Watchmen

The Church of Our Lady Immaculate watches the city. Now that I live in its shadow, its presence seeps daily into my consciousness. Last night on my way home from the café, I felt my eyes drawn to the twin towers softly illuminated with rising light, backdropped by a midnight-blue curtain of sky. A crescent moon swayed overhead. The throne on the hill seems like a magnet for unusual celestial events: moons, comets, roiling thunder clouds. The church is a pair of gargoyle kings crowned with weighty stone, terrible, patient, attentive yet unmoved by the minute triumphs and miseries of my life.

Bette Anne

This morning I saw Bette Anne at the farmers' market. She was a friend in university, and I bump into her around town once every five years or so. Her wavy brown hair has turned crinkly and frosty. She has a bright-eyed, interesting Dutch face that has taken well to middle age. With her warm, energetic demeanour I suppose she will only grow lovelier.

When she asks, "How are you?" you can't give the superficial answer. She really wants to know about your life. So I told her about organ building and writing.

Then it occurred to me, she was one of the few Christian friends who accepted my coming-out, not only accepted but affirmed my grasp for self-acceptance. The first time I told her, I remember her saying, "My husband and I have friends who tried to stop being gay. It doesn't work. It is not good."

Bette Anne's background is Dutch Reformed, but her faith is fervent, positive and practical. Her children are in their late teens, but she says she has given up having any career ambitions for herself. Her life revolves around community, volunteering, and people. The only time she sits still, she says, is when she is talking to people.

So I found myself telling her about Pilgrim's Cross, a novel based on my experience in the ex-gay movement. I had to explain what the ex-gay movement was.

"That must be hard to write," she said.

"It was very hard writing the first draft a few years ago. I had to develop compassion for the stupid person I used to be, for the stupid people who were around me. No one is really a complete villain. Most people are sincere—"

"You must have felt bitterness."

"Yes, but I couldn't write with bitterness. That would be bad writing."

Bette Anne rolled her eyes in acknowledgment.

"But I really believe the story needs to be told," I said.

"Is there anything else like it out there?"

"There's a movie, 'But I'm a Cheerleader', but it's a comedy. It's good, but it's a comedy. I haven't seen any serious fiction."

"Oh, it's fiction?"

"Yes, a novel. Sometimes that's the best way to tell a story. And that's the challenge for me now: trying to turn the first draft into literature."

It felt powerful to talk about Pilgrim's Cross as if I am writing it, because I actually am not just talking or thinking about it—I am writing every day.