Today I had to meet with my former boss to handle some final paperwork. Not knowing what to expect, I got to the Starbucks on time and waited for about 40 minutes because she didn’t listen to directions and got lost. The metaphor there isn’t lost on me. I hadn’t changed after church this morning, so there I sat in my dress, pencil heels, and Yves Saint Laurent glossy lip stain, trying to not look like I was being stood up.
When she got there, she asked how I was doing, and if I am glad I left. I said yes, and then she said that I look “so great, so much happier” now. I bit my tongue and didn’t respond with anything other than “thanks, I am happier.”
Then she handed me a couple pieces of paper that rescind my ordination, explained how much money I owe them for seminary now that I’m no longer a minister (don’t get me started on how I am now paying for an ordination that they rescinded), and that was it.
She asked why my first congregation was so bad. I hadn’t even scratched the surface when I realized I had been talking for about 2 minutes and she was nodding but not listening. So I stopped. And then she said she was going home, and I left.
Thirty-three and a half years of my life, and it ended so unceremoniously.
I want to misbehave. Years of abiding by stupid rules and under fear of punishment from people who seem to get high on power leaves me wanting to do something – anything – that was previously forbidden just because I can.
But there’s no one to drink with here in this town, and no old boyfriends to call, and no money for an impulsive tattoo.
No finally-free climax to be had.
It’s not even like I would do anything that bad. Ordained or not, my character hasn’t changed. I couldn’t stand the thought of getting black out drunk or hooking up with a stranger.
I guess I just want something to make the end feel at all significant. Instead, what I have is a few pieces of paper folded inside my purse and an empty Starbucks cup with a bit of #9 stain around the rim.