Emma sat frozen to her desk chair, a faint crease in her forehead, her neck craning toward the wall, not moving. She stared at the calendar, and the calendar stared back.  She held her breath, willing the dates to change. Instead, there it remained: June 8^th, three short days away. How in the world had it gotten here so quickly?  She must have been diverting her attention for weeks, not letting herself do the math.  And here she was, with only three more days in her 20’s. Come Thursday, she would officially be a full-fledged adult instead of a young adult. Thirty. 30. She could no longer portray herself as a hot commodity—the girl who was highly eligible but single by choice because she was holding out for the best offer. That was back home. But, here? In the South? A 30-year-old single woman was more than an anomaly here. It was something more akin to a tragedy—the grotesque kind that you can’t turn away from, like a train wreck.

She had finally reached her expiration date as a single woman. Emma realized she would no longer be seen as a desirable property, having been on the market too long. She would have to take any offer at this point.  Staring at the calendar, she could picture a perky agent introducing her to a prospective buyer as a “house with lots of charm and character. Foundation intact and solid. Lovely outlook, quiet neighborhood.”  She wondered how much longer before things started creaking.

The phone in the next room rang, and Emma jumped, catching her breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. Shaking her head a bit, she turned her attention to her e-mail.  She tried to ignore the charity hostess in her head, auctioning her off as a date… “She’s smart, funny, and practical. You don’t have to worry about this one spending you into the poor house.  Her figure’s still good, too! Just don’t put her in a bikini. (audience chuckles) Her sense of humor more than makes up for what’s lacking in…”

After responding to an e-mail, Emma refocused herself on updating the school profile and alumni contacts for the upcoming school year.  She avoided turning toward the wall beside her where the calendar hung. The work day went by in a haze. When she got home, she changed quickly and grabbed her MP3 player to walk around her neighborhood.  Then, she cleaned her kitchen and bathroom with uncharacteristic vigor. But, try as she might, she could not shake her awareness of the shift in her social universe.  People would no longer be wondering when she would get married, but if.  They had already stopped asking questions; she wondered if now they would begin whispering behind her back. Then again, maybe they already had been.

Finally, she took a hot bath and relaxed into her recliner with a cup of tea. It was there, on the coffee table, that Emma spotted her prayer journal. She sighed and reached to open it instead of grabbing the tv remote.  Every year, the week or so before her birthday, Emma would flip back to the previous birthday and read her entries from the past year.  She had been doing this since high school. Back then, she had needed to start a full week in advance to get through all of the entries. Often, a year would fill more than one journal. But the last few years, she had been journaling less and less. Emma flipped through her current journal to find the June 8^th entry from the previous year.  The pages between June 8^th and her latest entry were only about two inches thick when pressed together. 

Why have I not written as much as I’ve grown older? Emma wondered to herself. I suppose life has become more busier in adulthood. Or maybe, I don’t have as much to say now. My life has settled into a pretty predictable routine, so there isn’t much to report. And as for my hopes and fears for the future—well, I try to ignore those feelings as much as possible. What’s the use in recounting how off-track my life feels from where I thought I’d be by now?  In fact, there were very few entries that dealt with the topics of singleness or marriage. The first entry was one of those few.

6/8 Well, God, another year has passed. I’ve seen another group of students graduate and be accepted into college. Several friends have had babies; some have gotten married, including several former students. But my life has remained essentially the same. I must confess, I did expect to be at least engaged by now. Heck, I thought I’d be married with kids by now. Although, the thought of labor still scares me to death. I assume You have someone particular in mind for me, which is why I’m still single? Totally single. If he’s of Your choosing, then I’m sure he’s worth waiting for. But it’s getting hard to be patient. Maybe 29 will be my year. You’ll have to develop a relationship quickly if we’re to get married before I turn 30. I’d really rather not be a bride in my 30’s.  I don’t suppose You want to give me a hint about that? No, I didn’t think so. Well, Lord, You know I’m more in love with You than I am with marriage. I don’t want a boy who doesn’t bring me closer to You. I will wait until You bring him and give me permission to yield my heart. Only, don’t make me wait too long, God, okay? J I love You.

            Amen.

            Emma lingered over the last paragraph of this entry for a few moments before sighing and turning the page. The remaining entries focused mainly on sermon notes or verses from her Bible readings and insights she had observed. There were also prayers about apathetic or stubborn students, students with struggles at home, and her own confidence and effectiveness in these situations. When she had finished reading, Emma picked up a pen to make a new entry. She wrote the date, June 5^th, and then paused. After about 5 seconds, she replaced the pen cap and closed the journal. She wasn’t ready to verbalize her emotions right now. Once they started flowing out on paper, she wouldn’t be able to ignore them anymore. She turned off the light in the living room, walked to her bedroom, and picked up Pride and Prejudice instead. Ten minutes later, she wasn’t following the text and her eyelids were heavy, so she turned off the light and went to sleep.

            Wednesday evening, Emma came home from work, stopping to get her favorite shake at Steak n’ Shake. Sipping her double chocolate chip, she blasted summer, beachy music on the car radio and sang along. At home, she sat on the deck and enjoyed the sunshine while finishing her milkshake and Pride and Prejudice. Sighing contentedly at Lizzie’s happiness and chewing the cherry from the bottom of her cup, Emma went back inside to get her MP3 player. She went for a brief walk around the neighborhood, not checking her pace or heart rate but just enjoying the scenery. Afterwards, she made a salad and popped her favorite movie into the DVD player—”Much Ado About Nothing.” She did not check her mailbox, go online, or answer the telephone. There would be enough well-wishers inundating her with their birthday salutations tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to savor her last evening in her 20’s without people with multiple children and anniversaries under their belts telling her how young she looked for her age or patronizing her with how she was still “just a baby.”

            Having spent the evening with two kindred spirits—Lizzy Bennet and Beatrice, Emma switched to late night television to await the official arrival of her birthday at midnight. She was bored, however, with the opening, comedic monologue which was lackluster at best when compared to the brilliant wit of Benedick and Beatrice. So, she took a quick shower and climbed into bed to read a chapter of the Bible. At 11:55, she put the Bible on her night table and looked out her window at the stars. “Hey, God,” she prayed aloud, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding You lately. I’m just not sure what to say that hasn’t already been said. I am thankful for all my blessings—my friends, family, co-workers, job. But, honestly, I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, totally stagnant. My whole life is stretching out before my eyes, and it all looks exactly the same. I’m guessing it’s probably not in Your plan for me to marry at 30 either, huh? I’ll probably have two or three weddings to attend, some of former students, while ‘I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!’ No matter, I am resolved. I will continue to wait on You. But, please, make him worth the wait, God!”

            When the clock finally said twelve, she sang quietly to herself. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, poor, pathetic, 30-year-old, single Emma who nobody want-ed. Happy birthday to me.” She surprised herself by chuckling rather than crying and laid down to sleep.

June 8, 2009: B-Day

            Thursday morning, there were flowers waiting for Emma on her desk from the principal and office staff—a bright yellow bucket overflowing with daisies.  Emma’s favorite flowers were poppies, but daisies were a close second. It was impossible not to feel young and cheerful with them smiling at her all day. It took her a full five minutes to attend to all the happy birthday e-mails and voicemails.  After work, she headed to her favorite Caribbean restaurant for dinner with her two best friends from work, Shelley and Sharona.  Shelley was an English teacher who had worked closely with Emma in her teaching days. Sharona worked as the administrative assistant to the principal.  They were both in their early 40’s and had grown up together. Consequently, there was a speed and liveliness to their conversation that only came from years of shared stories and jokes.  Emma always had a blast with them.

            Sharona and Emma both enjoyed pina coladas, Emma’s favorite drink. Shelley, as usual, had diet sweet tea with 3 Splendas and 2 slices of lemon.  She did, however, take a rather large sip of Sharona’s pina colada. Emma smiled as she reflected on the corruptive influence she had been to Shelley. When she had first begun working at West Atlanta Christian School several years ago, Shelley had never even tasted alcohol despite Sharona’s occasional indulgence. Now, she would actually peruse the drink menu before ordering her sweet tea. Sharona and Emma had a running bet on when Shelley would finally cross over to the dark side and order something herself.

            Emma still found this cultural taboo amusing. Being a Yankee Presbyterian, she had grown up with friends who chose not to drink but no one who viewed it with the almost superstitious sentiment of her Southern Baptist friends. It was a generally accepted though unspoken opinion among tee totaling Southern Baptists that exercising Christian liberty was only a few steps above being heathen—said person might be saved, but clearly not sanctified. It was evident from the adrenaline rush and giddy humor Shelley exhibited after “just tasting” Sharona’s drink that she still considered alcohol a forbidden fruit. Sharona was also a Baptist, but the faces of her ancestors and childhood pastor did not glare at her from behind bars and wine glasses the way that Shelley’s did. Sharona had always had a mind of her own, or what her church brethren would call “a bit of a wild streak.” Shelley enjoyed living vicariously through others but couldn’t bring herself to walk on the wild side yet. She preferred to just peek over the fence and nibble at samples.

            “I can’t believe our little Emma is all grown!” cooed Sharona in an exaggerated drawl. “Full grown! What am I talkin’ about? You’re a baby! My stars, what I wouldn’t give to have a figure like yours again!”

            “Gurl, if I had a figure like that, I wouldn’t be sippin’ alcyhol with two old birds like us. I’d be tearin’ up the dance floor somewhere!” Shelley chimed in. Emma laughed.

            “Child, the only thing you’d be tearin’ up would be your panty hose. You can’t make it out of the house without puttin’ a run in your stockin’s, much less around the dance floor. Anyway, as I recall, you turned down more partners than you danced with, missy.”  They were on a run now, and the stories were about to start pouring out. Emma laughed in anticipation. Whenever these two got together, anyone in earshot was bound to burn calories laughing. Emma often pictured them 40 years from now: neighbors in a nursing home, keeping the nurses in stitches and giving the men grief.

            “Well, at least I played hard to get. You were quite the little dance floor hussy! Dancin’ with every boy that asked and even some that didn’t,” Shelley retorted.

            “But, I was always a lady, just like momma told me. I knew how to pinch a quarter between my knees. Anyway, Emma, we’re so proud of our little Yankee girl. You made it all the way to 30, and with your virtue intact to boot.” Sharona raised her half-full glass to toast Emma.

            Shelley raised her sweet tea, adding, “And all that under the influence, too! Quite impressive, darlin’.” She grinned the toothy grin she always did when she made a slightly saucy comment. At these moments, she reminded Emma of a dutiful school girl “skipping class” by meeting a girlfriend in the bathroom for 3 minutes. Shelley got a rush out of the mere idea of being mischievous.

            “Well, it’s a good thing we have you for a designated driver,” Emma smiled back at her.

            “Shoot, girl, I’m a better driver drunk than Shelley is sober any day of the week,” Sharona declared while cocking her head sideways and snapping her fingers.

            “Not true!” Shelley protested.

            “Need I remind you, sugar, of a certain passenger door on your daddy’s sedan?”

            “Oh, for cryin’ out loud! That was over 20 years ago and it was an accident.”

            “Yeah, I’m sure the city planners accidentally put that gas pump there. No wonder your daddy never bought you a car.” And they were off on another series of hilarious Shelley and Sharona stories from their youth.

            Emma drove home, smiling the whole way. Before going to bed, she packed a suitcase for her official birthday celebration—a weekend in the mountains with 7 of her college friends. The pina coladas got her through the packing. But, while she lay in bed waiting for sleep, she couldn’t help shedding some tears over there being no one to come home to and no one lying next to her. She reflected that she would have to stuff all these emotions and put on a brave face of happiness for everyone else’s sake over the weekend. The very thought of it was exhausting.