m review — short fiction — victory in jesus
Victory in Jesus
by Leah Herzing
Megan lines up her crayons in an even row, so that the tips match and change left to right in the shades of the rainbow; reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples. She hesitates with the pile of crayons left behind: black, gray, and white. Should she put them before the red crayons, or after the purple ones? Uncertain, she adds them next to the purples.
Her mother brings a tall glass of lemonade over to the table and asks Megan what she is going to draw.
"A horse."
"What kind of horse?"
"A black horse with green hair."
Megan takes a sip of the lemonade and catches an ice cube in her mouth. Sucking on it vigorously, she gets to work, starting in the upper left corner of the page, shading in the white space with her purple crayon. Next to her, Nana sits quietly working on a cross-stitch. It's a small, still life portrait of a barrel of apples and a watering can. Her brow furs and she frowns in concentration. Megan wears the same frown; the corners of her thick little lips dive toward her jaw line. Nana and Megan both wear glasses, Nana's small, square, and silver, and Megan's dark, round, and spacious around her big green eyes. They have the same hair cut, a sleek bob framing their narrow faces, only Nana's hair is a fine gradation of white to gray, and Megan's hair is a thick blend of her mother's strawberry blonde and her great-great grandmother Ida's dark auburn.
Megan likes to think of everything in terms of what color she uses to shade it in her drawings. For her own hair, she always uses a combination of red orange, red violet, and burnt sienna. Her older sister gets maize, because her hair is the same dark yellow as the corn stalks out behind the backyard. For Nana, she uses gray, black, and white. Jesus' hair is brown and raw umber, and his eyes are always midnight blue, the same color as her sister's eyes. Those are the people she draws the most.
Nana glances up from a stitch in a cherry red apple and considers helping her daughter with the dishes. She's humming as she rinses each dish and plops it in the drying rack. Nana figures she's almost done. The only other sound in the room comes from a few birds twitching and chirping outside the window above the sink, and Megan's occasional exhalation; a deep, quick sigh every time she switches crayons. Nana likes a quiet room. Everything always seems so loud anymore. Even when she goes shopping, in the department stores and grocery stores, they are either playing this loud music that makes her head hurt, or there is just such a commotion of voices and sounds around her that she gets confused and forgets what she is doing. There is nothing more frustrating than getting up to the counter and having some young teenager smack their gum at you, roll their eyes when you can't remember where you put your coupons, and on top of it all, that blaring music they listen to! Nana just doesn't understand why young people insist on listening to such loud music. It's just not pleasant, and music should be pleasant. The songs they sang in church today were pleasant, now weren't they? She notices her daughter's humming is the melody of hymnal #327: Victory in Jesus, one of her favorites.
After she finishes, Megan's mother has a seat at the table and rubs a drop of lotion onto her wrinkled hands. She glances over at Megan's page and finds it full of purple and blue, save a white square in the middle, where she is just beginning to draw the outline of the horse's head with her black crayon.
"Your horse is taking shape!"
Nana nods in agreement. "What will its name be?"
"Lucky, I think."
"Oh yes, Lucky. What a great name for a horse." Her mother smiles and puts the cap back on her little lotion bottle. The lotion smells like coconut and that reminds Megan of their vacation to Florida. She'd never been so far away from home, but she didn't miss it. Florida had an ocean, seagulls, and Disneyworld. For a souvenir, Megan got a keychain and a tie-dye outfit that she was saving for the first day of school in two weeks. It has a purple and green shirt, matching shorts, and purple suspenders. Now that her hair has a perm, she figures she is all set for the first day of school. She drew a picture the other day of her and her best friend, Linda, on the first day of school. She used lavender and sea green for her outfit. She likes drawing Linda in her pictures because Linda's skin is a different color. It gets boring coloring everyone peach. For Linda, Megan uses indian red. Linda says she's adopted and her real parents are Chickasaw Indians. Sometimes Megan wonders if she, too, is adopted. But everyone always tells her how much she looks like Nana.
Megan finishes coloring her horse.
"All done?"
"Yeah."
Her mother picks up the picture carefully between her fingers, by the top corners of the page, and takes it over to the refrigerator. Nana and Megan watch as she places little, black magnets in the corners to secure its position among the other pictures. There, mixed in with pictures of Megan's favorite people, are all of Megan's favorite animals: horses, turtles, llamas, tigers, koalas, and buffalos. She began drawing buffalos after meeting Linda, who says she likes to draw buffalos, feathers, and eagles, on account of her heritage. Megan doesn't know what a "heritage" is. Maybe she'll ask Nana.
"Want to draw another picture?"
"Yeah."
"What will this one be?"
"Why don't you draw something from church today?"
"Okay."
Nana looks up from her cross-stitch and smiles at Megan. She is interested in what her granddaughter might draw.
"You could draw Pastor Grant at his pulpit," she suggests.
"Or your Aunt Emma playing the organ," Megan's mother says.
"You could draw God."
"But I don't know what God looks like."
"Well, Jesus prayed to God by calling him 'Heavenly Father,'" Nana explains. "So try drawing heaven and then a father."
Megan has drawn pictures of heaven before, with trees, roads, and buildings all in yellow, maize, and gold. It is sort of boring. She likes to draw bridges, though, so maybe she could draw a bridge in heaven with God above it, floating, looking like her father but with wings.
Megan's sister walks in the kitchen and comments on what she's heard. "God isn't a father. God isn't male." She breezes by the table and opens a cupboard to grab a glass.
She smells peculiar to Nana, like the scent of those new stores in the mall with little flags, clothing, and sculptures from around the world. It's a thick musty smell, and frankly, Nana doesn't like it. She also doesn't like the sculptures in those stores of nude men and women.
"Why Anna, God can surely be defined by what his Son taught," Nana argues. She dropped her cross-stitch onto the table. Her leathery arms are tense and fold over one another, her elbows pointing outward across the table as she leans over her chest, peering at her older granddaughter. What sort of nonsense is she going to say today? What does she know when she refuses to go to church?
Megan watches her sister take the pitcher from the fridge, disappointed that she paid no attention to Megan's new picture. Anna walks back to the counter facing the table, pours some lemonade into her glass, and looks Nana in the eye.
"Well, you get your facts from a book that's fiction." Satisfied with her retort, she takes a long gulp of her drink.
Nana recoils in her seat as if she's been slapped. Her heart races and suddenly her polyester pants and delicate ivory blouse seem too tight. The cross around her neck itches. She scratches at it and lifts her other hand to her hair and pats at the strands just above her neck. She glances quickly at her daughter, who looks back at her with eyes that seem to plead for no arguments today. Nana considers, and reasons, she didn't start it. Anna did.
"You could learn a little respect, young lady. That book of fiction tells you all you need to know to keep yourself from landing in hell." Nana feels her blood pressure marching up as she let the words out of her mouth. She tries to emphasize the word 'hell,' but her granddaughter looks unmoved, just like all the other kids her age. They act as if they aren't even afraid of hell.
Megan looks over to her sister standing at the counter, glaring at Nana. She wears one of those shirts that look like she took a big handkerchief and wrapped it across her chest. She has real boobs by now, shaping a small ridge underneath the soft, paisley patches on her shirt. Megan couldn't wait to get boobs herself someday. She couldn't remember when her sister got them; it seemed to happen overnight. One day she was outside playing in the sprinkler with Megan, not much taller, in a one-piece suit like Megan's; her chest flat and legs like awkward sticks. The next day she was in a bikini, lying on a chair by the door so she could hear the phone ring, lathering her arms and legs in suntan lotion. She started telling Megan that she was annoying. Megan tried to lie next to her, and rubbed lotion all over her grass stained knees and elbows, but her sister would sigh and roll over to lie on her stomach, turning her face away from Megan.
Today, Megan notices her sister's tummy is nice and tan, peeking out from underneath her top like a warm, toasted loaf of bread. In a picture, she could color her sister's skin brown and peach now.
"Anna, I got a sticker on the chart today in Sunday school," Megan says.
"What was the verse?" Nana asks, raising her eyebrows with pleasure at Megan. "John 3:16."
"For God so loved the world," Anna starts in a singsong voice. She dances around the kitchen, her head tossed back with her long, blonde hair swinging in messy ringlets down to her waist. Nana remembers when those ringlets were tight and so sweet around her toddler face. Everyone at church thought she looked like little Shirley Temple, and she spoke so well in front of the congregation when called up to say her verses with the rest of her class. Nana could picture it like it was yesterday; Anna in her favorite little pink dress, that one with the smocking and matching sweater that Nana knit for her. What happened to that sweet little girl?
"Why don't you let your sister say the verse?"
"Fine," Anna says, stopping suddenly and standing with her hands on her hips. She shifts her weight, sticking one foot with rings on the toes out of her long, denim skirt, and cocks her head to the side.
Everyone waits, looking at Megan.
"For God so loved the world..." Megan pauses and frowns. She suddenly forgot the rest. "Well, Anna ruined it. I don't even want to say it now." She gave her sister a sour face.
"That's alright, Megan," Nana says. "You can recite it later." Nana had returned to her cross-stitch and was starting to stitch the spout of the watering can. She wondered if Megan thought about what the words meant.
"Now, what does that verse mean, Megan? Do you know?"
"Yeah, I know what it means."
"You think you understand it?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe you could pray about it."
"Okay." Megan isn't quite so sure, but her mother makes eyes at Nana and they both smile anxiously. Megan thinks this might be important.
Anna drops her empty glass in the kitchen sink and mutters, "I know where this is going." She turns her back to the table, and begins to rummage around the cabinet above the sink for a snack.
Nana drops her cross-stitch again and turns in her chair toward Anna, gripping the table and the back of the chair on either side of her.
"Young lady, we've heard your piece, and clearly you do not accept the truth. I think you're better off to let your little sister figure out things on her own."
Megan doesn't like it when Nana and Anna argue, so she turns her attention back to her picture. She begins to outline her bridge with her black crayon, satisfied by the strong lines that color faithfully puts into place. Now Anna is telling Nana that Megan is too little to figure out anything on her own.
Megan presses harder with her crayon and frowns. She can figure things out! One of the last times that Anna played spies with her, before she got too busy with her other friends, they sat together in their tent and Anna shared with Megan a secret. She said that she and her friend Mark had decided that the Bible wasn't true. Mark was older and had found out that no one had ever even proven it was really from God. So Anna decided to stop learning verses and going to church. Megan knew it would make her parents and Nana sad, and that Mark might not be right, but instead of saying anything, Megan just sat quietly, looking at Anna by the light of their flashlights, hoping she would change her mind.
"How do I start?" Megan interrupts. "I want to pray about the verse." She wants to show Anna she can do this and make everyone happy.
"Just tell Jesus you are thankful for what he did," Nana offers, turning her attention away from Anna to Megan.
Megan sets down her black crayon and studies the bridge she has drawn. She glances up at Anna to see if she is watching, but she is busy opening a can of peaches.
"Thank him for what he did on the cross," Megan's mother coaxes.
"He died for my sins."
"Yes," both the women say together, each leaning forward, closer to Megan.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Anna snorts and slams the can opener down on the counter. "She'll never remember this! She doesn't know what she's talking about!"
"I do too know what I'm talking about!" Megan feels her face get hot.
"Leave your sister alone!" Nana's face is set, and she is done arguing with Anna. Calmly, she takes some mint candies out of her purse, hands one to her daughter, one to Megan, and keeps one for herself. Without looking at her, she tells Anna to leave the room.
"This isn't about you, Anna."
"Fine," Anna says.
Megan watches her sister walk out of the room with her can of peaches and a spoon. Megan scrunches up her face and thinks hard about the verse. He gave his only begotten son. She looks into the faces of her mother and Nana. That whosoever believeth in Him, shall not perish but have everlasting life. Megan closes her eyes, clasps her fingers together in front of her chest, bows her head, and takes a small peek at her picture of heaven before beginning.
"Dear Heavenly Father, I believe you sent your son to die on the cross for my sins. Thank you. I love you."
Nana's eyes burn with tears and she grabs her daughter's hand under the table. She gives it a squeeze and thinks how happy Pop would be to hear this.
Megan opens one eye and looks over at Nana, who nods with tears in her eyes.
"You can finish dear," she whispers.
"In Jesus' name, Amen."
Megan opens her eyes to find Nana crying and her mother beaming. They jump off their chairs and pull at Megan, hugging her from each side. They say they are so proud of her and Megan feels proud of herself. Their fleshy arms and soft cheeks bump Megan's neck and forehead; their blouses and jewelry brush against her skinny arms. The smell of coconut and mint make her feel warm, like she's a caterpillar in a cocoon.
After some more crying and praise, the women let go of Megan and hustle over to the phone to call Aunt Emma and tell her what Megan did. Megan feels so smart and grown-up. While they chatter, she slides around in her chair and looks down the hallway. There, at the base of the staircase, with the windows at the front door framing her profile, Anna stands still with one hand on the banister. She looks at Megan and cocks her head, holding the can of peaches to her chest. Megan can make out a tiny grin on her face, and she smiles back, unaware that Anna's eyes are dark and sad.
Satisfied, she returns to her picture as the women squeal over the phone and Anna goes upstairs. Megan picks up midnight blue from the orderly pile and begins to draw a body, pod shaped, large and thick, floating in the sky above her golden bridge.
Leah Herzing of Portland, Oregon
Leah Herzing lives in Portland with her husband, a spoiled cat, and an overzealous puppy. She works at a boutique and attends Marylhurst University, where she is studying Art and Creative Writing. A recent Midwest transplant, she is enjoying everything the Pacific Northwest has to offer. In her spare time, she loves to hike, paint, visit Powell's Books, and try new restaurants.
