Swallow the Key

"This is what you really want?"
       They stared from across the table, still in their Sunday best. I could see my sister in the living room. She said she'd give us some privacy but I knew she was listening in. The TV had quietened and she sat on the end of the sofa closest to the door. Real subtle.
       "Yeah," I told them, quiet but sure.
       "Why?" Mum said, her voice higher than Dad's even tone.
       "It's what I want to do," I said, nearly mimicking her pitch with the need to defend myself. I paused, took a deep breath. "I've thought about this for a long time. And it's not just because my friends are going either." My parents - and indeed most parents - harped on a lot about peer pressure. Furthermore, most parents would be pleased in this situation, except mine. Our family's different.
       "See. This is exactly why I said Sixth Form wasn't a good idea," said Mum, nodding frantically between me and Dad. "I said she'd be tempted."
       Tempted. Temptation.
       Something else my parents harped on about.
       I thought back to two years ago when I was on track to getting As and Bs in my GCSEs. My friends were applying to Sixth Form and I wanted to too, partly because they were but also because the idea of going to college and learning how to arrange flowers or cut hair was dire to me. Employment was an option, but GCSEs alone weren't enough for most jobs. Jobs with a half decent wage anyway, and scrubbing toilets sounded even more dire. When it came to convincing my parents about Sixth Form, that was the ball in the back of the net. Qualifications for a better job. Of course, they didn't foresee university. Neither had I. Until now.
       "What about your ministry?" Dad said, adjusting his collar. I wondered if he was boiling with rage too. Mum was brimming with it, shifting from foot to foot and placing her hands on her hips, on Dad's chair, on the cabinet beside her. Restless.
       "I'd keep doing it at uni. I'd go to one with a Kingdom Hall nearby and my timetable won't be as restrictive as it is at school. I could do it on the weekends and weekdays too." I gabbled out the words I'd carefully rehearsed before.
       "But why?" Mum whined. "You know how it is with university."
       She didn't mean the intensive workload or studying, not even the student lifestyle that worried most parents. Mum was referring to university altogether; how people in the Truth felt about it. How Jehovah supposedly felt about it. How I felt about it until I realised how much I loved studying English.



Again, I thought back.
       One Sunday (as with every Sunday) I was sitting in a meeting, smart in a skirt and blouse and my face made up and doll-like. The congregation sat in neat aisles, facing the North-East corner where Brother Allen was speaking. The Kingdom Hall wasn't remarkable like many traditional Christian churches, swapping a tall stony appearance for a simple brick building. There were no stain-glassed windows. No windows at all, in fact. Strangely, there was a curtain though. It stretched around the corner behind Brother Allen, stealing everyone's attention with its crimson colour and intricate pattern. But even that got boring after a while. The only other decorations included a small table at the front bearing some potted flowers and a line of scripture hung on the hall that we changed every year.
       "So, as Jehovah's people, we must put Jehovah first and rise above the dark mundanity of this world. Because it won't be like this forever. This time will pass. So how can we prepare?" In response to Brother Allen, a dozen hands shot up.
       "Sister Rainbird," he nodded, and the microphone was passed to a little pair of hands who gently took it.
       "Do ministry," she said, her childish speech clustering the consonants together. The congregation made a collective 'aww', fond chuckles sounding.
       "That's right," Brother Allen smiled. I thought his tight mouth might split. "So it's no use debating the word of Jehovah as many do, or scrutinising the Bible. We have it all right here," and he held up his own copy. "Debating over words is futile. The wisdom of man is nothing compared to that of Jehovah."
       And that meant no university.
       It distracts from Jehovah's work
       You mix up with the wrong sorts of people
       You're getting too caught up in the ways of the world
Those were the overriding opinions of university, clouded by Brother Allen's words but very much spoken by those I'd confided in. My dearest Sisters. The exact words were printed in a Watchtower article I'd read a few weeks ago too. They pained me.
       “Your children will no doubt experience new challenges and pressures. … Are they prepared for the pressure they will receive to pursue higher education, date, and use alcohol or drugs?”



Mum pushed a Bible towards me. "This is your work, Katie. This is what you should spend your time studying. What would you even do at uni?"
       "English," I said, staring at the Bible before me, confronting it.
       "Well there's plenty of English in there!"
       "Honey," Dad said, his tone tinged with warning. Mum glared at him, her gaze like a net.
       "Is this really what you want? Have you prayed about this?"
       "Lots, so much," I said. Mum turned her glare on me and I squirmed like a fish. But it was true. I'd prayed so much and received an answer. Going to university felt right despite all the reasons for why it should feel wrong. Be wrong.
       "We'll think about it," said Dad. I glanced up again, seeing that three minutes had passed on the clock. Mum sputtered in disbelief. I was told to go to my room.



I sat on my bed, wondering how long it'd take my parents to "think about it." It wouldn't take Mum long to give her answer. A firm resounding no. Dad seemed more thoughtful, but then he was always in control of his emotions. By law I was an adult now, I could go, if I really wanted. But deserting my parent's feelings? Deserting those of the Elder's? Deserting life as a Witness? My heart plunged further into my stomach. I couldn't risk being disfellowshipped.
       Afternoon shifted into evening and eventually gave way to night. I went to bed with a growling stomach, as I'd pushed my food around my plate at dinner. Now I regretted that. A lot.
       "Katie!" Mum yelled. "Come downstairs!" Her command carried up the stairs and into my bedroom. I stirred, reluctant to leave my dreams, though I couldn't remember them.
       The clock read eleven. What? Mum and Dad let me have a lie in?
       I swung out of bed, worried I was in trouble. My mouth was thick with sleep and my eyes blinked the world into focus. I dashed downstairs, finding my parents at the dining room table, as they were yesterday.
       "We've reached a decision about university," Dad told me. I took in a breath and held it, my heart pausing with a squeeze.
       "You can go to university," Mum said, looking detached.
       "Really?" I breathed, my heart releasing. Glee flooded my being.
       "But," Dad said, holding up a finger and stopping me in my tracks. "You have to stay close to home. You can go to Bath. You remember the Winfield family? They're from Bath, so you'll know people already at the Hall there."
       Oh no.
       Oh no!
       Not the Winfields.
       Harry Winfield, year ten. I met him in a circuit assembly and our family had tea with theirs. I think Harry fancied me, because he kept lingering in my shadow and trying to talk to me. Once again, our families met up and he tried putting his hand on my leg under the dinner table. I swatted him away and resisted the instinct to smack him in the face. He was so close. I could count the spots on his face. And it wasn't just Harry. His mother spoke in an accent I couldn't understand and I didn't like his father, he remarked on my sister's skirt being too short once and Mum had a go at her for it.
       "Isn't there a university anywhere else?" I managed to my parents.
       "Why, what's wrong with Bath?" Mum said, seeming a bit too jovial.
       "Nothing, just wondering." I shrugged, burying my despair.
       "Well we don't want you more than an hour away, so no."
       "Okay... thanks, Mum! Thanks, Dad!" and I ran up and hugged them.



I ate my late breakfast at the table, staring at the illustration of Jesus on our wall. As per usual, he was depicted pale, with a fuzzy beard and long hair. He was dressed in white, bathed in a holy glow, his arms held out.
       "Please don't let me be hounded by the Winfields," I pleaded to him, not giving my thoughts voice. "Make it... make me hate university! Make me not want to go!"
       But I did want to go.
       And even the horrid Harry Winfield couldn't change that.