Heart Shaped Roses
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The first time I remember meeting her was during my freshman year of college. She walked into the cafeteria, all eyes turned on her, and then she sat down right next to me – which is how we met. Everyone else had their choice of tables, but she sat at mine.
There were a couple other freshmen sitting with us, two girls and a guy named John, who had transferred from some school in Michigan. It seemed like most people there already knew one another, so I thought maybe I should get used to being around them before trying too hard to make friends or anything.
But they ignored her as much as everyone else did; not even when she got up for lunch and went over and started talking to this guy who was also new, and then he asked her out and they left together.
They didn’t seem interested in anyone else, though we saw him later getting friendly with a sophomore named Carol and it looked pretty serious. So if they could do something about it, why couldn’t I? I mean, you’re all grown-ups now, so stop ignoring her! I thought to myself, feeling a little put out that she hadn’t come by and introduced herself after all.
Maybe she was shy or didn’t know anyone else, I told myself. After all, she’s still new to the school. And besides, she looks really cool. If she wasn’t so scary, she’d be unbelief—
Then she got up again and came back over near us, saying, “Hey guys, I forgot my books.” And when they all laughed she smiled and said, “I’m kidding,” and handed them over.
The whole thing made me smile because it was so weird: here she was, this girl who seemed almost like an old woman (she was only about five years older than us), acting all casual and familiar with everybody else, while all the time she just seemed to be waiting for someone to notice her.
When she stood up to leave I got nervous because no one had ever talked to me before, but I forced myself to stand and say, “See ya tomorrow!” She just stared at me a moment, looking amused, and said, “Yes, see you there.” That was what we always called our classes. Then she walked away. When I looked around, the other three who were at our table were laughing and pointing and calling each other idiots.
“What are they going to do?” one of them asked, and they all laughed again.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, “but it’s not funny.”
“Well,” said John, “if we weren’t such assholes we would have been nicer to her.”
John was from Michigan, so we had lots of things to talk about, although I found him boring sometimes because he talked so slowly. Carol and I liked John more, especially when he was drinking beer. He never got angry when we joked around; instead, he got quiet and sad. We all thought he liked Carol better and he did, but he was way too nice and good-natured to try anything with her.
It took me a long time to realize that Carol was actually pretty nice, too, and that she might have been attracted to John, except that he seemed so lost without being able to drink beer. Carol was a real party animal, but not crazy or anything.
You could tell she liked to have a good time, but it never got out of hand, which made her fun to hang around with. I guess the best word to describe both Carol and John was “normal”: whatever that meant.
The rest of the freshman year passed quickly and then we were sophomores. Carol and I had become closer friends; we went everywhere together and studied late into the night together and everything. Sometimes she’d invite me and I’d bring John along because he didn’t have many friends either.
John seemed to feel more comfortable with Carol because he was a lot less intense than me: he had his own set of interests and ideas, but he was easygoing and didn’t care as much about the big things that usually bothered me. So we spent a lot of time with John.
In fact, the three of us were close. I guess I should say that Carol was my best friend. She always listened to me and was very open with me. She trusted me, too, and that felt good. Not that I could tell her much about myself.
Carol and I had a history course together; it was part of our regular curriculum and I think it was a requirement for everyone, but I can’t remember what we learned. Most of it was stuff about World War One, which we’d read about a couple months earlier.
It was mostly just an excuse to learn about trench warfare and gas chambers. Anyway, that first class wasn’t so important because it was so basic, but our second history course – American History from 1790 to 1900 – was the real deal. This was the one I’d been looking forward to most.
We sat next to each other in the front row. Carol was sitting behind me, so she wouldn’t distract me, and we had a little bit of leg room so we were happy. The professor wore a suit jacket and tie and he reminded me of a teacher I knew in elementary school.
His name was Dr. Hodge: a short guy with gray hair, round glasses, and a small mustache. He was old, but I liked him because he talked about the same kinds of things I wanted to know about: religion and patriotism, and slavery.
I loved how he kept talking about our country and how great America had always been, even if some people said differently. But I also thought it was cool that he was a real expert, a historian who’d gone to Oxford University or something and written several books.
Dr. Hodge started out by telling us all where we’d come from. “You all look like Americans,” he said. “But you all came here from somewhere else, right? Maybe from another state or maybe from your own country?”
“My dad moved us from South Carolina to Ohio,” I said, “when I was five.”
“Ah,” said the professor. “Well, it takes a long time to become a naturalized citizen of the United States. Did he work hard enough to become a US citizen?”
“Uh…” I hadn’t thought about it, “probably not.”
“So, if you’re from the USA, then you really did move here. And if you live here now, then why are you not a ‘real’ American, just like those of us who came over on the Mayflower or settled in Virginia before the Revolutionary War?”
He was talking about us, and that was exciting. “Maybe it’s because we’re black?” someone yelled out. The whole classroom erupted into laughter. It was funny to hear a black person make such a ridiculous statement in class. “No,” Dr. Hodge said, “it’s because this is the United States. If you want to be here, then you’ve got to do what we tell you.”
This last phrase sounded like a threat and it gave me goosebumps: “we told you so”. I’d never heard anyone talk like that in our class before; I mean in the way that Hodge was doing now, with his accent and mannerisms. We were being told to shut up; no questions allowed. He wanted us all to be quiet and accept everything that was coming at us.
The professor looked out over us and smiled. I think there were some guys laughing and pointing at me, but I couldn’t tell. All I could see was Hodge’s eyes boring into me, his head cocked slightly and the corners of his mouth turned down. Then he raised his hand and pointed straight at me: “Young man, I’m going to ask you a question. Do you believe in God?”
I nodded. That was true; I’d grown up Catholic, after all.
“Then you have to answer the following questions correctly, okay?” Dr. Hodge paused and looked around the room. He waited for the others to nod back to him. “If you don’t, then you’re not a real American.” He looked directly at me.
“And if you say anything against this country, we’ll find out about it. Don’t you worry?” He laughed, then looked away and leaned back in his chair. “You’re dismissed.”
The next day was our final exam and I’d worked harder than ever before – more than Carol or anybody else, in fact – studying all night. But when we got to class I found that Carol had been sick with flu symptoms: her voice was hoarse, she had a fever, and she was covered in sweat.
She had to stay home that morning. I didn’t mind missing my last class. Carol was the only girl I’d ever dated, and it wasn’t much fun having to sit next to her in class every day, listening to her snore or watching her drool into her notebook.
She made me uncomfortable, especially since she was so pale and seemed like she’d been through something awful in her life: she never spoke and she always stared down at her hands when she was sleeping. At first, she had asked me to go with her to church on Sundays, which I’d done.
But I’d learned pretty quickly that it was one of those places where everybody pretended like nothing bad ever happened. It was like a big family reunion where they tried to make sure the old folks weren’t lonely anymore, so they had everyone come together to sing hymns and drink punch. After all, Jesus loves all his children!
Anyway, as far as I was concerned, we’d only gone on three dates in the whole year, and that was more than enough for me. I figured I would get an A without Carol’s help. So I decided to skip that final; I’d already studied hard enough, and I felt I knew enough. The other kids agreed to do the same thing; we all met outside and shook hands to agree that none of us would take our exams.
“Hey!” Hodge said, raising his voice. “You people cannot be serious! You can’t pass unless you answer these questions.” He took off his glasses and ran his fingers across the lenses in irritation. “What kind of idiots are you anyway?”
We were stunned by what we were hearing. The others in our class looked confused too, as though this was a joke we couldn’t understand. They didn’t believe that Dr. Hodge would dare speak like that in front of us all.
The professor stood up, still wearing his glasses, and walked behind his desk to write a few words on the blackboard: “America is God’s country.” Then he looked at the rest of us and shook his head. “I guess you won’t pass.” Then he went back to his seat and sat down.
After Dr. Hodge had finished writing the words and turned away from the board, the silence grew thick again. Nobody knew what to do, or how to respond to what Hodge had just said. We hadn’t realized that there could even be any doubts about whether America was God’s country.
And we certainly didn’t know why we were supposed to pass our exams if we weren’t really Americans anyway.
“Okay,” Hodge said finally. He looked around and then lowered his voice. “Let’s get started.”
The next hour and a half seemed to stretch for years. Dr. Hodge had a list of twenty questions, each one a little more difficult than the last. I’d seen the book before, but I had never studied anything so seriously. I memorized almost all of the answers, even though I wasn’t sure what they meant.
When it was all over – and I thought I might have failed, although I don’t know exactly because I couldn’t remember most of the questions – Dr. Hodge handed back our tests along with some papers to fill out. The test was called the “Americanization Test” and the papers were filled with question marks.
“Congratulations,” Hodge said. “Most of you passed. Just sign here to accept your certificates.” He held them out to us and we took them reluctantly, shaking our heads in disbelief. All of us except Carol signed, and when I read hers I noticed that it had two question marks in the place where Hodge had written the word “pass.” I wondered why.
As soon as we’d left the room, the others told me what they’d been thinking at the time of our exams. “What a load of crap,” I heard someone say, or maybe it was me. “It was a total waste of time,” said another voice. Some other kid was talking about how ridiculous the exam had been, and that Hodge’s religion must be wrong for him to try to make us believe such nonsense.
Carol caught up with us, looking pale, tired, and miserable, but she smiled as we walked out.
“Well,” she said quietly, “it looks like I’m going to heaven after all!”
***
When I got back to the house, my mother and father were waiting for me. They seemed to have known something was wrong before I ever came inside the door.
“How’d it go?” Dad asked. “Are you okay?”
“It’s not a problem,” I answered quickly. “I guess I’ll just take it next year instead.”
My parents looked at me strangely. “But you’re doing very well in school,” Mother said, surprised. “You always tell us that you work harder in school than in any other subject.”
“Yes, Mom.” My eyes were suddenly tearing up. She didn’t look angry now; just sad and puzzled. It occurred to me that she was probably wondering why I was so upset. She had taught me to believe in what I’d learned; she’d taught me to respect my teachers.
But I knew that she and Dad had also wanted me to succeed, and I wondered if they thought I hadn’t done very well at all. I decided it didn’t matter what my parents believed. They’d made their choice, and if I’d disappointed them they wouldn’t let that stand between them and my future. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, “but this is important.”
They waited patiently until I’d finished explaining myself. Afterward, we went into the kitchen to talk things over. We were all so busy that we hardly ever talked about politics or religion in my family. This was the first time we had spoken about anything like that in the kitchen.
“What did you think of that exam?” Mother asked finally.
“Oh, it was crazy.” I nodded my head slowly, watching her face for some kind of reaction. I could see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, which I thought was good news. “It was a complete waste of time,” I went on, trying to keep my voice calm. “That’s why it bothered me so much.”
Mother put down her cup and wiped her hands carefully. “Why? What did you mean by that?”
“We’ve been told all our lives that America is the greatest country in the world. It’s God’s country. Everything comes from there. Our history, our economy, our culture. And then we have a guy like Hodge teaching us that he can prove everything else is wrong and America is wrong, too.” I stopped abruptly, remembering that I should wait to hear what my folks had to say.
Dad leaned forward and picked up his coffee mug. He drank some black coffee silently for several minutes before speaking.
“We both grew up believing that,” he said finally. “It’s not just Americans who think that. It’s part of the religion we share with people all around the world. In fact, many of the religions we know of today developed because the people involved found that they agreed with the teachings of Christianity or Islam.
People have always thought America is different. We’ve never accepted that our country could fail us.” His voice was steady, but as he spoke he watched me closely for some kind of reaction.
“So why do you say it was a waste of time?” Mother asked quietly. She sounded very thoughtful. “The test was designed to find out if you understood certain principles. You may have missed something in your reading; that’s natural enough. If you studied more—”
“No, Ma’am,” I interrupted. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. I got every question right. The thing that really bothers me is that I don’t understand how Hodge thinks.” I stared down at the floor, feeling the blood rush to my face. “He’s a professor of religious studies—he teaches religion—and yet he wants to convince us that he has proved his religion is true! That doesn’t make sense!”
“Of course it makes sense!” said Father suddenly, and the anger that flashed across his face startled us all. “If Hodge could prove it, everyone would accept it as the truth!”
“Everyone would accept it?” Carol asked quietly. “Even people who aren’t Christians?”
Father nodded, staring down at his coffee mug.
“I don’t think anyone would deny that Christ is one of the great spiritual leaders in human history,” I said slowly, “but that’s all we’d be saying. Jesus Christ is just one man; he isn’t the only person to claim to be the Son of God.
The Bible lists dozens and dozens of people who have claimed divine status, and most of them were either executed or died without a single follower, or both. So we have no way of knowing how many people followed Jesus during his lifetime.
It seems safe to assume that his popularity was limited. Why should it have been greater than any other religious leader? There are still hundreds of millions of Muslims who revere Mohammed even though they don’t agree with him on everything.
Even if the Koran were completely accurate, and it isn’t, there were so many other people claiming to speak for God during the time when Mohammed lived that we have no idea how he managed to gain such a following.”
“And the same would hold true for Hodge,” I went on. “His followers wouldn’t believe in anything he said unless he had proof. They’d want to check the facts. And they’re probably right. No matter what Hodge says, people will doubt whether his god exists until someone can prove otherwise.
It would be different if we had something like DNA or fingerprints to show that God is real—that kind of evidence would be impossible to ignore. But Hodge doesn’t even try to offer that kind of proof. He gives us an argument and then tells us that it proves his faith.
Well, the argument won’t convince anyone who hasn’t already given credence to God. All the proof he offers is purely hypothetical. That’s not proof at all.”
There was silence in the room for a moment after I finished. I glanced up from the table and saw Mother looking at me closely.
“So…so what do you think?” she asked softly. Her voice sounded uncertain. “Do you really believe that your religion is true or not?”
I nodded slowly. “Yes,” I said at last. “I’ve seen too much evidence for it not to be. And I think there must be a reason why God made us into such a complex race. We are a species, not just one individual; we share memories, and we have feelings.
We feel pain and pleasure. We laugh and cry, and so do other people. If God created us, then he must have done it in order that we could learn from each other. We need to work together to build things; the whole point of civilization is cooperation.
We couldn’t have achieved this level of social complexity without a belief in something greater than ourselves.” I hesitated, wondering how to put it. “We’ve been taught to worship God since we were children—even before we learned to talk.
We’ve heard it in church; we’ve read it in the Bible. And yet I still find myself doubting. I keep thinking that we could come up with better reasons if we tried harder. I wonder if anyone else ever felt the way I do about our religion.”
For a few moments, the others looked uncomfortable, exchanging glances. Then Carol spoke: “Why don’t you ask him?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. “I mean, I’d be willing to listen to Hodge and see what he has to say,” I said finally, “but I wouldn’t want to argue with him. I don’t know whether I could convince Hodge to change his mind. If he’s convinced by his own arguments, he’ll hardly be swayed by me.”
Carol smiled faintly. “Well,” she said gently, “if you don’t want to go on with his study group anymore, perhaps Hodge would agree to give you special permission to continue your research. You can use my office if you like. And I’m sure there are other students here who might be interested in your ideas—”
“No,” said Father abruptly. “Don’t bother them. Let it end here.”
Mother turned to him. “You don’t trust Hodge?”
“That’s not the issue,” said Father, frowning. “But we don’t have to make a spectacle of this. People are already talking. There’s nothing wrong with Christianity as it stands now, but Hodge’s arguments are ridiculous and offensive.”
“Perhaps,” agreed on Mother, “but they’re also dangerous. The people who listen to Hodge will be the ones most likely to turn to violence, whether they know it or not. We must find some way to stop him.”
Father shook his head decisively. “The only solution is to get rid of the man.”
“No,” said Carol suddenly. “It isn’t up to us to judge him like that.” She stared at her father, her face troubled. “This is Hodge’s decision, no one else’s.”
A long silence fell over the room again, broken only by the sound of water dripping down from the sink and the faint hum of conversation coming from another room. Finally, Mother turned to me. “What do you think, John?” she asked quietly. “Do you want to carry on with your research? If Hodge won’t let you, then…”
I sighed, wishing I knew the answers I needed. “If we hadn’t gone along with Hodge’s little scheme, he never would have had us all together. His followers wouldn’t have been able to hear my ideas in person, which means he could never have persuaded them otherwise. So we did help him, even though we weren’t supposed to—just like Hodge said.
The End