Paradise Lost

 On our walk into town early one morning, Nola says, "Do you believe in God? Like the God in the Bible?"

"Dang, Nola. That's a heavy subject this early in the morning," I say, trying to evade the question. I learned a long time ago to avoid these types of conversations. But this subject occupies most of Nola's time. Ever since we looked up all the world religions, she's struggled to pinpoint her place in the world. "Didn't anyone teach you that religion and politics have no business in polite conversation?"

"C'mon, Rags, you're the only person I can talk to about this. I know you'll tell me the truth. You know where I grew up. Anytime I spoke to my parents about my doubts or questions about God, I got in trouble. I hated wearing my hair long. Once, when I went with Mom to donate extra produce from the gardens to the food bank, I saw a girl my age with the cutest short hairstyle. I begged my mom to let me cut my hair like hers. When my dad heard me pleading with her to let me cut my hair, he spanked me for having sinful desires. Then he made me sit with him for hours every afternoon for Bible studies about how women should behave. It continued for weeks until I could recite the Biblical rules women should follow to my father's satisfaction."

"Your old man sounds like a great party guest," I say sarcastically. "I just don't think I'm the right person to answer your question. I don't think God cares. I mean, he didn't care about what my stepdad was doing to me. I feel like God gave up on me a long time ago, so I gave up on him, too. I remember going to church with my Grandma. It all fascinated me: the music, the message, and the community. The pastor said if I needed anything, all I had to do was confess my belief in Jesus Christ and pray about it. I believed him. So, I started praying every day for someone to save me from my stepdad. I begged God to let me go and live with my father. And no matter how good I was or how hard I tried to be a good girl, stay out of the way, always do the right thing, no one ever came to rescue me or stop him."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, Rags," Nola says softly. "It must have been tough to live through all that. I know you think God wasn't listening to you, but I will. If you want to talk about it, I mean."

"Nah, I'd rather help you on your spiritual quest," I say. "My Aunt Tara says the Bible was written thousands of years ago by men who hated women, and it's all about politics and power. She owns a metaphysical shop in the foothills of the Ozarks."

Thinking about Aunt Tara leaves me with a guilty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I want to message her and tell her I'm fine and not to worry. I don't think she'd rat me out to my parents, but I can't risk Nola's safety. Besides, Aunt Tara's is the first place my parents will look. I've been running away to Aunt Tara's every summer since I was six. She is my favorite person on earth, and I know she has to be worried.

"What's a metaphysical shop?" Nola asks.

I tell her about Mystical Medicine, which includes herbs, candles, statues, crystals, talismans, premixed spell ingredients, tarot decks, and spell books. I also tell her about Aunt Tara's friend and part-time employee Whitney, who is a medium and communicates with spirits on the other side.

"Isn't she worried about going to Hell?" Nola asks incredulously. "I worry about spending eternity in Hell all the time. She's an actual witch! Doesn't she know the Bible strictly forbids the practice of witchcraft?"

"Honestly, I don't think she cares what your Bible says. She doesn't believe in Hell." I tell her. "And she'd be the first one to tell you so."

When we arrive at the professor's house for its weekly cleaning, we are so deep in conversation that we hardly notice her car in the drive. We open the gate to allow ourselves into the backyard. As we round the corner, we see her sitting on a patio lounger, reading papers. She smiles as she sees us approaching. Nola and I greet her and proceed into the house to get started on our jobs.

An hour later, we're folding the freshly laundered clothes in the laundry room and sorting them into baskets to put away. Nola is still deep in thought about my Aunt Tara. "So if there's no Hell, does she believe in Heaven?" She asks as she folds a load of towels.

"She believes in reincarnation," I say. She says we choose our life path and the lessons we want to learn while we're here. She also believes there's a Mother God. She says the men in power at the time edited the Mother God out of the Bible to strip power and rights from women. Women could no longer own property because they became property, first of their fathers, and then sold to the highest bidder as wives. Then, they used that book to instill fear in women and make them subservient to men. If you don't obey your husband, you'll burn in Hell."

"Is that what you believe?" Nola implored, the curiosity evident on her face.

"Well, for a while, I was a sworn atheist. I had convinced myself that God didn't exist because what God would allow someone to do those things to me and go unpunished?" I start, "But then, I started testing the limits and hanging out in some pretty rough neighborhoods with even rougher kids on the weekends. My stepdad works a part-time security gig at Moe's Bar on the weekends. Mom mostly hangs out at the bar with him those nights. The brats would go to his parent's house, and I'd be left alone. I wasn't supposed to leave the house. So, I would leave a note on my door saying I was asleep with my headphones in and lock my bedroom door. Then, out the window, I'd climb down the tree ladder to get in the car my friends had waiting down the block."

"Did you ever get caught?" Nola asks breathlessly, listening in anticipation.

"No. My room was in the attic, and after I told Mom about my dear old dad's nighttime routine, he wasn't allowed to go past the second floor. He was too scared to test that boundary after I threatened to tell my teacher what was happening at home. I used it as leverage to get locks placed on my bedroom door. Anyway, I started hanging out with some older kids, drinking, smoking weed, hanging out in someone's basement while their parents got fucked up upstairs. Shit got out of hand a few times, but somehow I always made it home safely. So that got me thinking there's gotta be somebody up there looking out for me. If I ever get to college, I'll study world religion and maybe archeology."

"If you get to college?" the professor asks from the doorway. She looks at Nola and me expectantly, waiting for our explanation. Oh shit, what are we going to do now? I think to myself. Nola looks ashen, standing beside me. Her breath is coming in sharp, whistling notes. I squeeze her hand and look at her reassuringly. I turn, smiling at the professor.

"Yeah," I lie, sheepishly looking away. "I've been reevaluating my plans after the AT. I'm not going back to school. I'm feeling the vibe of being out in the world doing my own thing, and I don't want to be riddled with student loan debt for the next thirty years. I've been thinking I want to try the van life thing. Just travel the country and see the sights, sleep in the parks, and meet people. I can't wander the country with a job and student loan debt." I glance at Nola, who has resumed folding at this point. "Poor Nola is terrified my parents will find out and tell her parents, and they'll make her come home."

The professor looks at me for a moment, considering my answer. Finally, she nods and leaves the room. Nola and I finish folding the laundry and putting it away. Our conversation has become minimal. We quickly finish the rest of the chores, collect our pay, and leave. Nola doesn't speak until we are several blocks away. Her fear is palpable in the air between us.

"Rags, we should move on. We're getting too comfortable and letting our guard down. We shouldn't have been having that conversation outside the cabin. We never know who's listening or how much they may have heard."

"I was really hoping we could ride it out here for a few more weeks, Nols. My birthday is seventeen days away. I'll finally be eighteen and can get my documents without alerting my parents to my whereabouts. I can call the police department, ask to speak to the detective about my case and tell him I left of my own free will, and now that I'm officially an adult, I'd very much like to be left alone."

"So no more Sarah Ragsdale?" Nola teases, the hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Can I still call you Rags? Or will you insist on using your real name?"

"Who says I'm going to tell you my real name?" I tease back.

Nola scoffs in mock indignation, but her eyes give her away. She is relaxed now, her face turned up to the sun, soaking in its warm spring rays. She sighs contentedly, the anxiety of a few moments earlier seemingly erased. We stop by the local grocery and grab a frozen pizza, popcorn, and movie theatre candy. We found a make-your-own projector kit at Big Lots. We want to try it tonight by stringing a sheet between the trees in the back of the cabin. It still gets a little chilly at night, so we bought a small bundle of firewood to help keep us toasty under the stars.

The projector works so well that we watch two movies and fall asleep on our blanket beneath the stars. The sun is warm on my face when I feel someone nudging me awake. "Five more minutes, Nols," I say as I turn over, snuggling into the blankets. Then I realized that Nola was still sleeping and was not the person nudging me from the other side. Fear grips me as I jump awake. Fear is quickly replaced by dread and confusion as I realize the professor is my unknown disturbance.

Good morning, girls." she says calmly. "I'm going to give you a few minutes to get your bearings, and then you can explain why you're asleep in my yard. I'll be inside waiting."

For a brief second, I contemplated grabbing what we could and running for it. But our savings were in the cabin with the professor. We needed that money, so we had no choice but to go in. Nola was in tears behind me as we crossed the yard. I can feel my own tears lodged in my throat. I took one last look around our little paradise, knowing that our facade was over. The cabin was no longer safe. If I could talk our way out of this one, we'd need to be on the move immediately. 

"What are you going to tell her?" Nola asked quietly, grabbing my arm moments before I opened the door. I take a deep breath, and swallowing hard, I tell Nola my plan. We're going to tell her the truth this time, beg her not to alert the authorities, and pray she has at least an ounce of compassion for two runaway girls.