Emily was the "quiet one" in the office, with her mousey brown hair coiled behind her head and her demure demeanor. She was the Good Worker and never defied the much reviled office overlord Nico who bullied them in his thick German accent. Nico's unofficial nickname was "Nein! Nein!", his common outburst upon discovery of even the smallest of mistakes in the paperwork. All the women in the insurance processing office hated Nico - and hated Emily too, for she never showed any signs of hatred for the tyrant.
Janet brought a thick stack of claims over to Emily's desk and plopped them unceremoniously in her In basket. "I don't know how you do it," Janet disdained, smacking her lips. "You let him heap more shit on you than anyone else."
"I'm here to work," insisted Emily's downcast eyes, hoping that was enough to ward off her attacker. Janet's eyes drilled holes into her for a moment more, making her point before wandering off. Emily wondered if her tormenter knew how much the use of the word "shit" bothered her. Such unacceptable language! But she must not force her values on others - no matter how much seethed to do so.
The commute home entailed the usual rude drivers illegally surpassing the posted speed limits, honking at her for her correct observation of the signs. But just as she forbid herself to ever be labeled a bad worker nor would she allow "bad driver" to be ascribed to her either. In fact, Emily didn't want to be a bad anything. She was a good person, she liked being a good person and she would remain a good person no matter what came her way. Period.
Sometimes that meant pain. Her thin lips compressed in lingering remembrances of wounds past, never healed or admitted, her fate to suffer in order to make the world a better place. But each wound was like a steady drip of despair, driving her closer and closer to the edge. "This I must endure," she'd scold herself, misery only hardening her stance.
But she had a drug for her misery.
In counseling with her abusive husband Leroy, she assured the therapist she was "perfect - I do everything he wants." Emily couldn't understand how that was not enough to make her spouse happy. What more could he want? If he's not happy, I must be doing something wrong. I need to take on more burdens and prove myself. She inquired to the counselor, "Don't you think I'm a 'good person'?"
To hear those two words soothed all her constant agonies into submission, the rush of the high she'd lived for ever since she was a child. She'd even liked it when the other girls would snarl, "You always have to be a goody two shoes, don't you!" And now twenty years later in her cubicle cave they hated her still. Emily knew that simply was her cross to bear.
Whenever she was asked how she could take all the burdens of her life, Emily's stock reply was, "God helps me with my burdens. He'll help you too if you ask." She loved having God on her side, it's what made all the denial worthwhile. Those sharp tongued vixens will never make it into heaven! They don't try to do right - they just do what they want! Someday they'll regret that with all their life. Emily knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Someday...
Eric, her first born son, was diagnosed as "semi-autistic", a borderline functioning 12-year-old she fought to not have institutionalized - especially with her buried guilt. Leroy had inflicted a couple of savage bouts on her while pregnant and she always wondered if that's why Eric came out the way he did. Of course, the topic was beyond unmentionable, off limits even to God. If the beatings had caused it, she obligingly blamed herself for inducing her man to do it.
Leroy, as usual, was not home as she arrived at the house after work. He preferred to stay out drinking with his buddies, complaining to them how his wife has to have the truth beat out of her and how he despised her for never standing up to him - thinking that's actually what he wanted. Stupid bitch. Marriage is hell and only through liquor could he grease the wheels to keep it going. But he was going to be a good father and husband and stick it out. C'est la mort.
Eric ran from the car into the house, happy as always. Perhaps he was blessed not be fully aware of the home he lived in - or was his heart in full understanding of everything? No one knew - no one wished to know. But Emily secretly fretted over him despite his happy-go-lucky ways. He was too free spirited to suit her, fearing her boy would fall into the same trap as the women at work - those who were blind to the will of God. But she considered him damaged goods, unreachable and sorely tasked God with the responsibility of his outcome.
Timothy, her new child, was a different story. It took over ten years for her to get over the fear of another pregnancy and this one came out perfect. She carried her little bundle of joy inside, secretly labeling him her "final hope". Through him she'd pass all the goodness she'd worked for her entire life. She'd raise him right in her eyes, knowing her eyes were aligned with God's. Through Timothy she'd make all amends!
As she drew the baby's bath, Eric passed by munching on a cookie. Damn him! I've told him a thousand times! He's going to end up rotten! His mind retains nothing! Once again in the familiar compression of her lips, she vowed to exact the hallowed perfection of her baby. But she'd just used a forbidden expletive! This is just too much. Too damn much! snapped her mind. And she twisted the bathtub faucet far over to the letter "H". This is going to sting somewhat, little Timmy, but I've got to make you "good"! I can't let you turn out like the others! The pain will save you!
Eric heard the screams from his room, shredding his soul in instant terror. He rushed to the bathroom repelled by the red-faced look on his mother's face, grabbing his little brother. "Hot water burn baby! Hot water burn baby!" At first his mother wildly resisted him but he tore the baby away and closeted the squalling creature in his room, barring the door.
***
The hospital workers were suspicious and Eric didn't have the capacity to "know" to lie, telling them everything. Both the children were taken away. Eric happy in his institution, Timmy growing up distrustful of his foster homes and hating the barbaric world into which he'd been thrown. For Emily, the "someday" she swore would come true for the hated heathens had raptured her world instead, losing her mind as she forever failed to grasp the wrongness of her deed. Leroy died an early, unlamented death from liver failure.
Being "good", more complicated than it seems.
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