188. Chapter 188
“Look Mags, I like you. And I like that Tommy kid. Don’t look at me like that, everyone knows he’s as homosexual as the sky is blue. Just like everyone knows you’re queer as next Tuesday.”
Sixteen year old Maggie furrows her brow at the odd phrase, and Jack shoves her playfully in the shoulder, his pale hands sweaty and his blonde hair slicked to his forehead with sweat, as they continue their job around the school track.
“But it just isn’t right, Mags. You know? And like I said, I like you, so I’m not trying to cause you offense of whatnot. It’s just, I mean look. We live in this town, right, and all of us are good Christians here, right? Even your family.”
Maggie bites her tongue – barely – at the racist aside, and speeds up her run. Jack catches up to her and tosses up his hands.
“Proper form, Whitmore!” their gym coach scolds, and Maggie smirks.
“I’m just saying, Sawyer, it’s right there in the Bible. It’s okay that you’re of the woman-loving persuasion, you know, but you just can’t act on it, Mags. It’s your soul we’re talking about here, like… come on, bet you could find some guy that’s nice enough, girly enough, or just, you know, do what those old spinsters do and get yourself a farm and some cats, huh, they get on just fine.”
Maggie focuses on her running form, focuses on the small white clouds that form with her every exhale, focuses on the fact that Jack is one of the few kids who still even talks to her, and socking him in the face would probably get her both expelled and absolutely no one talking to her.
Except Tommy.
She glances at him after a few long strides, because it seems like he’s waiting for her to respond, for her to say something.
She doesn’t.
“It’s just immoral, Mags. Not that you’re immortal, but doing… all that… with other girls? Come on, don’t you just… want to live your best life?”
Maggie speeds up again and she hears Jack groan, but he catches up eventually.
“I do. Wanna live my best life. And that’s what I’m doing, Whitmore. Five!” She shouts their lap number to punctuate her sentence as they pass their coach, and he nods stoically at her.
“Okay, but Sawyer, you’re not worried? About your soul? You’re in church every Sunday, girl, how can you justify that?”
“Plenty of gay Christians who seem to me to be more Christian than the homophobic ones. But question for you, Jack. You know Mary wasn’t a virgin, don’t you?”
Jack stumbles and Maggie smirks but grabs his elbow until he regains his balance.
“It was mistranslated. From the original Aramaic. The word meant young woman. But it got translated somewhere along the way as virgin.”
Jack splutters, and Maggie takes the opportunity to press on.
“And that Sodom and Gomorrah shit?” Jack flinches and Maggie keeps her eyes ahead of her as they pass a group of hissing boys.
“It wasn’t about men sleeping with men, dipstick. It was about men sleeping with little boys. Which, you know, I’d hope the big guy would be upset about.”
“That’s not what the pastor says – ”
“Pastor’s wrong,” Maggie breathes, and slows to a walk. Jack looks relieved as he pants beside her.
“I’m not saying I buy into all this god stuff. But if I did? If I took it as seriously as everyone in this damn hellhole claim to take it? I’d do my homework better. I’d study it harder. I’d read the damn texts and I’d remember that they also say it’s okay to sell your daughters into slavery and that Jesus was a flipping hippie who was friends with sex workers and addicts and, wait for it – gay dudes. I’d use my brain, and, you know, a bit of the heart that Jesus said was so damn important. If I bought into all this stuff. Which, you know, I’m not saying I do. But thanks for worrying about my soul, Jack. I’ll pray for yours, too, how’s that?”
She winks and she shoves his shoulder playfully, and she starts running again.
Because it seems that running is all she ever does, these days. But that’s okay.
It’s okay because she knows exactly the kind of life, what kind of community, she’s running to.