In the early days of our relationship, maybe two years in or so, we did a day trip across the line to Bellingham, Washington, touring the historic part of town.
It seemed like a quaint place. Quiet. But then we heard commotion in the old town square. That’s when we saw them: the Jesus freaks out in full glory. But these were not your average scripture lovers. They were full on rapturists, armed with their signature dead eyes, picket signs, and cult-like chants. As we made our way through the crowd, I remember seeing one girl in a white dress, swaying back and forth and whispering about the rapture like she was high and in a dream-state. It was eery. I felt for her.
But the most horrifying sight was this little boy who was brandishing a sign and screaming, “Repent! Repent! Repent!” with the most shrill and (ironically) demon-like pitch I’d ever heard on a child. He couldn’t have been older than four, and his eyes were glassy-black pools of nothingness like the elders in his brethren.
After seeing that kid, you’d had enough. So in an uncharacteristic fashion, you started screaming back at them, questioning their warped beliefs, telling them that you worshipped Satan. They screamed right back at you. I told you there was no point trying to converse or rationalize with them, and we left.
But that was one of the moments in our relationship where I truly realized I had found my person. I witnessed your ability to openly question dogma and indoctrination and harm to children. I’ll forever cherish your ability to see things so rationally.
It’s one of the many things I love about you and hold near and dear.
Happy 39th birthday, babe. I’ve loved you for 20 years. And I’ll love you til the end.
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