“You’re practicing your typing?” From my angle, it looked like an upside-down version of Tetris. I stood and leaned over the counter’s end. Words dive-bombed down the monitor, exploded.

“I have to type the words before they fall to the bottom, or they blow up,” she said. “It’s one of the better ones. Better than Mavis Beacon. I tried that one after a day of shopping, and it kept saying, ‘You’re not concentrating!’ And I said, ‘I know I haven’t been concentrating! I’ve been out all day!’“

I yawned. “I’m sorry. It isn’t you. I’ve been up since 6:30 this morning.”

“I thought I’d fall asleep in my chair just two hours earlier. But I usually get a second wind around this time. And that’s my problem. I should be sleeping all day, but instead I go home, log onto AOL, and exchange e-mails and instant messages ‘til one in the afternoon.”

Words detonated behind her.

“I get tired of answering all the postings, now that I’m training with Helpmates,” she continued.

“Helpmates?” I said, stifling another yawn.

“That’s my employment agency. That’s why I have access to these typing programs. I need to get my word count up to at least 60 words-per-minutes for a permanent position.”

Chris paused her program. When the bombing stopped, I recalled her comment earlier that evening and considered whether this game would start her down the slippery slope to another far-right Federal building bombing.

“I’ll take messages from the leader of my ministry. She looks to me still for leadership and guidance since I’m the one who started the message board.”

“You started an online ministry?” I said.

“Yes, I did,” she nodded with pride. “It’s a Christian ministry for ex-lesbians, women who want to get out of the lifestyle...”

My face went loose, and my cheeks tingled.

“It’s really grown in the last year. It’s so gratifying to bring all these women together seeking solace and redemption.”

I would have burst out laughing, but it was as if I’d suffered a mild stroke. My mouth hung open, while drool gathered at the corners of my lips.

I glanced at the clock and saw I had only a few more minutes before I was free to flee. I retreated to my seat at the word-processing counter and rifled through my book bag for my parking card and car keys.

“You know I also write evangelical literature,” she said. “I’m publishing my first book online soon. It’s a thriller based on Revelations.”

“Really,” the Jewish lesbian said.

“It pulls no punches, but that’s how I am. If I weren’t writing evangelical literature, I’d probably be writing porno,” she concluded.

I nodded like a bobblehead as I made for the hallway.

“Robyn, wait!”

Warily, I turned around.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you. Those are really nice pants you’re wearing.”

When I got home, my pants and I sat down in front of my computer and installed one of those AOL trial membership CD-ROM’s I had stashed under my sink behind the trash. I wanted to find this ministry. My lesbian lifestyle consisted of the occasional issue of The Advocate, a girlfriend with borderline personality disorder, and dinners at obscure barbecue restaurants with my immediate family. I couldn’t imagine why these women were so determined to leave the lifestyle. Had their lives been more boring than my own?

I trolled AOL for nearly three hours, searching through chat rooms, typing in keywords. But I couldn’t find evidence of it, not anywhere.

Frustrated, I slept better than I had in weeks.