Ron
“I can’t wait to try this coffee place,” Trudy says. “I’m a McDonald’s iced latte girl myself.”
I have lied to Trudy. Sorry, God. But I know in my soul she is lying to me.
In fact, I can feel my entire family is hiding something.
We are going to get coffee, but after I take Trudy to church.
My heart pounds in my chest as I drive.
Why did I take Trudy in? Maybe Teddy is right. Maybe I’m trying to rewrite my tragic family history with a happy ending. I
know this unwavering belief in the good in people will either be my saving grace or my road to hell.
I glance over at Trudy admiring our city like the first-time tourist she is. Palm Springs isn’t just beautiful, it’s breathtaking.
The mountains aren’t just magical, they’re mystical. They change us. I only hope their light and shadows can change my passenger
as well.
I look down at my lime-green pants. Teddy always asks me if he can squeeze me into his gin and tonic when I wear them.
Or, is taking Trudy in my way of taking revenge on Teddy and the boys for not appreciating my efforts enough?
“The Center?” Trudy reads the name of the building as I enter the parking lot. “Is this the name of the coffee house?”
“Sort of,” I say. “They have coffee. It’s just bad. We’ll get the good stuff after.”
Trudy tugs herself out of my convertible and stops cold in the parking lot when she sees a rainbow flag and a sign that proclaims,
LGBTQ Community Center of the Desert.
“Ron?” she asks, not moving.
I walk over to Trudy.
“You wanted to go to church,” I explain. “Besides Church of Mary, this is where I go to find meaning in this world. It’s where
I go to do some good.”
She shakes her head.
“Please, Trudy. You’re in Palm Springs. You came to see your brother. Maybe it’s time you really saw him. And all of us.”
I tug her arm, and she takes a reluctant step and then another until we’re in the lobby.
“Morning, Ron!” employees, volunteers and visitors call as we head down a long hallway to a meeting room in the back of the
building.
“What is this?” Trudy asks, stopping at the door.
“The Center provides a safe and welcoming environment for our vibrant LGBTQ+ community,” I explain. “I volunteer here. I am
a sponsor for those who are struggling. I also provide free design services for the Center and those who receive housing.
And on Wednesday mornings, I attend a meeting for victims of abuse—be it sexual, verbal or physical—by their families, spouses,
lovers, coworkers or society. It’s where we can talk about our experiences. Many of us, including me, have been victimized
by abuse at the hands of not only those we love but also by religion, Trudy.”
“No,” she says. “I won’t let you defile my God by subjecting me to this nonsense.”
“Your brother and I nearly took our own lives,” I say, my hand on her arm. “I think you need to understand what a lifetime
of systematic abuse does to us. All of us. I think it would help you appreciate your brother better. Just give it ten minutes. You can leave at any time, deal?”
Trudy moves slowly into the room. I pour us two cups of coffee, and we take seats in the back.
We listen to story after story, each gut-punching, heart-wrenching and agonizing, from beautiful souls who have been tortured
for simply being beautiful souls. When it ends, we pray, the crowd disperses. Trudy and I remain seated.
“I didn’t know that gay men had faith,” Trudy finally says.
“Oh, honey, that’s all we have,” I say, my laughter echoing through the room.
She sips her coffee and cocks her head. “Please, go on.”
“Well, as you just heard, many of us have experienced nothing in this world but hate, like Jesus,” I say. “We often have no
family, no love, no respect, no rights, no acceptance, and yet—yet!—we find a way through to the other side. In spite all of this hatred, we emerge from our cocoons as these remarkable creatures.
And the one thing we have to guide us to this new place is faith, not only in ourselves and our community but in a higher
power. Did you hear the power of our people this morning? How else do you think we survive?”
I study Trudy.
“You live in a small town . . .”
“That’s not fair,” Trudy interrupts.
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. I grew up in a small town, too, but your view of the world is narrow.
I would guess you are largely surrounded by those who, for the most part I’m sure, all think, act and believe much as you do.
I understand. We can all start to live in a bubble where we just want to feel safe from change.
But that is not the world today. It is big and diverse, filled with many different characters we need to make our story complete.
The world today is a rainbow of different races, religions, orientations, beliefs.
Not one is right. Not one is wrong. But when you experience that, your worldview changes.
You see people who may be different from you not as a category or a group but simply as people. ”
“But my faith has taught me that how you live is wrong. It is written.”
“And everything that is written has been rewritten. Welcome to Hollywood!”
Trudy doesn’t laugh. I try again.
“Do you ever watch an old rerun of Johnny Carson on social media and cringe at the way he talked to women? What we thought was okay at one time isn’t okay later on. We evolve
as a society.”
“Some things are set in stone,” Trudy says firmly.
“I believe that gay men and women have always been the target of hate, but I also believe that we’re reading our own cultural
bias into a text that is talking about different things. Does that make sense?”
She shakes her head. “Such as?” she asks.
“Such as sexual violence and the Ancient Near East’s stigma toward violating male honor, for one. Such as a society that is
nervous about retaining its healthy family lineages, and the sexual exploitation of young men by older men,” I say. “I know
I can’t convince you, or anyone else, to believe otherwise, but I am saying we choose to focus on those passages of the Bible
that are the easiest to use to discriminate.”
I reach over and pull the collar of Trudy’s top.
“Excuse me,” I say, gently exposing the label. “Just as I thought. You should be killed right now for wearing a cotton blend.
According to Leviticus, that is.”
She gasps. “You’re good.”
“I’ve studied the Bible,” I say, “but I’ve also just studied people.
Yes, I am a Christian, but there are many things I hate about Christianity.
I am a gay man, and yet there are many things I don’t like about our community.
I am a Midwesterner, and there are many things that appall me about the Midwest. But I am all of these things, Trudy, and they have made me who I am.
We are all flawed in God’s eye, but we probably judge ourselves more harshly than He ever will.
I cannot hate. So I give. Usually too much of myself, as I am doing with you right now.
I give so much of myself to others, in fact, that I’m too much for most men.
I get trampled on for being an open book.
It’s why I’m single. But I have come to terms with that in this life.
I have found love in my friends, community and work. I have found love through my faith.”
“I’m so worried about my brother,” she finally says. “It feels like he’s hiding something.” Trudy looks at me. “Do you ever
pray for Teddy?” she asks. “I pray for him every day.”
“I always pray for Teddy. But he doesn’t need it,” I say. “I think he’s good with God.”
Her expression changes to bewilderment. “How?” she asks. “He drinks too much. He’s so angry and mean. So conflicted and flawed.
He always has been.”
“How could he be any other way with all he’s endured?” I ask. “Just like those stories you heard today. Teddy is brutally
honest, not only with himself but also the world. He is fully transparent, whereas most people are not. God knows exactly
where Teddy stands, and I think He likes that quite a bit.”
“Do you pray for yourself?” Trudy asks. “I pray for myself even more these days.”
I shake my head. “Rarely. Perhaps only for guidance. Otherwise, it seems so self-serving. I want my actions to serve as my
words. My faith has taught me to always try to be a better person.”
“Is that why you went against Teddy and invited us to stay?”
“You just looked like someone who could use a friend right now.” I smile at her. “Now, let’s go get a decent cup of coffee.”