Moving On, Or Trying To

ON FACEBOOK, the primary contemporary go to source of all things drivel, a high school class mate of mine posted something to the effect that there is a wall around heaven, but that hell is an open border. Then she admonished all to "let that sink in". It sank in. Then, mercifully, it was digested, identified by the subconscious as waste material, and properly excreted. What she probably wanted to sink in was the internal consistency and profundity of her scriptural metaphor, as well as it applicability to current events. I complimented her on the metaphoric cleverness and consistency, but suggested that the veracity of its implied conclusion was arguable. That seemed fair. After all, there are to sides to every wall, Trump's included. She wasn't satisfied with my response. I wanted her to be, because in high school she was a very attractive blonde, and still probably tries to be, with some degree of success, forty five years removed. She intended to continue, she promptly stipulated, to express her faith, and anyone who didn't like it could just, well, move on. That seemed a bit aggressive to me, if not downright unfriendly. No one was attacking her faith, I reminded her, and I would be more than happy to move on, were it not for the fact that an annoying wall, evidently meaninglessly erected merely for spite, seemed to be blocking my way, if only momentarily. I thought I was clever for saying that. My very own little metaphor, intending to imply that the wall around heaven shouldn't be there, that there should instead be one around hell, and that there shouldn't be one built between Mexico and the United States, because it would be useless, and would only satisfy the spite of its admirers. I doubt that she gleaned all that, her not being an intellectual and all, but I had to try. Before I unfriend you, she said, let me ask you a question. I braced myself, forebodingly. When you leave your house, do you lock your doors? That seemed so simple a trap that I breathed a sigh of relief, and decided to go in for the kill. I was a mite wrathful by this time. I am suspicious of your motive for asking this question, I began, like a real smart ass, and would suggest that you select a target that you have not forewarned, or pursue a more honorable profession. I can only assume that she made good on her threat and unfriended me, which means that there is one less intellectually limited but attractive blonde in my life, menacing me with metaphorical walls.