Character Study

Picture this. The bar is full of students and businesspeople; there is casual flirting, laughter, discussions on sports, politics, art, the family. She is sitting at the end of the bar, taking long draws off a cigarette and doodling on a napkin. She has already divided the room into two groups: those who understand and the oppressed. The middle does not exist, and even though she is a Libra, she cannot testify to any sort of equilibrium.

Her face is painted white, a manic extension of her preoccupation with masks and disguise. I sit down and she begins to talk. Animated gestures overcome awkward silence; I nod and she smiles.

"Time doesn't exist," she says to me.
"Yes, it does," I respond, becoming entrenched in my position. Stubborn intellect breeds stagnation.

I ask that she clarify her terms; I am a child of post-modern semantics, but we both know the Logos. She talks at length about crucifixion and resurrection. She expounds on the Earth and the ascension of communal values; new age rhetoric and pipe dreams. She speaks, and I notice her handling a cannister of pills - a prozac messiah seeking the Lord's guidance. She says she is led by the Spirit and I respect her conviction, but I can only take so much joy.