Saturday, April 10, 2004
heather
Easter always makes me think of Heather.
Heather was the reason that I loved The Smiths. It was 1985. For Christmas, she bought all of her friends albums from Vinyl Fever. She bought my friend Gwen a Cure album. She bought me the first album by The Smiths. And I was in love. I fell in love with them early and collected everything, all the import singles with the hidden messages scratched around the rim of the vinyl. This gave me the distinction of being the girl that everyone asked for mix tapes. An honor that I owed, entirely, to Heather.
Heather was smart and cool. Her father was a professor and she spent summers with him in Italy on archeological digs. She was worldly and wise and she drank wine with her parents at dinner.
It was around Easter and Heather and I were eating lunch. We were sitting outside near the bus ramp, watching the upperclassmen leave campus for lunch. The rednecks would honk and yell at us and Heather would flip them off in return. We were being cool and intellectual and deep. I forget what we were discussing, but I am sure it involved heavy use of words like fascist and anarchy.
Somehow, the subject turned to Easter. Heather knew I was a preacher’s daughter. She sighed in disgust. “Easter is such a stupid holiday. I just do not get it. All you stupid Christians making this huge holiday over the fact that your God was crucified and killed. I mean, that is just depressing. Why would anyone want to celebrate the fact that their so-called God is dead?”
I looked at her in astonishment. This was Heather. This was cool, smart, spend-all-my-summers-in Europe-daughter-of-two-college-professors-Heather. Heather who I ate lunch with every day. Heather who bought me my first Smiths album. Heather, who evidently had no idea that the story of Jesus did not end with him dead on a cross.
“Heather”, I said carefully. “Easter is not when Jesus was crucified. Easter is the day he rose from the dead.”
Heather's eyes widened in shock. “He ROSE?????????”
I nodded.
For a few minutes we sat in silent amazement. Me, amazed that anyone could think that Easter was about the death of God. Heather, amazed that suddenly it all made sense.
Eventually, Heather spoke.
“Well”, she said. “I guess that changes everything”.
Heather was the reason that I loved The Smiths. It was 1985. For Christmas, she bought all of her friends albums from Vinyl Fever. She bought my friend Gwen a Cure album. She bought me the first album by The Smiths. And I was in love. I fell in love with them early and collected everything, all the import singles with the hidden messages scratched around the rim of the vinyl. This gave me the distinction of being the girl that everyone asked for mix tapes. An honor that I owed, entirely, to Heather.
Heather was smart and cool. Her father was a professor and she spent summers with him in Italy on archeological digs. She was worldly and wise and she drank wine with her parents at dinner.
It was around Easter and Heather and I were eating lunch. We were sitting outside near the bus ramp, watching the upperclassmen leave campus for lunch. The rednecks would honk and yell at us and Heather would flip them off in return. We were being cool and intellectual and deep. I forget what we were discussing, but I am sure it involved heavy use of words like fascist and anarchy.
Somehow, the subject turned to Easter. Heather knew I was a preacher’s daughter. She sighed in disgust. “Easter is such a stupid holiday. I just do not get it. All you stupid Christians making this huge holiday over the fact that your God was crucified and killed. I mean, that is just depressing. Why would anyone want to celebrate the fact that their so-called God is dead?”
I looked at her in astonishment. This was Heather. This was cool, smart, spend-all-my-summers-in Europe-daughter-of-two-college-professors-Heather. Heather who I ate lunch with every day. Heather who bought me my first Smiths album. Heather, who evidently had no idea that the story of Jesus did not end with him dead on a cross.
“Heather”, I said carefully. “Easter is not when Jesus was crucified. Easter is the day he rose from the dead.”
Heather's eyes widened in shock. “He ROSE?????????”
I nodded.
For a few minutes we sat in silent amazement. Me, amazed that anyone could think that Easter was about the death of God. Heather, amazed that suddenly it all made sense.
Eventually, Heather spoke.
“Well”, she said. “I guess that changes everything”.
