When they climbed to the top level of the parking garage they could see the balding Oklahoma plains that stretched for miles behind the Arlen County mall. It seemed as if great raw gashes cut across the landscape in the places where the yellow scrub had given way to red clay. The hot, dry wind whipped her hair off her face. She could tell that June had thought a great deal about this; the setting, as her words had been carefully selected. She stared at the swathes of clay. The land had been rubbed raw and was bleeding rust colored earth. It was wounded. As her eyes traced the tight line of the horizon she wondered why this always happened to her. Was it that she seemed pliable, an easy convert? Or did she appear particularly in need of salvation? Perhaps her quiet indifference had been misinterpreted as interest. She caught the meaning of June’s last few words as they lilted upwards in a question: … Jesus Christ into your heart? She stared at the faded white tops of her sneakers and half mumbled a half answer about needing time to think. This was of course a lie. She didn’t need any time to think. What made June think that some poorly-worded, rambling speech on the vague niceties of Jesus would ever convince her of the existence of God? Every day of the last 16 years of her life spoke to a world built of random chance. And now she had to pretend to be interested in this half-baked appeal for religious salvation because….because why? Because she had to spare June’s feelings? The blood pounding through her veins eased just enough for her to smile softly and say, “No, no, really don’t worry about it. I really….I appreciate it, I know it’s just because you care.”
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