Why is Alex going to the mountains?”

  “He’s going to Montana, Sweetheart. Maybe we can visit him there.” Although Nadine had shown some interest in the Mormon Church in the weeks since her sister’s baptism, it was obvious she didn’t understand fully what a mission was all about. “You’ll still be able to attend college while you’re preaching, won’t you?” she’d asked Alex at one point.

  Mom was fanning herself with a tea towel. “I’m sorry. It’s wonderful! I’m sorry!”

  Michelle didn’t seem to be in her normally upscale emotional condition either and had to breathe deeply several times as she widened her eyes. “Let’s call Cassie,” she said with a shaky laugh. “Cassie needs to be in on this!”

  “Okay.” I nodded with empathy. I knew exactly why Michelle wanted to call Cassie. Maybe Cassie would help me feel better as well when she blasted her excitement through the airways. “Put her on speaker,” I suggested.

  Cassie didn’t disappoint us. She not only blasted out her excitement about Alex’s missionary call, but then had us all laughing as she told us how she’d hula- ed off another fifteen pounds. Hula was now her exercise of choice and we laughed again thinking she was kidding when she said she wanted to fly to Hawaii and teach it there someday.

  Alex wanted to talk to Bud about his plans and he turned off the phone speaker. A few seconds later we heard Alex say, “Of course you’re not too tall to be a missionary. Missionaries come in all sizes.” Then, “Well, I agree with James. You’d be getting noticed for a good cause.”

  Next we called Sadie, who told us her cousin— and our friend Derrick— had joined the army. “Oh, my gosh,” I said, “Derrick in the army?” I’m sorry to admit that it did at that moment occur to me that basic training would reinforce and solidify the habits I’d tried so hard to help Derrick cultivate. I very much doubted a drill sergeant would put up with any chicken pecking, but still, I worried about Derrick’s sensitive psyche.

  We knew that Terrance had been attending Princeton, where I hoped he was still swinging his arms and keeping his mouth closed. Nobody had heard from Garlia or some of the other former committee members for some time, but Sergei had returned to Moscow.

  Sadie was still speaking quietly. “Michelle thinks I should take some college bookkeeping or accounting classes.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m not sure. They really rely on me at Barnie’s Bowl.”

  “It never hurts to improve your mind,” I said, “and who knows, maybe someday you could become Barnie’s head accountant.” There was a long snortless pause as if she were digesting that. “Well, give it some thought,” I said.

  After Alex had called Paul, Terrance, Butch, and several other friends, Phil suggested we all go get ice cream to celebrate. I declined and went straight to my room. I had a political science test the next day. I’d started college the semester before at Cleveland State and tests stop for no man— or woman— not even someone who has a twin brother about to leave her for two long years.

  Yes, Cleveland State. Even though I’d been accepted to Harvard and had been thrilled at the prospect, I just couldn’t bring myself to turn down a full scholarship here at home. With all his savings and summer earnings going to his mission, Alex would need tuition money when he came back. And even though Mom insisted we were in excellent shape financially and was beside herself with disappointment about my decision, the large chunk from our savings that Harvard and all it represented would deduct had simply made me feel too insecure. I knew how quickly a rug, even an Aubusson, could be pulled out from under a family.

  Fortunately, thus far I’d been pleasantly surprised and even impressed with Cleveland State. I discovered within only a week of classes that strong capable women are far better accepted on a college level than they are in junior high and high school. They’ve appreciated my opinions at Cleveland State and, as usual, I’ve been happy to share those opinions. Within two weeks, professors were turning to me for answers. That’s why I felt such an urgency to

  prepare and study for my upcoming test even as my family celebrated Alex’s missionary call. But I’d only reviewed two paragraphs when it hit me in the pit of my stomach that my twin brother would soon be leaving and for two years I wouldn’t have the opportunity to go out for ice cream with him.

  I grabbed my keys, rushed out to Uncle Bartho’s BMW, and sped to Farr’s Better Ice Cream Parlor, where Alex and the rest of our family and friends had headed.

  Chapter Thirty

  •••

  Life is full of ironies. Soon I, a professed agnostic, was writing to two Mormon missionaries. And what a contrast their letters have been! Before his mission president whisked James off to the Quezon City mission headquarters as one of his assistants, my friend worked in a mile square area that housed a million people. He sent a photo of himself in an old World War II jeepney, holding a cage of chickens for a Filipino traveler. “There’s too much traffic and congestion for bikes,” James explained, “so we rely on public transportation.”

  Montana, on the other hand, was all about space. The population of Darby where Alex is working right now has nine hundred cows and one hundred people. Alex sent a photo of himself in a cowboy hat and boots holding up a branding iron with the notation: “I think I’m starting to get the language! ‘Purteneer’ means ‘just about.’”

  “Speaking ‘cowboy’ just might get you into politics after all,” I wrote back. I knew Alex would know I was joking and that I’ve fully come to terms with the fact that politics isn’t where he wants to be. He’s thinking now of eventually moving west to teach science. The main thing is he’s happy. And how can I complain, really? I nagged him to go somewhere and be something, didn’t I? My brother did exactly that. He went to Montana and became a missionary. I envy the simplicity of his life.

  This past year, a couple of James’s and Alex’s letters have been almost identical. For example, I received a lengthy letter from James concerning repentance and the atonement. Just a short while after that I received a similar letter from Alex. Both urged me to resume studying Mormon doctrine and praying. But I’d moved on.

  That spring, after Alex left, I immersed myself in my studies, toes and all. I had a mission of my own— a quest! I wanted to be the know- it- all James had accused me of being. My plan was simple. I would learn everything there was to know in every academic area.

  When I wasn’t working for Adriana’s dad in his financial planning firm, I devoured textbooks whole, researched for hours at the library, and wrote endless papers.

  I finished off my second semester courses that first year, then plunged into just as difficult a summer schedule. But it didn’t take me many weeks into the summer to recognize that what James had told me a couple of years or so before was true: The more I learned, the more I realized there was to learn. I’d had no choice but to come to the conclusion that even if I studied every minute of my entire life, my knowledge would only be a minuscule grain of sand in comparison to all there was to learn.

  Even more frustrating was my realization that I couldn’t even rely on those theories I’d once considered well- established and irrefutable enough to be factual. One of my professors showed us an article about new findings which indicated modern man did not descend from the Neanderthal after all, but from upright beings who looked as we do now. Then my anthropology professor joked that the questions on his midterms hadn’t changed for several years, but the correct answers had. I didn’t find his comment humorous. I guess I still longed for something stable and concrete to hold on to— something like that rod I’d read about once.

  Still disillusioned with my efforts to know it all or make sense of anything, at the end of the summer I decided to add a new dimension to my life. I acted on my brother’s high school suggestion that I be the one in the family to enter the political arena. I applied for and was selected to serve as one of the university’s eight student body vice presidents.


  “I’m helping run this school,” I wrote to Alex at the beginning of last semester. “Maybe I’m swimming in a small, less- than- prestigious pond, but I am meeting the right people.”

  “What do you mean— the right people?” Alex shot back. “What are the qualifications for being the right kind of person?” It was a typical Alex inquiry.

  I wadded up his letter. Was he insinuating once again that I couldn’t tell true worth? Did he think that I was planning to dump old friends for new ones? Or that I was choosing to associate with only an elect few? Well, he was wrong. I have friends from every walk of life now. As a matter of fact, I’ve still kept in touch with those friends who helped Alex, James, and I accomplish what we refer to as the Super- Jim/Super- Fairport Miracle. I not only e-mail Cassie frequently, but Michelle and I eat lunch with Sadie every other week.

  At our last get-together, I sought their input concerning my aspiration of running for president of Cleveland State at the end of this next year. “You’re a future accountant,” I’d said to Sadie, whose still longish, but stylish bangs were swept to the side, revealing her nothing- to- be- ashamed- of high cheekbones and small dark eyes. “Do you think I’d get the votes?”

  “I think you have a very good chance,” she said after a few seconds of careful thought.

  Michelle agreed, her lighter, larger eyes reflecting the same sincerity. “Sadie’s totally right. You’ve really made a name for yourself up here. It’s amazing how many people seem to know you and respect you. Go for it!” It was exactly what I was hoping to hear.

  Michelle had a dental appointment and after she hurried off, Sadie and I visited a little longer and caught up on her cousin and our other old friends. Then Sadie was quiet and I sensed she had something more to say.

  “Michelle’s been wanting me to take the lessons from the Mormon missionaries,” she stated. She studied my face and I could tell she was waiting for me to express my opinion on this news.