True Believer

Dodging steet evangelists is an essential urban skill. They're easy enough to spot. Avoidance techniques aren't sophisticated - don't answer, don't make eye contact, and, most importantly, never slow down. Everybody knows this. So what's wrong with me?

Lately, I can't seem to do it. At least once a week I find myself standing on the street corner, clutching handfuls of pamphlets and nodding politely. Yesterday I went so far as to accept a Mormon bible. Written on the inside cover were several verses the young missionary though I would find beneficial. I don't know what I'm going to do with it. I can't just throw it away. I mean, it's somebody's bible. Just the thought of tossing it in the trash makes me feel like an infidel.

It's the eyes that get me. And the pink cheeks. They all look so fervent and committed. Not even a hint of doubt flickers over their shining faces. That kind of conviction is rare, and quite lovely. As I stumble through my theology workbooks, trying to build a coherent set of ideas, the missionaries' conviction becomes more fantastical and alluring. I mean, wouldn't it be great to already know everything? Past, present and future all laid out. I think it might be like having a cheat sheet for the universe. You'd never need the The Ethicist again.

That's not to say they'll never have doubts. But right now, out there walking around in matching sets, they know. And they want me to know, too. Which is nice of them, really. To care like that.

I know I can't keep doing this. Okay, next time, I'm not going even look. I'll keep my head down, speed up, and run them down if necessary. They'll forgive me, I know it.