Personal Narative

The fluorescent lights of Skipper’s Pub bounce off the Chicago themed walls casting a dim greenish light over Chris’ face. He has that look I’ve come to recognize over the short time I’ve known him. The one telling me something is stirring in the back of his head making its way towards his vocal cords.

“I wish you’d just try it.”

“Yeah, I know, I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not something I want to do”

“But… Why?”

I knew this would come up at some point in the night. It always does. I sigh and continue with my usual well-practiced response. Refuse twice, if that doesn't work I pull out my “real excuse” which goes a little something like this, “My lungs are shit. Haha” Those who know me know this to be very true. I add in a cough to accentuate the effect. This excuse involves my health so it doesn't warrant much questioning. The cough gives it believability, and it has an edge of humor to it allowing us to chuckle and change the subject. Full proof.

But he wasn’t letting me off that easy this time. He has heard it from me before every other time he tries to get me to smoke pot with him. Now ever since moving to Colorado, he’s returned with a renewed vigor to convince others to participate in his hobby.

“No… it’s because of God, isn’t it?”

My brain jerks off cruise control and screeches to a halt. I know full well that Chris is as devout of an atheist as I am a Catholic but this is the first time he has brought it up in this way; abruptly and as an excuse not to smoke pot with him.

“It is not about God, Chris.”

“Yes, it is. You have that Catholic guilt. I’ve seen it before.”

The extra wine in his system betrays him. It allows the hurt in his eyes to show through. Hurt caused by less than accepting parents who happened to be “very Catholic.” Parents who believe they are doing it all correctly. They view the Word as law to be followed to a tee yet ironically overlook the most important one “love one another.” I don’t blame him for being more than a little turned off by this behavior (or at least his interpretation of it.)

“That’s not-” I start, trying to find a way to articulate how to explain my reasoning in a way he will at least find reasonable.

“Gabriela, you shouldn’t believe in God. He just holds you back! I care about you too much to watch you miss out on all these amazing things life has to offer! Think of all that you could experience if you didn't have that guilt holding you back.”

He proceeds to list all the things God is holding me back from: sex, drugs, new ideas and concepts. Total and complete freedom.

“I just want you to live life to the fullest. I want you to have a choice.”

A choice? Which part of the way I'm living my life makes me unable to make choices? I guess I missed the moment when God came down and took away my free will.

Full story available upon request