supposed to be influenced by outsiders, and that idea had been a constant refrain at Westboro since I was small. “These people have nothing to offer us!” we would say, a sentiment often accompanied by a dismissive sneer. God instructed us to stand fast and hold the line against evildoers. Behold, I have made thy face strong against their faces, and thy forehead strong against their foreheads. As an adamant harder than flint have I made thy forehead: fear them not, neither be dismayed at their looks, though they be a rebellious house. I was revolted by the thought that I had let an outsider affect me. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. Corrupted. I responded to Grace’s assertion with a slew of words about the church’s cruelty and doctrinal errors—but the more I tried to frame the words to insist that Chad’s arguments had not influenced me, the clearer it became that my sister was right, at least in part.
MEGAN: And Gracie—assuming for a second that he *did* poison a part of me, I can only see one possibility. I can see one thing that I lost (though I believe this process started way before Chad). If the thing he poisoned was my ability to go along with something even if I disagreed with it—if he killed my ability to ignore and turn away from my conscience—then I’m glad he poisoned it.
GRACE: I will never like him.
Although I tried to respond to my sister’s moods with gentleness and restraint, reason and logic, my efforts often failed spectacularly. A tsunami of rage, pain, confusion, and despair would engulf us both as we exploded at each other, storming off to far-flung corners of the inn with venom coursing through us. It was fast becoming clear that we had no idea how to navigate relationships outside the church’s black-and-white, all-or-nothing paradigm. I’d thought that going through this process with a most beloved sister might make things easier—and it did, in some ways—but leaving together had also created a situation I hadn’t foreseen. With two of us, the mental, emotional, and logistical struggles of starting life again, almost from scratch, were concentrated and compounded. We had never learned how to “agree to disagree,” because to church members, such a concept was blasphemous. Can two walk together, except they be agreed? What communion hath light with darkness? At Westboro, every decision had moral implications. Every question had a single correct answer. Miscommunication required blame, and mistakes required punishment. My sister and I knew how to cajole, issue ultimatums, attribute ill motives, and assign moral failure to the other party in a dispute, but we couldn’t compromise and we couldn’t move forward without a resolution as to which of us was in the wrong. Without an absolute authority who could resolve the problem and declare one side as just and righteous, we floundered.
“Are you … okay?”
Curled up on the couch in the parlor, I glanced up to see Laura’s tiny frame in the doorway, barely visible in the dwindling light coming in from the west window. She and Dustin had been out of town for several days, visiting her family for Christmas, and her presence here on Christmas Eve surprised me. Why are they home already? I hadn’t even heard her come in. I swiped at my swollen eyes and tried to reassure her that I was fine, but I choked on another sob instead. She sat down and tentatively put an arm around my shoulder. I briefly debated an attempt to preserve my dignity and walk away, but the last remains of my life were falling apart. What did I have to lose?
“She won’t talk to me!” I wailed. “I don’t know what to do!”
I wasn’t sure what I expected Laura to say. I just knew that I couldn’t stand another second of this solitary confinement. I needed my mother—but in her absence, I needed anyone.
Laura shushed me and rubbed comforting circles on my back while I calmed down.
“Do you want to have dinner with Dustin and me?” she asked.
I followed Laura into the kitchen, watching as she and Dustin maneuvered around the small space, chopping herbs and vegetables for some sort of soup. I had assumed they found it burdensome to have two guests puttering around their house, but they both seemed perfectly at ease with an emotional stranger recovering from a crying jag at their kitchen table. Dustin explained that they loved to travel and to meet new people, but since