it was head-spinning. Watching Jeff and Tristan interact in the warm light of the diner, I was surprised to realize that I had no bad feelings about their relationship. They reminded me a bit of my parents, teasing and doting on each other. “Jeffy,” Tristan called him. The situation felt awkward only because it was new and foreign, and the only trace of negativity in me was a sense of betrayal: that my mother would be disappointed to know that I no longer felt that disgust she’d been describing to reporters all my life. “When you think of these fags, there’s something that just rises up inside you and says”—and here she would bellow—“yuck! You all know it!” But I felt no such thing—and I doubted she would have if not for her own upbringing.
When I shared my epiphany about interpretation with Jeff, he said, “That’s one thing I have never understood about your family. They’re all lawyers, right? The U.S. Constitution was written some two hundred years ago in essentially modern English, and there’s so much disagreement about how the U.S. Supreme Court should interpret and apply those words today. The Bible was written thousands of years ago in languages no one speaks anymore … and somehow, Westboro alone has figured out its one true meaning?” Articulated that way, the arrogance of our position seemed even more incomprehensible. In court, Margie’s job was to present and defend her interpretation of the facts and the law before a judge, who would hear all sides before making a final decision, which was subject to review by higher courts. But when it came to the purported Word of God, in all its complexity, we considered our judgment to be so reliable as to merit absolute confidence, so unquestionable that we could insist that all of humankind follow it. I shook my head and inwardly cringed. Coming face-to-face with my arrogance, aggressive in its misplaced certainty, was a special sort of shame.
When my flight landed in Rapid City, I picked up some essentials at Walmart—peanut butter, chocolate, apples, and English muffins—and then pointed my car to Deadwood, my little sister, and our new friends. Laura had convinced us to audition for a play at the local theater, and so—less than twenty-four hours before our scheduled return to Kansas in mid-January—Grace had agreed to stay in South Dakota. The spring semester had been set to begin the very next day, and we had scrambled to remove her from all of her Topeka classes, exchanging them for online coursework that would allow us some distance from Westboro. I would interview for a job working with Dustin at TDG—as a public relations assistant, ironically, not so different from work I’d done for Westboro—and Grace and I would stay in Deadwood at least until the play’s final performance. I was elated, and the promise I received from Chad made me feel all the more hopeful.
CHAD: You’ll be back in SD. I’ll figure out the math and approach the chalkboard. I promise.
After unloading the groceries, I found Grace in the attic and told her the plan: the statement would go up the following morning on a new blogging platform called Medium, along with a short article Jeff had written while I was in New York. “Your statement actually creates more questions than it answers,” he had told me. “If you don’t explain a bit more about why you left, it will leave people to speculate and fill in the blanks on their own.”
I watched as my sister read over both documents. She seemed so calm about it all. Poised. Graceful, I thought, and laughed out loud.
Grace looked up. Something in her expression reminded me of the years before she started kindergarten, tooling around in a black romper covered in red flowers, a look of knowing defiance that seemed incongruous on a face so young. A spark of fearlessness.
Her bright hazel eyes narrowed slightly, and she nodded.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Let’s do this.”
* * *
CHAD: I’m just happy for you today. I’m sure it’s a weight lifted. If it’s not, it should be. Recognize it thusly.
MEGAN: It is. I have a hard time believing nice things people say anyway, so on this scale, it’s all just unbelievable.
Both in tone and in magnitude, the response to what Jeff and I had posted was nothing like I had expected. Messages of encouragement and well-wishing flooded my Twitter account, and I was floored by how rare were the people who chose to denounce Grace