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Show All the Variables & Other Love Storiesl37 enough. Sometimes we sat in her pristine car that smelled of fresh laundry and listened to raunchy rap music she'd stole, which she admitted to not liking but for the cuss words. Them were some of the best memories I got. But on occasions Sister Hearthway got so blue and mournful, my heart felt sick for her. One August Tuesday we were laughing and carrying on with stories of my troubles in Truth and Consequence and her stealing all kinds of fantastic goods. Her giggle dried up. She was a long time very quiet and ignored all my attempts to jolly her. "I'm a bad person," she said. "I'm a bad wife and a bad Latter-Day Saint." "No," I told her, but she couldn't be convinced. Her testimony of the Lord's plan of eternal salvation was in sorry states again, just like when she was a girl. She told me she knew full well the Church was true and she had no desire to dispute it, but just the same she didn't care no more. Being bom to the truth had robbed her of the illusion of natural life, which made her sad since the illusion seemed so much more beautiful than the truth. She couldn't understand why God would make it so. "I wish I could say swear words without feeling so guilty," she admitted. "I've only had two boyfriends in my whole life. I've never been to a rock concert. I've never been drank. Just one time I wish I could get drank and be more worried about my liver than my salvation." "That's a predicament," I admitted but insisted she had to do what the spirit told her, and if the spirit told her to go to a rock concert and drink like a wino who'm I to judge? I wouldn't think low of her, just like she didn't think low of me even though Sharlee had made it common knowledge I had a problem with keeping my hands off myself. |