I don't know whether or not I should blame religion for the fact that I lost
                   my friend. Or did we both change?

                   In prep school, I spearheaded the neo-hippie movement (OK, so I *was*
                   the neo-hippie movement). I greatly admired The Beatles, in particular,
                   John Lennon. One day, Melissa and I were discussing music on our break
                   from driver's ed.

                   While she was crazy for country, I was raving about rock. While the
                   orchestra entertained me, it induced sleep in her. Despite personality
                   differences, we had things in common: we were both stuck at a school
                   we didn't like, and we were both labeled as 'unpopular.' She had a twangy
                   accent, and I dressed weird and wrote folk music. Oh, there was one
                   more thing- she was a Jesus freak.

                   I had never really encountered anyone so enthusiastically, evangelically
                   Catholic as Melissa. At first I was curious; I even went on a retreat with
                   her,to the idea of Catholicism. In place of holiness, I found a
                   gym-turned-worship zone, and a plethora of teenage smokers who always
                   managed to hop across the gym curtain to do the nasty with someone
                   they've just met. Everyone there was either hypocritical or brainwashed
                   ditzy. And I mean *everyone.*

                   There were aspects of Mass that I enjoyed: the music, the Latin, and the
                   "peace be with you"s.

                   And now she tells me how sinful John Lennon was.

                   "Sinful?" I replied, "He changed the world, and turned people on to love
                   and peace, and that's what Christianity is all about... or so I thought." I
                   went on to explain how Jesus was great- he was the first hippie, and the
                   only meat he ate was fish. Yet there she stood, condemning John Lennon,
                   hippieism, and vegetarianism. She looked at me- and I was Woodstock
                   before the brown acid hit, innocent and unknowing of opposing forces.

                   Some things bothered her. At first, I knew more about her religion than
                   she did. Historically, this is still the case. She started with the 'holier than
                   thou' complex. It made me wonder: is this religion, or is this Melissa? Is
                   this herself, or is this her hiding?

                   Our group of friends grew to about five by senior year. We acted close,
                   but none of us ever were. 2 Jews, 2 Catholics, and me- a self-proclaimed
                   'spiritualist,' but to them, I was just unlike.

                   She started calling me a 'dirty ugly whore.' I think this was her
                   self-projection phase, really. I think she really felt that way about herself.
                   Meanwhile, her faith in God was growing stronger, and as she got closer
                   to the rest of us, she really got farther away- because of Jesus.

                   And if there is a real divine being such as Jesus, I don't think that's what
                   she was about... it's what she was pretending to be about.

                   She got 'better friends' from church and work. Sure, they were religious,
                   but they also had sex and smoked. Those were things that the rest of us
                   hadn't done, yet we didn't condemn them for it. So the barrier was set.

                   Now, we're the only ones that talk, from that group I mean. She flew in
                   from Pittsburgh last weekend. I thought about John Lennon, and hell, and
                   forgiveness.

                   Not only is it hard to avoid debate with her, it is hard to avoid religi-speak
                   in conversation. It is her obsession and life.

                   She reflected back on senior year a lot, because when she started
                   drinking (long before I did), she was locked in a room with a guy... and he
                   did something to her. She's tried solving this religiously, which is probably
                   best for her. But she still carries that burden as if it is an honorable cross.
                   A cross that is making her anorexic. And she still tries to be better than
                   me. And now she takes advantage of my home, my money, and the time
                   and kindness of myself and my boyfriend.

                   She saw my weight on the scale: 136. She acted as though it were my
                   funeral. Had I not my boyfriend to reassure me and to help me excercize
                   and hike, I don't know what her mind games would be doing to me now;
                   the repercussions of her timely visit.

                   I don't want to argue anymore over issues that we won't agree upon. I
                   don't care that she found something deeply personal out by accident; I
                   care that I couldn't tell her, because she is the most judgmental person
                   that I know. More than my mother, and more than any gods, contrived or
                   not. And I feel so bitter. It's wrong to burst her halo. And to think she
                   once accused me of living in the bubble.

                   Is she trying to be an anorexic for attention? What is God's place in this,
                   in her eyes? Why can't she drop the labels and talk? Why can't I?

                   Parts of the Christian and hippie philosophies definitely include this: an
                   effort, on the believer's part, to refrain from judgment.

                   Sometimes, though, the differences are too great. Her holy water is too
                   deep for her to look up and see that it is my little creek, the one I've
                   always wanted in a backyard of a house somewhere.

                   I'm sorry that I can't apologize, Melissa. I can't apologize for who I am,
                   because I don't want to. You can spend your life on your knees making
                   apologies, but God is not the man in my life.

                   I'm sorry that we can't be close, Melissa. I'm sorry that you sent those
                   evangelist forwards to me- prostlytizing me by e-communication. Can you
                   find no other way, to live by example like Jesus, or like me?

                   And I guess this isn't a parable, the way it ends. In the Bible and Rock
                   and Roll, we aren't supposed to lose our close friends.
 
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