by Ali Berman
“My parents want me to go to a private school and it’s the only one in town. I went to a Catholic school back home.”
Dan looks up. He’s holding the ripped up pieces of paper.
“What’s an atheist?”
Angela says, “It’s nothing, Danny. Come on. Let’s get back home. Mom has snacks out.”
The two younger kids follow Angela back home. They smile and wave as they cross the street. I wave back. Tess stands in front of me.
“What did I say wrong?” I asked.
“Our older brother is an atheist. Our mom and dad don’t talk to him anymore. They don’t let us talk to him either.”
“Did he do something?”
She laughs. “Yeah, he became an atheist.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Where are you from?” she asks.
“Just outside of Boston. We have Christians there. And Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and lots of other people who just aren’t into religion.”
“We don’t really have atheists here. And if we did, people wouldn’t talk to them unless they were trying to convert them.”
“So did I just freak your sister out?”
“Pretty much. In fact, she’s probably telling her friends about you right now.”
“Okay, so maybe I’ll try to avoid the topic of religion if it comes up?”
“Oh Ben,” she says, shaking her head a little and laughing. “You can’t avoid that topic here.”
I look at her, confused.
“Tell you what. Sit with me at lunch on Monday. I’ll help you through it.”
“You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“You have no idea,” she says as she starts to walk away. She turns back and says, “Thanks for the trick. The coin went in your pocket, right?”
“You saw?”
“No, you did it really well. It’s just that that’s the only time you could have switched it. Anyway, see you at school.”
Chapter 3
Sisters Kiss Girls Too
Going to a religious school isn’t going to be totally out of the ordinary. I’m used to ignoring the morning prayers and the annoying buzz of the teacher’s voice in theology class (which should really just be called Jesus class since that’s the only theology we ever talked about). My mom and dad actually thought about switching me to public school in Forest Ridge, but the private school had a much better reputation, even if they said it was a bit more devout.
Not all the kids were Christian at my old school. I mean, Seth is Jewish. Margaret is kind of a half-assed Buddhist. And even the kids who were really into Jesus didn’t always go to church on Sundays.
That night at dinner, we’re sitting at the table eating pizza. Usually my dad cooks, but they are still unpacking all the kitchen stuff.
“Are we atheists?” I ask suddenly.
Mom and Dad look up, their mouths hanging open a bit.
Dad recovers first and says, “Well, we’re not a religious family.”
“But are we atheists? I mean, I’ve never really thought about it.”
“We aren’t any one thing as a family,” Mom says. “Each of us is free to believe whatever we want.”
“So, what are you guys?”
“Well,” Dad says, “I do not believe in god.”
“I believe there might be something,” says Mom, “I don’t believe anyone knows what it is. There are just lots of different interpretations out there.”
“I met some kids across the street,” I say. ”They didn’t seem too happy when I said we weren’t religious and that I don’t really believe in god.”
“Why did that come up?” asks Dad.
“They asked me what church we were going to and I said, none. Then they asked if we were atheists.”
They look at each other briefly and then Mom says, “You might find Forest Ridge to be a little more religious than you’re used to back home.”
“How much more religious?”
“Just remember that it’s important to respect other people’s beliefs,” she says. “Do that and you’ll be just fine.”
“Yeah, of course. It’s just, well, maybe we should have looked into public school.”
“You never minded your private school back in Massachusetts. Besides, you’re used to a religious school. It provides good structure,” she says.
“But we’re not religious. And back at my last school, nobody cared.”
“Doesn’t matter. Whether we’re religious or not, the moral foundations are the same.”
“I’m not sure they’re exactly the same. I mean, Don’t kill people and Don’t rob people might be the same. Other stuff is different.”
“Well, you’ve got independent thought. Use it,” she says with a smile.
Dad slops two more pieces of pizza onto his plate and changes the subject.
“Ben, have you heard from Emily at all?”
“She texted me this morning wishing me luck with the new school.”
“Well, she won’t answer her phone. Can you try calling her tonight? Just to make sure she’s okay.”
“She started college, like, a week ago. She’s busy.”
“Just call her and say hello.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
After dinner, with a few pieces of pizza crust in my pocket, I take Holly for a walk around the block. I look over at Tess’s house. The light is on, and they are doing the same thing we just did. Eating dinner as a family. With Pete and Emily gone, I’m now the only kid to talk to during dinner. Em used to fill up a lot of that space.
She would talk about college and how she couldn’t wait to get to school and study and live in New York City. Not that she didn’t love Boston, but New York City, besides being home to the suckalicious Yankees, has a lot more going on.
She likes books and can’t wait to go to readings and museums and do all that boring stuff. She better not make me do that crap when I go visit her.
I don’t even really know what kids do when they get to college. I guess drinking is a big thing. I haven’t had anything other than a sip of my dad’s beer yet. Maybe when I go visit my sister she’ll let me try stuff.
I take out my phone and call her.
“Hey, Sis.”
“Hey.”
“Why aren’t you answering Mom and Dad’s phone calls?”
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
“No, really. They’re worried.”
“They shouldn’t be. I’m fine.”
“Then tell them that.”
“I did already. I emailed them.”
“Email isn’t good enough. Just call them.”
“I’m not ready to.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“I’m just dealing with choosing classes and stuff,” she says, somewhat cryptically.
“Maybe they could help.”
“Just tell them that I’m fine.”
“How much does your school cost a semester? Seriously, you call them and tell them you’re fine.”
“Just give me some time. I’ll call when I’m ready.”
“Time for what?”
She sighs on the other end of the line and there is a bit of a pause.
“You can’t tell them,” she says, finally.
“Tell them what?”
“Look, I’m about to tell you something major. Are you near Mom or Dad?”
“No. I’m outside with Holly. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s not like that. It’s just something that’s going to be surprising.”
“Just tell me.”
There is a long pause. Like, thirty seconds. I feel like I’m playing chicken. Who will speak first?
Finally, Em
says, “I think I’m gay.”
It takes me a solid ten seconds to register what she just said. “Gay? As in, you’re into girls?” I say, finally.
“No, gay as in happy. Yes, you idiot. Into girls.”
“You think? Or you know?”
“I know.”
Before my mind has time to wrap around the new information I spit out the first thing I think of.
“You went out with Tony Macalister, like six months ago.”
“For a week. He was gross.”
“Are you sure you don’t like all guys? Maybe it’s just gross guys like Tony.”
“Are you seriously going to ask me ignorant ass questions like that?”
“Sorry. I just . . . it’s kind of weird. Are you dating someone?”
“Yeah. My roommate.”
“You can’t date your roommate!”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not dating. You’re living together. It’s going from zero to five thousand in like two-point-five seconds.”
“You can’t tell Mom and Dad.”
“Damn right I can’t. You have to.”
“I can’t. Not yet. I’ve been gone a week and then I’m going to call them up and say I’m gay?”
“Well, maybe you don’t have to tell them right away. You can at least call them to say that you’re okay and that college is good.”
“What do I say? I don’t want to lie.”
“You don’t have to lie. When they ask, How are you getting along with your roommate? You can just say, So much better than I expected!”
“Oh shut up.”
“Anyway, Mom and Dad aren’t going to care if you’re gay.”
“They’ll think it’s a phase.”
“So what? In ten years when you’re still gay, you’ll have proven them wrong.”
“Thanks,” she says. “And thanks for not freaking out.”
“You mean, freak out that my sister is kissing girls before I am? That’s an issue for my ego.”
“Maybe girls would kiss you if you weren’t such a sarcastic turd.”
“Thanks, Em. So how long have you known?”
“For a while now. But there were no other gay kids in our school, so it didn’t seem like a good time to be unique. This place is like queer-girl heaven.”
“Maybe there were other gay kids, but everyone was like you, too scared to say anything. Anyway, it’s Massachusetts. We have gay marriage.”
“Think I really wanted to hear dyke jokes from the entire male population at school? They couldn’t even handle me being vegan.”
“Yeah. Maybe I’m giving too much credit to the kids at our old school.”
“So are you excited for your new school?” she asks, changing the subject.
“How many ways can I say no?”
“Why not? Brand new place. You can be as awesome as you want to be.”
“It seems kind of Christian.”
“Well, you’re used to that.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
“Okay. Well, text me and let me know how it goes.”
“Only if you call Mom and Dad and tell them you’re good and having fun and learning stuff.”
“Classes haven’t even started yet.”
“Call anyway.”
“Fine, I will.”
“Hey, sis.”
“Yeah?”
“Are you an atheist?”
“Where is that question coming from? What, gay people can’t believe in god?”
“No. I’m just asking if you do or if you don’t.”
“I don’t believe.”
“Me neither,” I say. “Do you think it matters?”
“Matters to who?”
“Other people.”
“It shouldn’t matter, right? I mean, who cares what you believe or who you love as long as you’re a good person.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m going to call Mom and Dad.”
“Later, Sis.”
“Later, Bro.”
Chapter 4
Lying is Apparently a Godly Thing To Do
The first day in a new school pretty much sucks no matter what. All the kids are a combination of excited about seeing their old friends and nervous about the school year. No one is really interested in making a new friend. They’re too busy seeing who got taller, who grew boobs, and who got their braces off.
At least, that’s what would have happened at my old school. In this place, about ten kids come right up to me and introduce themselves before classes even start. Nine out of ten of them ask me what church I’ll be attending. I shake off the question by saying, “Oh, I’m not sure yet.”
I was able to throw most of them off the scent but this group of guys, Kenny, Stan, and Arty, asked me if I wanted to try out their church. And I said, “Sure. Thanks!” putting on my best Jesus is great face. I figure it’s a good idea not to totally alienate myself. Church is boring but if that’s what people are into here, then maybe I can suck it up. On the upside I have plans for the weekend.
Wow. My big weekend plans have become church. Back home I’d have had a movie marathon with Seth and Margaret.
I choose a seat in the back of class for homeroom. We go through the normal routine. We say the Pledge of Allegiance. I stop speaking when the “under god” part comes around. We talk about rules. They go through the morning prayer. I sort of mumble my way through it all, pretending. If I went to a public school, I wouldn’t have to pretend. I’d get to go about my day without having to grovel in thanks every five minutes. I mean, my mom and dad gave me life. I don’t high five them every half hour for that.
As I go from class to class, I start noticing all the differences between my old school and this one. School uniforms are required in both. In Massachusetts a bunch of the girls would roll their skirts up to show as much leg as possible without getting in trouble. Here, still skirts but no extra leg. Kind of a bummer. Also, I haven’t heard a single curse word. Instead of saying, Oh my god, they say Oh my gosh. And dang instead of damn. Thinking on it, I say goddamn, Jesus Christ, and oh my god all the time.
By lunchtime, things change. People stop coming up to me to say hi. In fact, people are now looking at me as if I’m kind of weird. Angela sits a few tables over and when I wave hello, she gives a little wave back, and then proceeds to talk to her friends with great enthusiasm. Each of them turns to look back at me. Although they try to be sneaky about it, they totally fail.
Tess keeps her promise. She sees me sitting alone in the cafeteria, and instead of joining the group of friends waiting for her, she waves them off and takes a seat next to me.
“How is your first day going?”
“Not too bad. Everyone was oddly nice.”
“Was?”
“Well, this morning people seemed really into meeting me. Now people are just kind of looking at me strangely.”
“That’s because everyone in school knows you’re an atheist by now.”
“How?!”
“My big-mouthed sister.”
“Isn’t gossip a sin or something?”
“Just because something is a sin doesn’t mean people don’t do it.”
“Great,” I say, sarcastically. “Well, I’m going to church with Kenny, Stan and Arty on Sunday. Maybe that will make people think I’m less sketchy.”
“That’s the church almost all of us go to. It’s going to be different than what you’re used to.”
“I went to a Catholic school, remember?”
“People here pretty much think Catholics are full of it.”
“What’s the difference? They all believe in Jesus.”
“There is a big difference.”
I’m not a big fan of how she’s talking to me. Like there’s
a joke I’m not in on and she’s just waiting to laugh at me. Maybe she feels my frustration, because then she says quickly, “So what’s your family like? What are you into?”
“I’ve got an older sister at Sarah Lawrence College and an older brother stationed in Iraq.”
“You like magic,” she adds.
“Can’t get enough of it. Would do it all day if I could.”
“Leave a girlfriend back home?” she asks point-blank.
“Just friends who are girls,” I say, smiling and a little embarrassed.
“Why are you an atheist?”
“Why are you religious?”
“How do you know I am?”
“Because your family seems to like you and you told me they don’t talk to your brother because he isn’t religious.”
“I could be faking.”
“Are you?”
“No, but I don’t believe a lot of the same stuff as my family and friends.”
“You’re Christian?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that’s not an of course. There are lots of religions a person could be.”
“Not around here,” she mutters.
“And by the way, I don’t go around calling myself an atheist. It’s not like this big label I wear. It’s not important.”
“It’s important here.”
“All the more reason for me not to call myself one, right?”
“Are you ashamed of it?”
I think for a minute and then say, “My grandma was Hungarian.”
“What?” says Tess, looking at me strangely.
“On my dad’s side, I’m Hungarian. I don’t go around telling people I’m Hungarian. That doesn’t mean I’m ashamed, does it?”
“Point taken.”
Tess looks at me with her head kind of turned, like she’s thinking about something but she’s not sure she wants to tell me. “Is it ever scary?” she asks, finally.
“What?”
“Being out there alone. I mean, I’m never alone. It’s impossible for me to be alone. But you, if you don’t believe in God, then no one is watching out for you.”
“My parents and my brother and sister and my friends back home. They care.”
“They don’t know your every thought. They didn’t create you.”