Written April 22, 2009

My Argentinean friend, Dampira, send a Facebook survey of what Biblical character she would be.

The website search engine decided Deborah, a prophetess of the Old Testament.

My apostasy forced a rude reaction.

“Better you were Mary Magdalene. A fucking whore.”

Dampira was taken aback at my vehemence and I explained that I had won a scholarship to a Catholic high school outside of Boston. All boys. The year 1966. I was good at taking tests that required no studying. My freshman grades did not reflect this intuitive idiot-savantism. Apathy was my best subject. Religion was my worst.

My best friend Chaney had drowned in Sebago Lake six years earlier. At the funeral the priest said he was in heaven. I looked into the sky and saw only sky. If there was no heaven, then there was no hell. I carried this disbelief into high school. My rejection of God earned me an F. The brothers and my parents thought I was crazy for this juvenile atheism. I was devout and refused to recant my apostasy. The brothers pleaded for my soul.

“Come back to the faith and we’ll give back your scholarship.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

The school suggested that I see a psychiatrist. He had an office on Commonwealth Avenue. On his head was a bad toupee. He worked for the Cardinal and wanted to know why I didn’t believe in God. His hands were soft as butter. I pushed them off my lap.

“Why should I say anything to a man who doesn’t know he’s bald?”

He threw me out of the office and I told the brothers about his touching me. They accepted me back into school. I never lost my faith in no god. I can’t see myself as a Biblical figure, unless it’s as an extra in Ben-Hur’s chariot race.

Go Rome Go.

God or no god.