Monte

The song, “I Will Follow You into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie, came on, and I was moved by the lyrics:

In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
And I held my tongue as she told me
“Son, fear is the heart of love”
So I never went back

If heaven and hell decide
That they both are satisfied
Illuminate the no’s on their vacancy signs

If there’s no one beside you
When your soul embarks
Then I’ll follow you into the dark

From the bed I asked James, “Would you follow me into the dark?” He hadn’t heard the lyrics, so I explained them to him. The color disappeared from his face, and he muttered something along the lines of, “I guess there’s no way of avoiding this question.” Eventually, he did say yes, and although I doubted the sincerity of his answer, I still smiled. Honestly, if worst came to worst and I was indeed turned away from the pearly gates of heaven, I would not expect James to follow me. In fact, I would dare say he’d be a fool to follow me.

But the grim idea of the two us descending into hell together was oddly comforting.

James seems to think that my lack of exposure to religion is what made me a nonbeliever. Is there a chance I could convince you otherwise? How much exposure would it have taken for you to give my current persuasion credibility? I won’t waste my breath.

And to be honest, it bothers me—no, I take that back—it really chaps my ass when someone accuses me of not trying hard enough. I must be lazy, ignorant or whatever. You would think that if religion were as obvious as everybody makes it out to be that I wouldn’t even need to try—it would just smack me right in the face, but no.

No, I have no faith in God, no faith in a savior, sins are all relative, and I’m not going to apologize any more. It may not be the most comforting existence, but no one promised such a thing nor should I expect it.