it.”
“Yeah, he and I talked a few times. He was trying to get me to come back to the Church and believe again. I guess he thought tel ing me a few intense stories about being a missionary might spark my interest.”
“It didn’t?” asks Jael.
“Nah. I mean, those Shining Path guys were pretty messed up. They would kil and torture al these people. Not soldiers or anything, just normal people.
Hack them up with machetes. But I don’t think it had much to do with them being atheist. I think it was because they were poor, oppressed, and pissed off to the point of insanity.”
“The Mons is definitely old-school religion.”
“But even stil , he’s got this weird Zen thing going,”
says Rob, “I feel like he’s been through some serious shit and come out on the other side total y at peace.”
“I wish he could give some of that peace to Father Aaron,” says Jael.
“The Mons might be extra holy,” says Rob, “but he can’t do miracles.”
They continue to stay on safe topics throughout dinner, almost like it’s just an extended version of the kind of conversations they have in homeroom. Dinner is heavy on the fried appetizers, and Jael isn’t used to that, so by the time they finish, she feels a little il . Rob admits that he isn’t feeling great either, so they take their time walking home.
The rainy season has begun, so the sun sets earlier every day. Even though it’s only six o’clock, the sky is dark as they walk through the neighborhood. The cool evening air and a ful stomach have final y loosened Jael’s nerves a bit, so she says,
“Hey, I just uh . . . wanted to say how cool I thought it was what you said this morning about chemistry. And, uh, magic.”
Rob shrugs. “It’s my thing, I guess. Other than skating, of course.”
“So . . .” Jael struggles to think how to put it in a way that won’t make her sound completely crazy. “So if you believe al that stuff, do you believe in God?”
“Seriously?” asks Rob. He squints at her in the dim street light.
“Yeah,” says Jael. “I mean, I’m not Catholic or anything, so don’t worry about offending me.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” he says with a little smile. “The way I look at it, it doesn’t real y matter if God exists or not. I’m stil going to do what I think is right.”
“I guess that makes sense,” says Jael. “Sort of.”
“How about you?”
“When I was a little kid, I used to believe it al ,” she says.
“God, the pope and Jesus stuff . . . Al of it.”
“Sure, me too,” says Rob. “That’s normal.”
“No, I mean I was into it. Like on Good Friday, when the priest would go around to the Stations of the Cross, talking about Jesus getting whipped, the crown of thorns, al that stuff?
By the time he got to nailing Jesus’ hands to the wood, I’d be crying. Like every time.”
“Whoa,” says Rob, but Jael can’t tel if he’s surprised or impressed. “So what happened?” he asks. “When did you stop believing?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s . . . complicated for me. I don’t know what I believe anymore.”
“I don’t think it matters that much. The stuff you do is way more important than the stuff you believe.”
“But don’t you do things based on your beliefs?”
“I’d say it’s the other way around. You believe things to justify what you do.”
“Huh,” says Jael. They walk on in silence as Jael tries to unravel that statement in her head.
They get to her house and Jael feels like she’s supposed to invite him inside. But she knows her dad wouldn’t like it. He’s already going to be pissed at her for going out without letting him know. And with a boy, even. Best not to push it any further.
“Wel ,” she says final y, “I should probably get some homework done or something.”
“Okay, okay, yeah, sure,” says Rob.
“Thanks for, uh . . .” She isn’t sure how to phrase it.
After al , the word “date” was never official y used, so
“Yeah, he and I talked a few times. He was trying to get me to come back to the Church and believe again. I guess he thought tel ing me a few intense stories about being a missionary might spark my interest.”
“It didn’t?” asks Jael.
“Nah. I mean, those Shining Path guys were pretty messed up. They would kil and torture al these people. Not soldiers or anything, just normal people.
Hack them up with machetes. But I don’t think it had much to do with them being atheist. I think it was because they were poor, oppressed, and pissed off to the point of insanity.”
“The Mons is definitely old-school religion.”
“But even stil , he’s got this weird Zen thing going,”
says Rob, “I feel like he’s been through some serious shit and come out on the other side total y at peace.”
“I wish he could give some of that peace to Father Aaron,” says Jael.
“The Mons might be extra holy,” says Rob, “but he can’t do miracles.”
They continue to stay on safe topics throughout dinner, almost like it’s just an extended version of the kind of conversations they have in homeroom. Dinner is heavy on the fried appetizers, and Jael isn’t used to that, so by the time they finish, she feels a little il . Rob admits that he isn’t feeling great either, so they take their time walking home.
The rainy season has begun, so the sun sets earlier every day. Even though it’s only six o’clock, the sky is dark as they walk through the neighborhood. The cool evening air and a ful stomach have final y loosened Jael’s nerves a bit, so she says,
“Hey, I just uh . . . wanted to say how cool I thought it was what you said this morning about chemistry. And, uh, magic.”
Rob shrugs. “It’s my thing, I guess. Other than skating, of course.”
“So . . .” Jael struggles to think how to put it in a way that won’t make her sound completely crazy. “So if you believe al that stuff, do you believe in God?”
“Seriously?” asks Rob. He squints at her in the dim street light.
“Yeah,” says Jael. “I mean, I’m not Catholic or anything, so don’t worry about offending me.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” he says with a little smile. “The way I look at it, it doesn’t real y matter if God exists or not. I’m stil going to do what I think is right.”
“I guess that makes sense,” says Jael. “Sort of.”
“How about you?”
“When I was a little kid, I used to believe it al ,” she says.
“God, the pope and Jesus stuff . . . Al of it.”
“Sure, me too,” says Rob. “That’s normal.”
“No, I mean I was into it. Like on Good Friday, when the priest would go around to the Stations of the Cross, talking about Jesus getting whipped, the crown of thorns, al that stuff?
By the time he got to nailing Jesus’ hands to the wood, I’d be crying. Like every time.”
“Whoa,” says Rob, but Jael can’t tel if he’s surprised or impressed. “So what happened?” he asks. “When did you stop believing?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s . . . complicated for me. I don’t know what I believe anymore.”
“I don’t think it matters that much. The stuff you do is way more important than the stuff you believe.”
“But don’t you do things based on your beliefs?”
“I’d say it’s the other way around. You believe things to justify what you do.”
“Huh,” says Jael. They walk on in silence as Jael tries to unravel that statement in her head.
They get to her house and Jael feels like she’s supposed to invite him inside. But she knows her dad wouldn’t like it. He’s already going to be pissed at her for going out without letting him know. And with a boy, even. Best not to push it any further.
“Wel ,” she says final y, “I should probably get some homework done or something.”
“Okay, okay, yeah, sure,” says Rob.
“Thanks for, uh . . .” She isn’t sure how to phrase it.
After al , the word “date” was never official y used, so
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