Conjugal
Sara slept with her mother in her mother’s bed. It had always been this way.
The two of them lived in a damp brown house at the end of a gulch, where the pavement dwindled into dirt, and the woods grew into the lawn.
The mother’s name was Lynn, and that is what Sara called her.
Lynn’s bed was a tall four-poster. It had a hard mattress and a damask spread. When Sara went to bed, she kept her eyes open in the dark, trained on the spine of her mother.
Lynn took a great interest in Sara’s body. Sara’s body looked the way Lynn’s had years ago, and Lynn possessed it as her own. There were no boundaries between them.
Lynn believed Sara’s life would be easier if she were a prettier girl. She was constantly inspecting her daughter’s body and making improvements. She brought home parcels of pantyhose, garters, underwire bras, and patent leather shoes. Undressed at the end of the day, Sara’s body was crossed with thick, red lines. The only time she was alone was in the bath, and even then, Lynn would find a reason to come in, pretending not to look.
Lynn spent hours in the bathroom every day. She drew on her eyebrows and teased her hair. She wanted to look younger. When she put on her makeup, Lynn wanted to see Sara’s face in the mirror.
After Sara’s graduation, Lynn pushed Sara to go to the teacher’s college in town. But Sara wanted to go to the university in the capital. The school had just accepted coeds the year before.
Lynn ignored Sara’s preparations for the move until the morning she left.
“You won’t stay long,” Lynn said. And that night she slept alone for the first time in eighteen years.
Lynn spent her days in mourning. She withdrew into her body, interrogating every aspect of her appearance. She tried new cosmetic treatments and exercises. The lines of her face morphed in the mirror. Without Sara beside her, Lynn did not know how she was supposed to look.
Whenever Sara phoned Lynn and told her she was going on a date, Lynn issued the same threat.
“Don’t let anyone ruin you.”
Months passed and Lynn did not hear a word from Sara. She felt betrayed, and had no better adjusted to her aloneness. When Sara finally called, late at night in the middle of the semester, Lynn asked, “Did you let him?”
Sara only cried, and wouldn’t say anything else.
Lynn hung up, shaking with jealousy. Sara’s body, which Lynn had cared for all her life, had been given to someone else. A nameless idiot, who wouldn’t know what to do with it. Lynn wanted Sara’s body in her bed so that it could never be in anyone else’s. At least then it would be safe.
Sara moved back home before the end of the semester. The taxi let her off where the pavement ended, and she walked down the dirt road to her mother’s house.
Lynn had been waiting. “You look anemic,” she said, “Your clothes are hanging off you.” And then, “Are you pregnant?”
Sara ignored her.
As angry as Lynn was that Sara had let herself be raped, she was angrier that Sara was not at least pregnant. If Sara had been pregnant, then Lynn would have been able to keep her forever.
That night, Sara refused to sleep with Lynn. She insisted on staying in the guest room, in the bed that had never really been hers.
“So you’re punishing me?” asked Lynn. “Because I tried to help you and you didn’t listen?”
Sara closed the door to the guest room. In the days that passed, she rarely left it.
“None of this would have happened if you had just stayed here,” said Lynn, standing outside her door. “You’re different since that boy. You’ll never be the same.”
All day long, Sara laid in bed, while the boy in the capital went to class, passed exams, and went on dates.
“Did you love him?” asked Lynn. “I can’t believe you did that with someone you didn’t love.”
Sara avoided the bathroom. She rarely bathed, dreading the moment her mother would knock on the door she had already opened, and see Sara’s body, and tell her that it had changed.
After weeks had passed, and the boy and the rest of the students were on Christmas break, Sara woke up in the middle of the night. The guest room door was cracked open, and a yellow stripe of light fell on the bed. Sara heard her mother snoring softly behind her. Lynn looked smaller in her sleep. She was pitched forward, facing the wall. Her face was pale and alien without makeup.
Sara curved herself around her mother’s spine the way she had done all the nights of her life. She did not think about it. Her body just made the shape it was asked to make.
The two of them lived in a damp brown house at the end of a gulch, where the pavement dwindled into dirt, and the woods grew into the lawn.
The mother’s name was Lynn, and that is what Sara called her.
Lynn’s bed was a tall four-poster. It had a hard mattress and a damask spread. When Sara went to bed, she kept her eyes open in the dark, trained on the spine of her mother.
Lynn took a great interest in Sara’s body. Sara’s body looked the way Lynn’s had years ago, and Lynn possessed it as her own. There were no boundaries between them.
Lynn believed Sara’s life would be easier if she were a prettier girl. She was constantly inspecting her daughter’s body and making improvements. She brought home parcels of pantyhose, garters, underwire bras, and patent leather shoes. Undressed at the end of the day, Sara’s body was crossed with thick, red lines. The only time she was alone was in the bath, and even then, Lynn would find a reason to come in, pretending not to look.
Lynn spent hours in the bathroom every day. She drew on her eyebrows and teased her hair. She wanted to look younger. When she put on her makeup, Lynn wanted to see Sara’s face in the mirror.
After Sara’s graduation, Lynn pushed Sara to go to the teacher’s college in town. But Sara wanted to go to the university in the capital. The school had just accepted coeds the year before.
Lynn ignored Sara’s preparations for the move until the morning she left.
“You won’t stay long,” Lynn said. And that night she slept alone for the first time in eighteen years.
Lynn spent her days in mourning. She withdrew into her body, interrogating every aspect of her appearance. She tried new cosmetic treatments and exercises. The lines of her face morphed in the mirror. Without Sara beside her, Lynn did not know how she was supposed to look.
Whenever Sara phoned Lynn and told her she was going on a date, Lynn issued the same threat.
“Don’t let anyone ruin you.”
Months passed and Lynn did not hear a word from Sara. She felt betrayed, and had no better adjusted to her aloneness. When Sara finally called, late at night in the middle of the semester, Lynn asked, “Did you let him?”
Sara only cried, and wouldn’t say anything else.
Lynn hung up, shaking with jealousy. Sara’s body, which Lynn had cared for all her life, had been given to someone else. A nameless idiot, who wouldn’t know what to do with it. Lynn wanted Sara’s body in her bed so that it could never be in anyone else’s. At least then it would be safe.
Sara moved back home before the end of the semester. The taxi let her off where the pavement ended, and she walked down the dirt road to her mother’s house.
Lynn had been waiting. “You look anemic,” she said, “Your clothes are hanging off you.” And then, “Are you pregnant?”
Sara ignored her.
As angry as Lynn was that Sara had let herself be raped, she was angrier that Sara was not at least pregnant. If Sara had been pregnant, then Lynn would have been able to keep her forever.
That night, Sara refused to sleep with Lynn. She insisted on staying in the guest room, in the bed that had never really been hers.
“So you’re punishing me?” asked Lynn. “Because I tried to help you and you didn’t listen?”
Sara closed the door to the guest room. In the days that passed, she rarely left it.
“None of this would have happened if you had just stayed here,” said Lynn, standing outside her door. “You’re different since that boy. You’ll never be the same.”
All day long, Sara laid in bed, while the boy in the capital went to class, passed exams, and went on dates.
“Did you love him?” asked Lynn. “I can’t believe you did that with someone you didn’t love.”
Sara avoided the bathroom. She rarely bathed, dreading the moment her mother would knock on the door she had already opened, and see Sara’s body, and tell her that it had changed.
After weeks had passed, and the boy and the rest of the students were on Christmas break, Sara woke up in the middle of the night. The guest room door was cracked open, and a yellow stripe of light fell on the bed. Sara heard her mother snoring softly behind her. Lynn looked smaller in her sleep. She was pitched forward, facing the wall. Her face was pale and alien without makeup.
Sara curved herself around her mother’s spine the way she had done all the nights of her life. She did not think about it. Her body just made the shape it was asked to make.
