Stolen Innocence - Lisa Pulitzer [78]
Just inside the door, a handmade banner reading “Honeymoon Hideout” hung across an archway. Peering into the room, I saw that the furniture was decidedly different from when I’d left that morning. The bunk bed my little sisters shared had been moved to my mother’s room, along with all of their knickknacks. My twin bed had been replaced by a queen-sized one that I was expected to share with Allen, starting that very night. The bedspread had been decorated with dozens of Hershey’s chocolate kisses arranged in the shape of a big heart. Homemade cookies and sparkling cider had been left for us. Also on the bed was a handmade sign with the words ALLEN AND ELISSA SEALED FOR TIME AND ALL ETERNITY, APRIL 23, 2001. As if hearing the words hadn’t been enough, now I had to see them. I knew all of these gestures had been made with good intentions, but they only emphasized how wrong the whole thing felt.
The scene was surreal. Just a day earlier, this room had been a safe, comforting space, a sanctuary where I could escape the insanity about the pending wedding. Now its every corner had an air of foreboding, and the walls seemed to close in on me. I could barely look at it, let alone sleep there. As I tried to calm down, I was suddenly lifted into the air. Allen had taken me in his arms and was preparing to carry me over the threshold. I covered my face when I saw cameras poised and began to cry as he walked us into the room.
The cameras continued to snap outside of the Honeymoon Hideout, and my extended family pressed me to smile for the photos, saying that one day I would want to look back at this “happy” time. After what felt like an eternity in front of the camera, Uncle Fred congratulated us once again. He said that he was proud of me for doing what the prophet had told me to do, but pride from him felt tainted and ugly—nothing like it would have felt had I heard those special words from my real dad, after a wedding that I actually wanted.
Mom lingered in the hallway as long as she could to help me feel protected and loved. I had caught her crying back at the motel in Caliente, when I’d accidentally walked into the bathroom and found her in the arms of my sister Rachel. I knew this was difficult for her too, but there was no way for her to protect me now. After a few minutes, she finally declared, “I’m going to bed.”
“No, Mom, you can’t go,” I pleaded. She didn’t respond with words, but her eyes spoke her pain. I had no idea what a wedding night entailed and I was horrified at the prospect and apprehensive to go into the room. I watched as Mom faded into her room, closing the door behind her. I wanted nothing more than to trail along like a little girl, but I knew that I couldn’t.
Panic set in as Allen closed the door. I had never been alone with a man before, but here we were in a bedroom, of all places. I had no idea what to say, and an uncomfortable silence fell between us. Awkwardly, I sat down on the bed and cringed as he approached me. He sat down next to me and I quickly scooted over, grabbed my nightgown, and fled down the hall to the bathroom to change. As soon as I closed the door I collapsed, dropping to my knees with my back pressed against the door. I couldn’t even cry anymore; I was out of tears.
I stayed in the bathroom for a long time, battling in my head. While part of me was angry that I’d lost the fight, there was the other side, the faithful priesthood girl side, that was consoled that I had done what I was told to do. I tried hard to convince myself that it was going to work out and that God was watching over the situation. I thought of how hard I’d fought and of all those people who had congratulated me, telling me I was going to be happy someday. All of a sudden, I felt the urge to vomit and bent over the sink in horror. When the nausea finally passed, I stared at myself in the mirror worrying what to do next.
I knew I had to open the door and return to the bedroom, but the only thing I wanted to do was run into my mother’s room and hide in the corner.
“This is what the priesthood