Home. How could I call it home when my mother violated my privacy every day. She would search for drugs, then my diary. I wondered if she would point to my words and tell my father how I would float in the black void forever. If she wanted to keep me on the straight and narrow, holding to the golden rod, it would have been better if she had tried to be my friend. But we were rivals. Rivals for my father's affection. Soon to be rivals in the church.

I went home and scrubbed myself viciously in the shower. I soaped and scrubbed and soaped and scrubbed until the skin sloughed off. Even when I was fresh, I couldn't get the scene, the words out of my head. 

Why did I admit to it?

“I have touched myself.” Our knees are rubbing together, those eyes are just boring into me.

“Often?”

“No, not often.”

“What do you think about?”

“Please, I don’t remember.”

“You remember.”

“Please. I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again.”

“You remember.”

“I can’t.”

“Ok, pray hard and long about this. I think we’ll have to meet again in a few months to make sure you’re doing OK.”

I have seen the errors of my ways, I would tell him. I have not touched myself for three months. Father I have sinned.

I pulled my hair as I combed out the tangles. The Book of Mormon was close by so that if my mother walked into the room, she would see me reading. Penitent.

I wanted to lie down under the covers. I wanted to rub my nipples and feel the relief as my body tingled. I wanted to touch myself.

“What do you think about?”

My head on the desk, I remembered the last youth outing. Our group had gone to BYU. It was a chance to leave home under the direction of other adults. We could go to workshops, meet other Mormon youths, and at the end we would go to the big dance.

I was late like I always was so instead of staying on the pre-planned route, I ran through a small park. And then I saw them.

It was Adam. They were lying under a tree. The girl, blonde and small, was flat on her back. He was on his side watching her moan as he lifted her blouse and rubbed her small breasts.

I stopped in shock. His face had a smug look as he rubbed her again. Adam became very still as he realized that I could see him. He looked me square in the face, and then he leaned over and licked her nipples. 

I knew that he knew that I was there. We had seen each other in the act. His was a predator-smile.

Adam was the bishop's son.

“What do you think about?”

I ran as fast as I could. Breathless. Not sure if it was because I ran or because of what I saw.

Even now, I tremble when I think of that moment. Even now, I wonder how I felt so guilty when I was not involved.

All those times, I had watch him break and bless the bread for sacrament, the time when a Mormon thinks of the sacrifice of Christ. I had watched him hand the bread to the deacons. His filthy hands.

I was pure.

I touched myself.  

Downstairs I heard the door slam. I know that I am alone in the house with my mother. She will walk up those stairs and ask me why I couldn't get a simple thing like a temple recommend. She will ask me why she had ever given birth to such a child.

She will stare up at the heaven. Why she will say, why can't I have another child-- one that I can dedicate to your service.

I will tremble, but I will not cry. I refuse to cry. Not to her.