Dorothy’s family and mine started out near Lubbock, or at least our grandparents did.  While my family moved to Austin and Los Angeles, hers expanded across the plains.  Dorothy has one of those big West Texas families, one that spreads out along the dusty flatlands, stretching itself between Lubbock and Odessa, between politics and preachers.  Dorothy liked to tell me then, and still likes to tell me now that I don’t believe in Jesus.  Her statement doesn’t come across so much as accusatory; rather, it seems she’s stating a simple matter of fact.  It’s as if Dorothy’s confirming some sort of distinction she continues to recognize between the two of us.  She examines my faith for me, often concluding, “ Catherine, you’re an Atheist,” even though I’ve told her over and over again that an Agnostic and an Atheist are two very separate things.  What she’s explaining, though, is that in regards to Jesus and demons, God and the Devil, I’m not going to say they don’t exist, but I’m also not ready to say that they do either.  

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