Chapter Seventeen #2
I didn’t need to ask what he meant. For the next three minutes, the congregation was treated to an infomercial about a pray-the-gay-away ministry.
Tearstained Jimmy, holding his head in his hands in a dark room, whose homosexual thoughts made him feel helpless and suicidal.
Tattooed, pierced-up Amelia, who had lost sight of God due to her homosexuality.
How, thanks to trained counselors, hard work, and help from Jesus himself, these lost souls regained their faith and their heterosexuality and were now married with three beautiful, beaming, white children.
As the video played, my cheeks went red-hot and it felt like a spotlight had trained on me.
The congregation around me disappeared into the darkness.
Pastor Hardeman cleared his throat to direct attention back to himself. “As many of you know, the liberal lawmakers have banned ministries like this in Illinois.”
There was an indistinct murmur from the congregation. Dad ran his hand through his hair and Missy glanced warily at me.
“Fortunately, Your Way Home Ministries operates just across the Missouri border and gladly accepts anyone in need. Our special collection today will go to support their noble work, returning gays and lesbians to the lives God intended for them. Please open your hearts this morning and help their cause.”
As I watched the collection plates travel from person to person, my body began to tremble with a rage I had no idea how to contain.
This time, my parents were not stupid enough to pass the plate in my direction.
Instead, they sent it right back toward the bewildered usher.
I didn’t notice whether or not they had contributed.
As the ushers began to march back up the aisle so Pastor Hardeman could praise the congregation on their willingness to pity the poor queers, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was done being a part of this, just plain done. “This is unconscionable.”
My whole family jumped and there was a huge creaking, shuffling sound as literally every head in the building turned to stare at me. Pastor Hardeman eyed me coldly, a look of annoyed confusion on his face as if there was a large fly in the room and he wasn’t sure how it’d gotten there. “Pardon me?”
“This is unconscionable, reprehensible, and irresponsible. This attitude doesn’t keep people alive, it promotes self-hatred and drives people to suicide.”
Dead silence. My mother’s eyes were closed, as if perhaps if she didn’t look at me, I’d cease to exist. My father was wearing a pained expression.
The woman sitting directly in front of us was gaping, her nose wrinkled up like I’d farted.
Her husband looked bewildered. I glanced around at all those faces, some I’d known since I was born, some belonging to complete strangers, and the silence continued.
When someone finally coughed, half the congregation swung around to glower at him for daring to interrupt.
Pastor Hardeman stood there, hands clasped as if to protect his genitals, his face white as a sheet.
I wanted to tell him that our youth group had mocked his sermons and attempted to conduct seances using altar candles during lock-ins in the church basement.
I wanted to tell him that his son had raped me in the downstairs bathroom during bible study. I wanted to take a bow.
“If you believe God created all of us, then God created me exactly as I am, and she doesn’t fuck up.
Now if you want to spend your money supporting the gays, I take cash, check, or Venmo.
” With that, I picked my way past my brother and his family, out of the row and down the side aisle, still surrounded in such intense silence that my footsteps echoed.
Without looking back, I continued out the door and sat on the cold stone steps to reflect on what I had just done.
My brother burst out after me. “Holy fucking shit, Sam!”
I held up my hand. “Don’t.”
“Are you crazy? I mean, that was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but Mom is going to have to bury herself in a pit. I don’t know which was more amazing, when you dropped the f-bomb or when you called God a woman.”
“Damn it.” I stood up and paced the sidewalk for a while, considering the church doors as if I might want to take it back, not that I could. Nope. No way. With a fresh surge of anger, I turned to the lawn, kicked one of the crosses, and sent it flying.
Kevin gasped. We stared at one another for a moment, then the corners of his eyes began to crinkle and he burst out laughing. “Oh my God, Sam. You’re really going to hell for that one.”
“Whatever.” I sat back down before I could launch another one.
“You seriously just punted an aborted fetus.”
“In effigy.” I closed my eyes tightly and held my head. “And I think it was more like a three-point conversion.”
“Yeah, you got some distance.”
“I think I should probably go home now.”
“I can take you. I’ll get back before Missy’s ready to go.”
“No, I mean home home.”
Kevin gave me a weak smile. “Yeah. I’ll take you back to the house.” He stood up and jingled his keys. “Are you going to fix that cross?”
I gave him a look and headed toward the parking lot. “No. Are you?”
Five hours later, I lay naked in my bed next to Lisa. Ollie had been gnawing on a yak cheese chew down the hall for a good amount of time.
“How was this morning?”
“Hmm. I told off the pastor for collecting money for a pray-the-gay-away camp, dropped the f-bomb, told the congregation that God was a she and that I take Venmo, and booted a cross that was supposed to memorialize an abortion.”
“So pretty good.”
“My mother is never going to speak to me again.”
Lisa sat up. “Wait, you’re serious?”
I closed my eyes. “Yes.”
“Whoa.”
“My mother is never going to speak to me again.”
“How about the rest of your family?”
I honestly had no idea. “My brother thinks I’m a rock star, but I’m not sure about my dad and Missy. They’re embarrassed for me, I’m sure.”
“I’m going to start with this. How does Venmo play into this?”
Before I could say anything, absolute exhaustion washed over me.
This wasn’t just after-sex spent, this was drained to the bone.
It was like even opening my mouth was going to expend so much energy I’d die.
I supposed I’d made the scene and driven home before that sex, but I really didn’t see it coming.
I stared at the ceiling, saying nothing.
Lisa lay back down. “Sam?”
“Sorry. It just hit me that I’m so tired. I can’t explain.”
She waited for a long time. “Okay, maybe not Venmo.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be frustrating.
I probably just need to process this.” Over the next couple of minutes, I gave Lisa a nutshell version of what I’d done.
I wanted to give her more background, to tell her about all the bullshit I’d been through there, but that was too much.
I felt ashamed and embarrassed and I hated that.
I wanted to feel bold and vindicated. I wanted to know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I did the right thing. Honestly, I just wanted to sleep.
“I think you did the right thing,” she said. “Maybe not kicking the cross, but you were angry.”
“Saying fuck in a church?”
“Icing on the cake. You’re a storyteller, Sam. You just wrapped things up.”
“What about my mother?”
“That’s the epilogue. Wait until tonight, then call her.”
We did work for about an hour, but we were quiet and subdued. I wasn’t sure if I’d messed things up by hesitating earlier or if what I’d done really was reprehensible and she was just building me up because she thought that was what I wanted to hear. Oh, I needed sleep.
Before I went to bed, though, I called my mother. She did not answer the phone.
My mother did not answer the phone on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday. I left messages twice, apologizing for causing a scene. I did not apologize for feeling the way I felt, but I was quite sure she wouldn’t separate one from the other. I sent texts. I wrote emails. Nothing.
I finally called my father, who, for once, did not sound surprised to hear from me.
I asked if Mom was okay, and he hemmed and hawed a bit then said yes.
I asked if I could speak with her, and he said she was at work.
She’d spent a lot of time at work lately.
I told him to please ask her to call me. She did not call.
Okay, so it took until I was forty-six, but my mother had finally disowned me.
I had a roof over my head and transportation.
I had an awesome best friend in Ollie. I had a wonderful girlfriend.
I was not fifteen years old and kicked out onto the streets.
Did it hurt? I couldn’t even tell. I felt empty, mostly, empty and lonely.
All the while, I was writing consistently.
It was surprising, but I could do it. By Thursday morning, I got to the point where I spent the day reading from the beginning.
Since I had class that night, I didn’t finish until Friday afternoon, but when I did, I put the last few touches on it.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a first draft: Run To You was done.
I gave Ollie a big kiss, grabbed my phone, and texted Lisa. Hey I’m off tonight – want to go out? Celebrate finally getting through the first draft?
I waited for a while. She was probably still at school. As the time ticked away, though, I started to get antsy. This was a big deal, at least to me, and it made me nervous that she hadn’t at least taken a second to respond.