Marriage in our sect isn’t about love. It’s ownership, obedience, purification.
I wake on my wedding day. An ivory dress showed up in my room sometime in thenight.
If things don’t go exactly to plan, my goose is cooked.
Today, Master Prophet will declare me chosen. I’m supposed to be sweet and smile while Brother Gideon stands at the chapel altar, lays his hand on my head and forces me to repeat vows to him, binding us forever.
What Master Prophet, Brother Gideon, and my family don’t realize is, today is when I leave this place forever.
I’ve been meticulously planning my escape ever since I found out my fate. Every errand, trip to the well, walk around the grounds, I’ve plotted. Figured out my route. Back-up plans. There’s a hole in the fence behind the tool shed. It’s small, rusted through and hidden behind a brush pile no one’s cleared in years. It leads into a barren field where nothing grows except dust and snake grass.
I have to make it to the gravel road I saw on the map in the chapel office. The mental picture is burned into my brain. It leads to a main highway, and from there I’m gonna take my chances.
Master Prophet says the outside world is a pit of filth. Asserts no woman could survive alone.
I say, we’ll see.
At eight, Mother comes into the room and helps me into the wedding dress. I hadn’t noticed it’s yellowing under the arms, which means I’m not the only one who’s worn it. I try not to think about who came before me as she sews a ribbon into my hair and warns me not to cry.
She needn’t have said a word. There’s no time for emotion today. My hands don’t shake. My voice doesn’t crack. I’m counting down the minutes.
My life depends on it.
Father waits by the door. He advises me not to disgrace him.
I smile. Promise to play nice.
Inside, I’m already a million milesaway.
The service is at noon. They lead me to the prayer hut where I’m to wait for them to bring me to the chapel.
At precisely 10:14, I slip out and gather the thing I’ve stashed behind the old meal barrel. It’s not much. A cloth pouch holding a compass, some clothes and forty dollars I stole from chapel donations.
Quickly, I change out of the disgusting dress into the men’s work trousers, a heavy coat, and boots I swiped from the laundry shed. Shove my hair under a hat and I’m ready.
For a moment I stare at the guitar. Contemplate. Decide.
I sling it across my back and start running.
The hole in the fence is smaller than I remember. I’m forced to crawl on my belly through dry thorns and barbed grass. My arm snags, tearing the sleeve of the coat.
I don’t stop. I can’t afford to.
Once I’m through, the air feels different. Lighter. Dirtier. Real.
The field expands in every direction. For a minute, I can’t remember which way to go. Taking a deep breath to center myself, I get my bearings and start walking.
Hours later, my legs are cramping, but I’m too scared to rest. I’m surprised no one has come after me. Then again, they probably think I’m hiding. No one would ever believe meek little me would fly the coop on her wedding day.
Eventually, the road finally appears, two ruts in dry gravel, old tire tracks seemingly running toward nothing. I follow it. By dusk, I reach a huge, paved highway. I’ve never seen anything like it. Cars fly past. Bright, loud. I crouch by the guardrail as the sky turns dark.
My boots are soaked. I’m freezing. My stomach threatens to eat itself.
There’s some sort of small building up ahead. Led by flickering lights, I decide to see if there’s any food there. No such luck. Only a soda machine with glass bottles and a man yelling into a phone behind the counter.
I slip into the bathroom. It smells like bleach and rust. After I do my business, I wash my hands and notice a piece of paper on the floor. I pick it up and stare at it. It’s a list of printed numbers with a person’s name at the top:Avonna Parilla.
Avonna Parilla.
