Well, I don't really know if she did indeed pee perfect and I don't think I ever want to find out. I first met her at Snooty Church. Oh, she was to the manner born, from the moneyed West Side of Vancouver and with priestly aspirations. The priesthood was not going to be a reality for her as long as she remained within the religious Jurassic Park which was Snooty Church in those days. Snooty Church did not welcome female clergy (and I understand that now they have progressed to the first half of the Twentieth Century!).
We liked each other and within a couple of years reconnected in another parish where she had been placed for her theological preparation. It couldn't have been a better situation for a woman preparing for the priesthood. The rector was herself a strong feminist and even something of a man hater. Dopey, the Very Nice Young Man and I were all that remained of our Community of the Transfiguration and we spent a few months attending services there since it was almost our local parish church.
P Perfect became our friend and was soon a regular feature in our home for Sunday lunch. She worked part time as a librarian and I would sometimes run into her in our spanking new Roman Coliseum house of books, learning and community resources. As our Community was in its death throes we were soon having coffee or lunch together in the local warmed over hot spot café that used to be the hippest joint in the hood.
Eventually the shit really started to hit the fan with me and P Perfect became a very present and supportive friend. She bought some of my paintings, and commissioned a few. Mostly, she listened to me as I tried to make sense of this difficult and traumatic transition I was going through.
Her patience had its limits and she would almost fly into a rage at me at times for some of my less intelligent life choices. She was almost hyper-sensitive and also with a keen bourgeois sensibility. She didn't see me as fitting well with her various friends and associates because I was too punk or "spikey" for their refined senses. She seemed to find my honesty and transparency as infuriating as appealing but she was definitely a graduate with honours from the School of Nice.
She did more than she had to as I went from poor, to desperate to homeless. Towards the end of my odyssey without a fixed roof over my head she let me stay at her place for five days then got me in touch with a friend of hers who harboured me for two weeks before I found a place to live.
She was ordained and spent time as a fill-in at a parish in a wealthy neighbourhood. When I suggested that I drop in and visit some Sunday she was horrified telling me I was not the kind of people who would be welcome there. That was the first major blow to our friendship.
I eventually did the math and realized that P Perfect had been part of a group of high ranking Anglicans from Snooty Church and elsewhere who really wanted to keep me down and innocuous. I was considered a grave threat to the Anglican Church, or so it seemed, and they were determined to do everything they could to disempower me and keep me disempowered. Snooty Church has a lot to answer for since they played a pivotal role in worsening my mental health condition.
The last visit I had with P Perfect I tried over lunch to extort from her a confession. She admitted that I was right but begged me not to press her for details. So ended our friendship. She did find a church in the northern part of the province where she became rector. I have not heard from her or of her since. I still can't say whether or not I miss her.
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