Read Online Fathermothergod: My Journey Out of Christian Science by Lucia Greenhouse - Free Book Online Page B

to reach her, so the nurse looks up something in my file and tells me she is calling Dad at the office.
    “… she is white as a ghost,” the nurse explains when he answers. “Sure, she’s right here.”
    The nurse looks over at me and tilts her head sweetly. “Would you like to talk to your dad?”
    I get up and move to her desk.
    “Hi, Dad,” I say.
    “Hi, kiddo.”
    “I threw up.”
    “Would you like me to pray for you?”
    I look at the nurse.
    “Can I go home?” I ask Dad. I want him to say yes.
    “That might not be necessary,” he says. “Lucia, you, as God’s perfect creation, cannot be sick. You are the perfect reflection of God.”
    “Can you come get me?” I whisper.
    I stare at the floor, because I know the nurse is looking at me.
    He goes on. “Mrs. Eddy says, ‘Let unselfishness, goodness, mercy, justice, health, holiness, love—the kingdom of heaven—reign within us, and sin, disease, and death will diminish until they finally disappear.’ ”
    There is silence now, and I am trying to concentrate on what Dad is saying, about disease disappearing if I fill my thoughts with goodness, health, and love, but my eyes are filling with unwelcome tears. My fingers fiddle with the phone cord. I’m embarrassed that the nurse is listening, and Dad is not offering to come get me.
    “… you needn’t give in to the erroneous suggestions of mortal mind. You
cannot
be sick, Lucia. Jesus said, ‘Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect.’ ”
    I wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
    “Loosh?” Dad asks. “Do you think you’d like to go back to class?”
    “Yes,” I say. But what I’d really like is to be in my bed. At home. With Mom.
    “That’s wonderful,” Dad says. “I know you’re going to feel fine.”
    I say good-bye and hand the phone to the nurse.
    “My dad’s going to call my mom again and she’ll come get me,” I tell her.
    “Hmm,” the nurse
says, an hour later. “Do you want to try her again?”
    She dials the number and hands me the phone. I count six rings, seven, eight, and am about to hang up when Mom answers.
    “Mom, I’m at the nurse’s office. I threw up. Can you come get me?”
    “Of course, sweetheart,” Mom says. “I’m on my way.”
    I feel such relief.

J UNE 1975
     
    I am thirteen
years old, nearing the end of my seventh-grade year, with one week to go before school lets out for the summer. Olivia has just returned from Principia. She is now officially an eleventh grader. Her steamer trunk stands on end just inside the door leading from the kitchen to the garage. As I set the table for our first family dinner in months, my sister and mom chat in the kitchen. Olivia is showing her how to make something called guacamole, which sounds to me like something stuck in your throat. It looks even worse than it sounds. Still, I feel curious and a bit resentful at this proof of my sister’s maturity—that she is actually in a position to teach Mom something about cooking. I’ve gotten used to being the oldest kid here, but now Olivia has returned with another Stevie Wonder album, and guacamole, and tales of dormitory life, all pointing to the differences between her exciting world and mine.
    Dad is standing in the backyard grilling steaks, wearing an apron and his goofy chef’s toque. Chipsie and Moptoe, our two dogs, are hovering nearby, tongues hanging out, hoping for scraps. Sherman is playing a solo game of tetherball. As Dad turns the steaks, andswats away the smoke, he sings an old favorite song called “George Jones,” which dates back to his own boarding school days. I figure he must be happy to have my sister home again, and all of us under one roof.
    “Five minutes!” he hollers.
    We sit down to eat at the table in the screened porch off the dining room. I get to light candles, which I know signifies a special occasion. My mother sits at one end of the glass table, my father at the other. Olivia and I take our