Zoe slides her arm through Vanessa’s. “I’ve already got that right here.”
“You can’t—you’re not—” I find myself stumbling over the words. “You are not gay, Zoe. You’re not.”
“Maybe that’s true,” Zoe says. “Maybe I’m not gay. Maybe this is a one-time deal. But here’s what I know: I want that one-time deal to last a lifetime. I love Vanessa. And she happens to be a woman. If that makes me a lesbian, now, so be it.”
I start praying silently. I pray that I will not stand up and start screaming. I pray that Zoe will become as miserable as possible, as quickly as possible, so that she can see Christ standing right in front of her.
“I’m not a fan of labels, either,” Pauline says. “Goodness, look at me now. I don’t even like to call myself ex-gay, because that suggests I was born a homosexual. No way—I’m a heterosexual, evangelical, Christian woman, that’s all. I wear skirts more than I wear slacks. I never leave the house without makeup. And if you happen to see Hugh Jackman walking down the street, could you just hang on to him until—”
“Have you ever slept with a man?” Vanessa’s voice sounds like a gunshot.
“No,” Pauline admits, blushing. “That would go against the core beliefs of the church, since I’m not married.”
“How incredibly convenient.” Vanessa turns to Zoe. “Twenty bucks says Megan Fox could seduce her in the time it takes to say an Our Father.”
Pauline won’t rise to the bait. She faces Vanessa, and her eyes are full of pity. “You can say whatever you want about me. I know where that anger’s coming from. See, Iwasyou, once. I know what it’s like to be living the way you do, and to be looking at a woman like me and thinking I’m a total fruitcake. Believe me, I had books left on my dresser and articles slipped beneath my coffee cup on the kitchen table—my parents did everything they could to try to push me to give up my gay identity, and it only made me more certain I was absolutely right. But Vanessa, I’m not here to be that person. I’m not going to give you literature and make follow-up phone calls or try to pretend I’m your new best friend. I’m simply here to say that when you and Zoe are ready—and I do believe one day you will be—I can give you the resources you’re looking for to put Christ’s needs above your own.”
“So, let me get this right,” Zoe says. “I don’t have to change right now. I can take a rain check . . .”
“Absolutely,” I reply. I mean, it’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?
“. . . but you still think our relationship is wrong.”
“Jesus does,” Pauline says. “If you look at Scripture and think differently, you’re reading it wrong.”
“You know, I went to catechism for ten years,” Vanessa says. “I’m pretty sure the Bible also says polygamy’s a good idea. And that we shouldn’t eat scallops.”
“Just because something’s written in the Bible doesn’t mean it was God’s created intent—”
“You just said that if it’s Scripture, it’s fact!” Vanessa argues.
Pauline raises her chin a notch. “I didn’t come here to dissect semantics. The opposite of homosexuality isn’t heterosexuality. It’s holiness. That’s why I’m here—as living proof that there’s another path. A better path.”
“And how exactly does that jibe with turning the other cheek?”
“I’m not judging you,” Pauline explains. “I’m just offering my biblical worldview.”
“Well,” Vanessa says, getting to her feet. “I guess I’m blind then, because that’s far too subtle a distinction for me to see. How dare you tell me that what makes memeis wrong? How dare you say that you’re tolerant, as long as I’m just like you? How dare you suggest that I shouldn’t be allowed to get married to someone I love, or adopt a child, or that gay rights don’t qualify as civil rights because, unlike skin color or disabilities, you think that sexual orientation can be changed? But you know what? Eventhatargument doesn’t hold water, because you can change your religion, and religious affiliation is still protected by law. Which is theonlyreason I’m going to ask you politely to leave my home, instead of throwing you out on your hypocritical evangelical asses.”
Zoe stands up, too. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” she says.
On the way back home, it starts to rain. I listen to the windshield wipers keeping time and think about how Zoe, in the passenger seat, used to drum on the glove compartment along with the beat.
“Can I ask you something personal?” I say, turning to Pauline.
“Sure.”
“Do you . . . you know . . . ever miss it?”
Pauline glances at me. “Some people do. They struggle for years. It’s like any other addiction—they figure out that this is their drug, and they make the decision to not let that be part of their lives. If they’re lucky, they may consider themselves completely cured and have a true identity change. But even if they aren’t that lucky, they still get up in the morning and pray to God to get through one more day without acting on those attractions.”
I realize that she did not really answer my question.
“Christians have been called upon to struggle for ages,” Pauline says. “This isn’t any different.”
Once, Zoe and I went to a wedding of one of her clients. It was a Jewish wedding, and it was really beautiful—with trappings and traditions I had never seen before. The bride and groom stood under a canopy, and the prayers were in an unfamiliar language. At the end, the rabbi had the groom stomp on a wineglass wrapped in a napkin.May your marriage last as long as it would take to put these pieces back together,he said. Afterward, when everyone was congratulating the couple, I sneaked underneath the canopy and took a tiny shard of glass from the napkin where it still lay on the grass. I threw it into the ocean on the way home, so that, no matter what, that glass could never be reconstructed, so the couple would stay together forever.
When Zoe asked what I was doing and I told her, she said she thought she loved me more in that moment than she ever had before.
