Blog Entry: Fireflies Can't Live in Glass Jars: Part Five

Fireflies Can't Live in Glass Jars: Part Five Virginia’s God

Virginia sometimes tells me that it’s my fault that she is the way she is. It’s a lie, but I like it better than her version of the truth. She thinks she has broken her stain glass curtain, but she has only made it clear, like water. It is still filled with black seams and refractions of the truth. The only difference is that now she can see what she never used to know about the colors.

Virginia laughs when she says this, and I know it’s only sort of a joke. She sighs. I only sometimes tell her how ridiculous she sounds. I may have helped her clear her window, but I didn’t change the picture. All the little pieces of glass are the same. Some are scratched or dirty, and some have cracks, and here or there a pane of glass has fallen out, but the picture is the same as always.

But sometimes Virginia doesn’t lie. She is telling plain truths the way they come through her window, the way they hit her eyes and she takes in every word.

Virginia says she hates God.
Virginia, who God made gay.
God, who made her father a homophobe.