Polygamist Girl: A beauty in bondage.

The following is not treated with any slightness of Grunt's magic "truth" telling. Yes, my favorite pastime is taking a real event and unzipping the restrictions of the objective world, just a little, so that the story can breathe. This story does not need this treatment at all. Enjoy.

I had to attend a church meeting today where a colleague's son was speaking. This is what gets me in a suit nowadays--if you want to give me a job with high pay, then I'll dawn one for that as well. That hasn't happened yet.

So, I am all tricked out in an expensive navy blue wool suit. I've got my off-white dress shirt, my black buckled shoes from Burtons UK, and a silk knit (not print) tie from Marks and Sparks (Marks and Spencers of England). I've not enough dosh to shop at Harrods. So, I'm looking every bit the succulant business man. Look, just because I'm a grunt does not mean that I don't know how to dress nice. I clean up real good.

I am traveling back home, but am a bit famished. Since the weekend is my chance to get my "Brando" on, I stop at a Wendy's and desire a Big Classic. It was upon entering this establishment that I had to check reality at the door, rub my eyes, then try not to stare.

There were two mature men in dress shirts with black trousers, black vests, and black Stetsons--not the "yeehaw" type hats, more Spaghetti Western/Amish type. Amongst these two well-defined and intense men were about twenty women dressed in prairie attire, complete with bonnets: eating burgers, frosties, and fries. I knew that they were from the Kingston clan, but they were their country kin. While Kingstons have a rather distinct look, from inbreeding, most are able to blend in--the city variety. These, like I said, were the country variety and not the fundamentalist mob types. I've worked for those and they praise Jesus and use their garbage trucks for getting rid of "stuff". As soon as I sat down near them, they turned deadly silent.

It took a while, but they resumed with their chatting, and this gave me an opportunity to observe them a little. The men sat with their "Firstwives" and discussed family matters. The rest of the wives sat in cliques, gossiping away. Most of these women were rather homely, but one of the wives' daughter's was sitting a bit naughty--for them. Her bonnet was not secured and part of her long brown hair had come out from her loose braids. She had a hint of olive complexion and hazel eyes. She had to be an old maid for them, like 18 or so. She kept looking at me and trying not to be spied. I heard her speak out of turn, talking about a "heathen" ladies ugly shoes and blouse. She was right. I thought of the irony involved in this. She was forced to wear the equivalent of a burka, but had enough fashion sense to know what she would wear if she could. Her mother slapped her wrist and gave her a harsh rebuke for her remarks.

I tried to suspend my beliefs here and view them as humans rather than oddities. Given the variety in nature, this life really isn't that odd. But, the fact that women are being married off underage keeps me from sympathizing fully.

They left in groups. They had come in several cars and had parked them in different lots to avoid detection. Um, how about just not looking like you just stepped out of a time machine? I left after most had gone. I was opening my truck door, when the girl who caught my eye earlier had come out of the building. She was the straggler and had to run to keep the others from getting upset.

Dividing the two lots was a big cement retaining wall. I guess that she didn't want to run around and tried to leap up this wall in this multi-layered farmer frock. She made it but then fell over. Her bonnet fell off and her dress flipped over her hip, exposing her white cotton slip. I felt like I had been caught looking at her naked. She got up embarrassed and blushing, looked at me slightly scared. I smiled and waved. She looked a little unsure, but then flashed the most beautiful smile that I had ever seen. Her hair was flowing and face was radiant. She didn't have time to fix her hair. Still standing there, trying to get herself altogether, she did another turn towards me and waved ever so slightly with her fingers, then ran real fast, as if she'd be left behind.

This girl is a human being. Yes, I know that this is pretty obvious, but when you are confronted with all of the culture clashes, you tend to rely on lesser categories of which to define other beings. I knew from there that if she could get out of becoming a slave-labor, womb unit, then she'd really get to let all of her radiance and beauty shine. It's a damn shame, it really is.