Page 21 of Leaving the Station
“Wait, what?” I ask, confused by the subject change. “That can’t be right.”
“Why are you so convinced everything you say is right and everything I say is wrong?”
“I’m not,” I tell her, and it’s true. Based on the limited interactions we’ve had, I’m pretty sure Oakley is much smarter than me.Sure, I take tests well, but that’s the extent of it.
Oakley, on the other hand,knowsthings, and she’s good at expressing her ideas. But frankly, the things she knows are bizarre.
She leans back in her chair. “I don’t think the horns thing was ever true, though. Mormons just love imagined persecution.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you talking about?”
“What would you say if I told you I was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” she asks, not answering my question.
“I’d say that’s a mouthful.”
“I mean, what would you say if I told you I was Mormon?” she asks with no hint of an answer either way.
I laugh, an automatic response to being slightly unnerved. “I don’t know,” I say. “Are you?”
She unfolds her legs and leans forward. “I was.”
I laugh nervously again, but her face doesn’t change. “Wait, seriously?”
“Are you going to ask me to prove it?”
“No,” I tell her. “It’s just that this sounds like a setup for a joke,” I say, shaking my head. “A Jew and a Mormon walk onto a train.”
“It’s not a very funny joke,” she says. “And I’m not a Mormon anymore.”
“Well, that’s the setup. The funny part is the punch line.”
“Yes,” she says, pulling her hair out of her ponytail and braiding it over her shoulder. “I know how jokes work.”
“Right, of course,” I say. “Because you know everything.”
“If the shoe fits.”
“Can I ask you something?” I say, trying to get back on solid ground. “About Mormonism?”
“All right,” she says. “But if it’s about underwear or planets I’m leaving.”
“It’s not,” I tell her, though it might’ve been. “No, here’s what I want to know: Did you believe it? I mean, did youreallythink that all of it was true?”
“That’s a big question.”
“You agreed.”
She raises her hands, like I caught her in a lie. “Yes, I believed it.” She fidgets with one of her earrings, her pointer finger and thumb squeezing her earlobe. “I believed that Jesus Christ was my savior, that He lived a perfect life, that I got to be a part of His restored church on Earth—theonetrue church.” She flinches as she says this. “I liked that there were rules, and that if I followed them, I would be rewarded.”
“But did youbelieveit?” I repeat. It’s the genuine belief part of religion that I’ve always been stuck on.
I wish I could believe wholeheartedly in a greater power, in a life beyond. Then, maybe, I wouldn’t be so panicked about figuring out who I’m supposed to be right now, in this life.
“Yes, of course,” she says. “I really did. I read my scriptures; I prayed every day, on my knees, listening for the Spirit. Even when I started asking questions, I prayed then too.”
“What kinds of questions?”
“No no, you asked your one thing,” she says. “Now I get to ask mine.”
