Prayers for Bobby - Leroy Aarons [13]
Within seven weeks of their meeting, Bob proposed. “I want to hold you forever,” he said. He bought, on account, an engagement-and-wedding-ring package for four hundred dollars, the bill cosigned by Mary’s mother. But they delayed marrying for nearly two years while Bob worked toward his electrician’s license and they saved money.
Finally, in July 1955, they drove to Reno with Mary’s sister Jean and her husband, to be married by a justice of the peace. Bob was down on religion and had resisted a church wedding. Mary had borrowed a navy blue taffeta dress from her mother and had bought a new pair of shoes. Bob had purchased a jacket, slacks, and shoes.
The ceremony, in a little office space, took about five minutes. It was not very romantic; the corsage Bob had bought her was wilted by the appointed hour. Still, the occasion was magical for Mary. The judge was friendly, and Bob’s kiss was lingering and passionate. For that moment everything was right with the universe.
Mary was twenty, Bob twenty-one. Each brought to the union separate images of marriage and family. With no role models in his life, Bob had not the least concept of “man and wife” or, for that matter, “parent.” His pictures came exclusively from books and movies. He was winging it. Mary, her head still filled with fears and insecurities, was determined to undo the mistakes of her own upbringing. No busy social whirl for her; no career. She would be a proper wife and mother. Her children would feel loved, welcome, and nurtured; their home would be a shelter. Together, Mary and Bob embarked on a Norman Rockwell journey in the midst of the complacent 1950s, unprepared for what lay ahead.
They settled in a one-bedroom apartment in downtown Oakland. Through an uncle, Bob had obtained a four-year apprenticeship with the electrician’s union. He worked as an electrician and went to Laney Trade College. Mary continued at Capwell’s. A year later, Mary conceived, but she miscarried before even realizing she was pregnant. Within another year she was pregnant again, with a girl, who came to term prematurely at seven months.
Mary was rushed to Oakland’s Providence Hospital in great pain and had to be anesthetized for the delivery. Bob was at her side when she awoke, and told her that everything was fine. But a day later the infant died. Young Jennifer Ambria was given a funeral and a proper burial. The loss traumatized Mary. She brooded, stunned by a mix of pain, confusion, and guilt. Again, her mind latched on to the specter of an angry and penalizing deity. She was convinced that God was punishing her and Bob for their premarital sex.
Mary sought comfort in the church, at first at Lakeside Baptist in Oakland, confessing and praying with the minister, and later at an evangelistic missionary church in their neighborhood. Mary prayed and read the Bible, trying to pull out of her depression.
The world was indeed a dangerous place. Unable to trust her own judgment, Mary turned herself over to doctrine. She began putting little Christian icons around the house and collecting Bible verses.
Her insecurity extended to her marriage. For a long time she had difficulty calling her husband by his name, usually substituting “honey” or “sweetheart.” Ophelia had drilled into her, “You don’t call people by their first names.” She found it difficult to be openly affectionate outside the privacy of the bedroom.
For his part, Bob was attentive and caring. But Mary focused on the empty half of the cup: “What if he doesn’t really care?”; “How could he truly love someone like me?” One Christmas, Bob bought her a beautiful strand of pearls and earrings. Mary asked, “Were you drunk when you bought this?” She couldn’t believe his gift was sincere. Nothing he could do would erase her self-doubt.
She began to feel intensely jealous. Yet there was nothing real to fear; Mary’s anxieties arose from the depths of her