Boyfriend writhes around on top of me and gazes hungrily into my eyes. He exclaims that he loves me and life is amazing and this feels so great. I do not respond. I am traveling back in time, returning to the church where I first saw Him.

The height of summer, and yet I wear my small patent leather shoes and my woven white tights. I stand at the bottom of the basement stairwell, and my sweaty little hands rattle a doorknob. The metal is warm and the gold plating flakes onto my skin. Mother Mary looks down at me from the stained glass in the window, her eyes downcast. Sad Mother Mary.

I hear heavy breathing, turn around, and He is behind me. With His strong and capable hands, He turns the knob. We go behind the door. I see flashes: His long brown hair; His critical expression; His slender torso. Movements that amaze and confuse me, illuminated by His glow. It comes from within.

After a time incalculable, my hand grips the knob again. I am back on the other side of the door. It was cool and bright and clean in there. I wonder how long I was with Him. I rattle, pull, and push, but the door will not open. Pressing my ear to its wood, I strain to hear any sign of Him, but there is no sound. I am alone.

I learned when I was young that He is angered by what Boyfriend and I do. I know that when Boyfriend wriggles around on me, images of Him will appear in my mind. But this is not enough. I want Him to be there after. I pray that I will open my eyes and see His bare feet, His piercing gaze, His hairy fingers, His towering height, His patent leather shoes, His woven white tights, the bottom of the stairs, the doorknob, the—

Shades of blue, red, and green dance through the dust hanging around me. Looking over my shoulder, I see they are coming through Sad Mother Mary. I move my hands, swirling the particles around in the captivating light. Could this be a gift from Him?

Mother and Father once promised that if I grew up to be smart and sweet, and if I fattened my brain at church and school, I would meet a man like Him. They promised that the man and I would have lots of smart-sweet babies together. Our smart-sweet babies would grow into smart-sweet children. We would live in a big old house with spectacular stained glass windows. Our smart-sweet children would run around in the captivating light, all with their patent leather shoes on and wearing their woven white tights, all at the bottom of the stairs, all rattling the doorknob, all turning around, and—

Boyfriend rolls off of me. I look out at the elm beyond my window, and I can see the edge of every leaf illuminated by the street light. Boyfriend turns over, pretends to sleep, and wonders what I think about in my fattened brain. I think about how Boyfriend is not the man my mother and father promised me. Boyfriend is what I must settle for.
I drift away as I watch the elm. I dream that Boyfriend and I are getting married, and that I am in the church. Under my dress I wear woven white tights, too warm and too small. In the mirror I practice what I will say another day, far in my future, when I tell Boyfriend about Him. Tears drown the words in my mouth. I know He will leave me forever if I marry Boyfriend.

I hear footfalls thundering in the church and people shouting at one another. My reflection is gone. The mirror has become a door. Looking over my shoulder, I see the shouters emerge at the top of the stairs. They stare down at me in my small patent leather shoes and my woven white tights. My little hands wave at them. I wonder what they were shouting about. I wonder why they are staring.

Everyone must have someone like Him who lives out of sight, tucked away in the corners of their eyes. I wonder, without these Hims, what would we think about when our Boyfriends are up there squirming? What would we cry about on our wedding days? What would we remember about those basement doors?

Polished wood, gold plating, and the blues, reds, and greens of Mother Mary.

Madison Ellingsworth likes walking in Portland, Maine. She has recently been published in Fractured Lit, Apple Valley Review, and Gargoyle Magazine, among others. Links to Madison’s published works can be found at madisonellingsworth.com.