The Broken Jug - an extract from 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian.

Jaime Sommers recalls an incident that was to prove ‘prophetic’ in her life as a bisexual Christian. Her new book 119 chronicles the failure of the Church to recognise and support her needs following a brief, isolated incident in which Jaime kissed another woman…

One morning circa 2005/2006, I had gone out for a coffee with my cultured friend, Janice. Like many women, I have friends for all occasions, a bit like handbags, really. At that time, Janice was my intellectual sparring partner, another friend Carolyn was my ‘sex’ friend (The friend you discuss naughty underwear and sexual issues with) and Serena was my Claire Rayner! I had two of the kids with me, DJ in his buggy and Kristen on her reins (= ersatz straitjacket). Carter was at school by now. We went to a rather smart coffee house in Abbotts Green, a local market town popular with ‘Ladies Who Lunch’ and ‘Christians who do Coffee’.

Prior to going for a drink, we mooched about the shops, spending some time in a charity shop that had a considerable collection of second-hand books. Janice probably had her nose in some obscure work of classical mythology, whilst I pounced upon a copy of the collective works of Heinrich von Kleist, a German dramatist I had studied at university. (That one sentence tells you precisely the calibre of charity shops in Abbotts Green. I swear I once saw diamonds on the dummy in the window display of the local Marie Curie!)

To return to Heinrich von Kleist – in my final year at SSU, I had starred in one of his plays, Der Zerbrochene Krug (The Broken Jug). This comedy focuses on a scandal in a local village. The broken jug in the play symbolises a loss of chastity or innocence, and the main characters are called Adam and Eve! Kleist’s life was less comedic, ending in a shotgun suicide pact in 1811 with his terminally ill partner, Henriette Vogel, in what must be one of the earliest assisted suicides recorded.

The Kleist book was in great condition and so I purchased it out of sentimentality, as I had long since lost my dog-eared script for The Broken Jug. Janice and I then went to the café with the little ones. We found a table near a bay window. In the corner stood a large ornate jug, undoubtedly antique and about two and a half feet high. There were many nice artefacts in the café and I remember remarking to Janice that I would need to watch Kristen, as she was following in her hyperactive brother’s footsteps, despite a sleepy start to life. I kept an eagle eye on her, but she seemed to be settled at the table, colouring and munching on a bag of crisps, while DJ sat strapped in his buggy. Janice and I were deep in conversation and I didn’t notice Kristen get up. Suddenly we heard a loud crash as Kristen ran headlong into the jug!

It broke into shards. I’d like to say Kristen burst into tears, but I don’t think she was that bothered, to tell you the truth. I’m ashamed to say I contemplated doing a runner, but Janice wouldn’t let me, so I told the waitress what had happened, offering to pay for a replacement, as it was clearly beyond a dash of UHU. The waitress sniffilly informed me that it wasn’t replaceable and that she would have to speak to the proprietor. I left my phone number, but fortunately it was never followed up. I don’t know what I thought I was going to pay for the damage with – magic coffee beans?

When I reflected on what had happened later, it occurred to me that it was beyond the realms of coincidence that my daughter breaks a jug just half an hour after purchasing a book containing the play with the same name. More ominously, however, what was I being told? Was this a warning that I was about to lose my ‘chastity’, or more worrying, that I would be brought before judge and jury like Eve and publicly shamed, as in the play?

This sense of foreboding was compounded by another weird thing that kept happening. As a sixteenyear- old, I had gone to see Bryan Adams at Birmingham NEC, supported by up-and-coming UK band T’Pau. Atthat point, T’Pau had just reached number one with their biggest hit, ‘China in Your Hand’, which would remain at the top for five weeks. T’Pau played a brilliant set and in some ways eclipsed Bryan Adams ... but not quite. (‘Summer of ’69’ remains one of the best rock songs ever recorded, IMHO.)

I’m sure most of you will already be more than familiar with this 1980s classic, but if not, ‘China in Your Hand’ is a song about being careful what you wish for, because it might just come and bite you on the bum, big time. You might just push that little bit too far and find your world comes crashing down around you. I hadn’t heard it in years, but suddenly everywhere I went this song seemed to be playing. I even stepped out the car one day to buy a parking ticket to hear it blaring from the radio of a car nearby. Coupled with the ‘Wind’ poem from all those years ago, I felt as if I was being warned about some danger that was heading my way. Whatever it was, it seemed to involve pain and brokenness.

 
This is an extract from 119: My Life as a Bisexual Christian by Jaime Sommers. Available now in paperback (£9.99) the book chronicles the failure of the Church – and large parts of wider society – to recognise and support the needs of those, including Jaime, who identify as the silent ‘B’ in LGBT. The Broken Jug pre-empts a brief, isolated incident in which Jaime kissed another woman, following which the full extent of the Church’s inability to acknowledge or understand her identity became apparent. The disciplinary process to which she was subjected led to her suffering depression and anxiety and feelings of isolation. 119 refers to the number of words dedicated to bisexuality in the Church of England statement Issues in Human Sexuality. The words state that bisexuality inevitably leads to unfaithfulness, and prescribe celibacy, abstinence, heterosexual marriage or counselling ‘to achieve inner healing’.