The piano, for my mother, had been a prison of many keys, the wordless sounds emanating a chilling dirge.
Mother had been forced to play the piano. Having never been given an opportunity to choose it, she was forced away from it.
Mother & David’s mysterious past, once so enigmatic, now seemed to disappear altogether when I looked at their unquestionable future.
David had grown up an only child, as had Mother, & their parents had died years ago. We were a tree with roots, but no branches.
Mother had never tried to get David to convert to Catholicism, for her arrangement with him had been accepted; with Mormonism, it was not.
I hadn’t been aware that David had known my mother before her marriage to my father; for 1 day, those 3 lives had intertwined.
My father’s family had never come to see us, & I wondered for the first time if Mother & David were running from something.
There was no poor child who suffered for the sins of the Mormon community as in Omelas, except the little child in each of them.
I was like an immigrant, coming to the New World, for Mormonism was uniquely American. It was the Ronald Reagan of religions.
For years, I’d thought my mother had redefined herself, but rather, she had deconstructed herself, leaving some parts of her behind.
Mormon converts had chosen the Church, but those born in the covenant had the choice made for them, for what child of 8 would refuse baptism?