"God, Karen, it was the strangest... oh, thanks." I took the cup of tea being offered to me. "It was the strangest thing." I relayed the entire out-of-body experience to her. "It was just so intense."

"Of course," she said. "It's supposed to be. It's intense for them, too. It's intense for me."

"It was like I had suddenly been transported to another country."

"Andy, let me ask you something." She took a drink of her tea, frowned, squeezed a little more honey into it. "Have you ever traveled abroad?"

"No."

"It can be a very unsettling experience. Being amongst people who consider all of your customs as... well, foreign, can leave you feeling extremely ungrounded." She looked back at her door. "I mean, they're all first-generation immigrants. They feel like that all the time here. So, they attempt to reconstruct at least one part of their old lives here, just for the sake of feeling a little more grounded. For this group, it's their faith." She paused and looked back at me. "It's difficult for me to explain Latin American religion to someone who's never been there. It's a lot more... personal? Yeah, I guess you could say that." She stopped, gathered her thoughts. "Religion down there is a lot more essential than here. It's tied in closely with the local politics and social standings. It's much more... primal. They're really into trying to directly communicate with God in their services."

Karen stood up with her tea and walked over to an immense bookshelf. "I took another friend to a service once. I totally forgot. She had the exact same reaction as you. That group..." She paused. "They recreate the Latino tribal experience so efficiently that, in a way, you really are transported into their world. Thus, your out-of-body experience." She turned around and looked at me. "I tend to forget that since I grew up in that environment, I'm perfectly used to it. It's intense for me too, but in a good way. It reminds me of childhood. But first immersion for Westerners can be..." She stopped and pointed at me with her open hand. "Well," she finished.

"Karen," I said, putting down my tea and cradling my head in my hands. "You've got me so confused. You were raised in a tribe? You're Latino? I'm not following."

Karen smiled and moved to the couch with me. "Cliff's Notes version. I'm a missionary brat."

"A what?"

"It's like an Army brat, but with missionaries for parents. I grew up roaming from settlement to settlement. I didn't live in a permanent house for the first time until I was fifteen."

"What? Are you serious?"

She nodded her head.

"Wow..." I said. "Wow." I paused. "Wow."

She smiled. 'Yep. There's the reaction I'm used to."

"What religion were your parents?"

"Non-denominational Christian. They were sponsored by a specific church."

"And they just... they just went around Latin America and were missionaries?"

"All over the world, actually," she said, leaning back and getting into the story. "Africa, Eastern Europe, even some work in the U.S." She took a drink. "But I grew up in Latin America. We were there exclusively from my birth until I was eight."

"You were born there?"

"El Salvador."

"Wow! This is truly amazing."

She laughed. "I had an unusual childhood, I admit."

"Yeah," I snorted. "So that's why their services are so comforting to you."

"Exactly. My entire youth was spent in these tiny villages, tiny churches. As far as I knew, this was the way the whole world was."

"So, this is your faith. It's very powerful."

"Actually..." She scrunched up her face. "It's not exactly my faith. I've been an atheist about... well, almost ten years now."

I just stared at her. "You're kidding."

She took a drink. "Nope."

"You have to be kidding. Your entire childhood was spent reinforcing your faith..."

"Yeah, well... I don't know what to tell you. Childhood faith isn't the same as adult."

"So why are you still going to church?"

She exhaled sharply. "See, now we're going into the long version, which I didn't want to do, 'cause to tell you the truth, I'm really tired and need to get to bed soon."

"Oh. Okay..."

"Cliff's Notes. I'm going through a big of a crisis right now. Over my faith. I'm beginning to realize that my atheism is a reaction and not a proaction..." She sighed, then murmured, "Here we go..." She spoke up. "The reason we left Latin America was because of this strange incident. It was... man. It was... it was this strange incident and just very intense and has had a long, lasting effect on me. And I've never really dealt with it and I'm realizing that a lot of my decisions as an adult are in actuality a reaction to not dealing with this issue. And now I'm realizing that some of these decisions are self-destructive and I'll never be able to change them until I deal with this. So..." She paused and took a drink. "So I'm trying to deal with it. And part of that is attending services again."

"So what's the incident?" I asked.

Karen shook her head. "It'd take all night. And I don't have all night." She stood up and started for my jacket.

"Oh," I said. "Oh. Am I leaving?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm exhausted."

"When am I going to see you again?" Anxiety was settling in as I reached the door. "When are we going out again?"

"Uh..." Karen laughed nervously. "Um, Andy." Uh-oh. "I might be wrong, so forgive me if I am. But the way you carry yourself around me, the way you talk to me, it makes me feel like you're interested in me romantically."

"Oh, uh... well... yeah. I guess."

"I can't." She laid her hand on my arm. "I'm sorry. I know rejection's a hard thing to hear, but better now than later." She paused. "Look, I like you. You seem to be a good person. And maybe in other circumstances, something might have happened. But... I just can't now. I'm just dealing with so many issues. I don't have enough time or energy to commit to anything, and no one else should have to be subjected to what I'm going through. I'm sorry."

"But..." She opened the door and I continued talking. "We could hang out. We could just be friends..."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea."

"But..." I looked out at the hallway. "But the long version..."

"Tell you what..." she said, gently pushing me out the door. "Come by the coffeehouse sometime, and I promise I'll sit down and tell you the whole thing."

"But, but..." I was now standing in the hallway. "But the incident! You gotta tell me something! I'm dying here!"

She sighed, then pointed an accusing finger at me. "If I tell you, do you promise not to ask any questions about it tonight?"

"I promise."

She stared at me for another moment, then said, "Okay. Cliff's Notes. In one of the villages, I was mistaken for a Messiah figure. We had to leave because the villagers started worshiping me."

"Wh-!"

She held the finger up again. "Ah-ah," she said, then suddenly reached out and gave me a long, full kiss on the lips. "Thanks for taking me to the gallery tonight."

"B-!"

"I'm... sorry again about the church. Good night."

"Wa..."

Click.

Oh. Oh man. Oh man. Too flabbergasted to speak, I just walked down the stairs. Oh man oh man oh man!

Back to 'F1'

Copyright 1998, Jason Pettus. All rights reserved.