Not Really Going Anywhere, by Jerika Perthuis

Kevin and I have known each other since my late teens, we dated, casually, I was so intimidated by him I eventually stopped returning his phone calls. My first memory of Kevin is inside of a common area of a church; we are both volunteers for an after-school program for under-resourced students. Kevin is standing around with a basketball cupped by his side. Exuding inspirational, coach-like leadership, in a nearly commercial like quality, I notice him, but I don't recall what our very first conversation was about. Forcing Kevin to go on romantic picnics on the lake and dinners downtown did not yield much of anything meaningful back from me. Kevin will say we were formally boyfriend and girlfriend, but my memory does not recall that formality either.  Mutual friendships kept us in onesie, twosie, every now and then contact. This contact was usually him rebuffing my inquiries and changing his attention toward another person. I didn’t blame him. Yet, my feeling for him stayed with me, the summer before I turned 24 our mutual paths crossed again and I decided, if Kevin would have me, I was going to move mountains to get him. I laid the charm on thick later, after being basically ignored for three hours I managed to woo Kevin outside of a club, under the pretense of me not being able to hear him well. Two weeks later he was my boyfriend. After a year of dating Kevin casually mentions he has an opportunity to be a Youth Pastor in Flint, Michigan, I casually respond I will not follow him anywhere unless we are married.

 

I muse this memory over in my mind because in all actuality, I had no reference for what marriage meant, outside of a legal, permanent, context. I had actually never thought being married was of any specific or meaningful importance. I had no real reference growing up, with my parents, or outside there of. My Mother divorced my Father when I was fifteen, as he was filing bankruptcy, and she did not want the hit on her credit report. I had never believed they had wanted to be married in the first place, my ambivalence toward relationships rests on this strange background. I do know I want a normal life, and the possibility of this life seemed probable with Kevin.

 

The duality of this season also rests alongside of being plugged into a church with Kevin. The context of being plugged in to a church is reflective of how minimal my idea of what the connection would really be. Regardless, I am quite settled, quite determined, to go with him. Never living outside of Oklahoma, everything still felt very ambitious, but I hold all my cards tight against my chest. He leaves to start the position in Flint, Michigan. I fly back and forth, visiting, and, at times, have to remind myself to stop looking so wide-eyed. Assessing the city, on my end, then, begins a formative experience; I had no idea it was going on though. I never excitedly ask about what the plan is for the youth ministry, I never seek out some sort of inter-connectedness with stakeholders inside of the church. Thinking back, I was really concerned about where the mall was, importantly, what stores were inside, and where a Target and Starbucks were. 

 

Genessee Valley Mall did not offer much glamour. 

 

Eventually, we marry, the sentiment during the summer of 2011 is storied, we had both been living with separate church members and were over any pretense of some lavish, romantic wedding, we just wanted our own space. Keeping things painfully simple, we decide to marry after a Sunday service; Kevin preaches and, after stepping aside, the Lead Pastor of the church announces he will now marry us. Whoever wants to stay can. About half of the congregation got up and left for lunch. 

 

We strongly clarified to the church staff and elders to not place any decorations out, we did not have a best man or best lady, no real formal words or sentiments. My mother had insisted we not have a courthouse wedding, but come hell or high water, I was going to get as damn close. As we begin, our Lead Pastor says things, nothing specific comes to mind, eventually asking for the best man to come up to give the ring, I think. But, we had the rings on us, a friend awkwardly comes up to stand in, and then my sister awkwardly follows, as we gesture her to the stage. I am wearing a red dress. With no family, outside Kevin and I's parents, my sister, I did not want to wear anything I couldn't get another use out of, I remember channeling the spirit of Oprah, doing what I wanted, how I wanted. Unfortunately, the church secretary had placed a well used unity candle on stage, toward the end of the ceremony, which is really almost too formal of a label, we are invited to light it. More unfortunate, there is really no wick on this said candle, and the lighter is out of fluid. Pictures of us taken by our family captures the most strained looks really ever captured on a bride and groom to be. 

 

We flow out into the gym for the reception, as we thank guests, Miss Vi, a very old lady Kevin would get groceries for, asked Kevin, as I am standing right beside him, if he knew I had tattoos before he married me. Kevin, always the fox, replies, "No, I had no idea she had them, Miss Vi." Feeble side-eye ensues, and Miss Vi shuffles forward to the buffet and wedding cake we had picked up the night before from Walmart.

 

This story makes its way later into sermons, at dinner tables, all with an enormous amount of laughter, and light-heartedness. While to many, this would of been, at minimum, mildly horrific, I have always loved how no one can make this shit up. 

 

At my first bible study group I sit at another round table, the group of ladies had all bought into a book inviting us all into a deeper understanding of marriage. I was a late register, and this was the only group that had room. Led by two older ladies, the dynamics of the group ranged in age and background demographics, we all receive a paper with instructions on how to pray for your husband for forty days or so. The corner of my smile moves upward, I am sure I titled my head to the side, I ask the group if we are giving this same paper to our Husbands, really out of a naive nature and logic. And, to me only, a comrad-like elbow gesture, a pretty funny joke. It kinda falls flat though. Later on the group leader coaches us, with incredible sincerity, to apply rouge to our lips and cheeks before our Hubbies come home. To have the home clean and prepared for his arrival, like a courteous flight path, delicately planning the path for a plane navigating through a long awaited landing, after the longest, unprecedented, journey. 

 

I feel an enormous amount of WTF. Then, WTF am I inside of. 

 

I place the forty day prayer challenge paper on a bookshelf, make mention of how preposterous the whole notion is to Kevin, and keep pushing. 

 

But, in this small town, I am not really going anywhere. 

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