Not So Pure and Simple

by Lamar Giles

  Outside of the study room, away from the windows and prying purity eyes, I said, “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Should I have told her I was hurt? Disappointed? Expecting something different than a purity class reunion? I motioned to the book in her hand. “You’re checking it out today?”

  “Sure. It won’t blow my cover now.”

  “So it was all good when you and Jameer got in last night? No problems?”

  “We told our parents it was a nice night so we decided to walk. They let us come out of the house today, so it seems like it worked.”

  “Cool.” The awkwardness was thick between us. I said, “I’m sorry about—”

  “It’s fine. It is.”

  “Timing.” I said it, hoping for, I don’t know.

  She shifted her weight foot to foot. Then her phone buzzed, and when she looked at the screen, her mouth turned up a bit. “Hey, I’m going to—” She pointed at it, made some jerky gestures that I took to mean she wanted to address whatever text message had come through. Alone.

  Inside the study room, it was all eyes on me. Mya asked, “Where’s Kiera?”

  I did a rough approximation of the gestures Kiera showed me a moment ago, and Mya was like, “Are you having an episode?”

  I sat without answering and Jameer said, “We didn’t get very far on the purity presentation. After you left someone”—he looked directly at Shanice—“wondered if you answered the last batch of questions I gave you.”

  “Dude.” Maybe I should point out how I was the only one holding up my end of the bargain. Fix my Kiera situation if you want your answers. What I actually said: “That is the opposite of what we’re here for.”

  Bobby spoke up. “Yeah, but we were all arguing about the presentation, nobody argued about this.”

  Jameer nudged my concession. “Do you have them with you?”

  “No. I bet you do, though.”

  Jameer flipped his phone out.

  I said, “Thought y’all wanted this anonymous.”

  “The questions are anonymous,” Jameer confirmed. “No one here knows who asked what. It’s like what Sister Vanessa says in class. A lot of times we’re all thinking the same thing, so no one should be ashamed of what we discuss in our group. Every topic can help everyone.”

  She did say that. Sounded, oddly, like MJ, too.

  “Fine.” From my seat, I dug out my laptop. “If this is what y’all really want?”

  Kiera returned, beaming. “So, did we decide? Fashion show?”

  Jameer broke the news. “Not exactly.”

  “No!” I spun my laptop toward the group, scrolled through a MythBusters-styled medical website in case someone needed proof. “It will not fall off, you won’t go blind, or grow hair on your palms.”

  The girls laughed hysterically. The Burton Brothers blushed. The anonymity of these questions didn’t hold up well to context clues.

  We’d worked through half their list, body curiosity stuff mostly. Kiera, disappointed that the group wasn’t more focused on Purity Pledge Squad Goals, zoned out fairly quickly. Earbuds in ears, eyes on phone.

  Twenty minutes and we’d burned through the list Jameer provided. Eyes were lit with the madness of forbidden knowledge, and no one was interested in resumed purity presentation brainstorming. Jameer proposed we used Ralph’s Lakers cap as a repository for everyone to toss in more anonymous questions on torn slips of paper. Ten minutes after that, a dense puddle of paper filled the hat.

  I plucked the first one up. “Am I supposed to shave my hair off down there?”

  “I think, only if you want to,” I said. The thought of a razor anywhere near my junk freaked me out, but I knew from . . . other internet research, some people were into it. As was our habit, they didn’t take my word for it. I entered the question in a search engine, and got several articles that echoed my answer, but also gave tips on how to accomplish the “landscaping” safely if it was your thing.

  Next question: I think my mom and dad do it a lot. They make noises. It doesn’t sound like fun noises, though. Is that weird?

  Some quick typing and a moment of reviewing results. My response: “It might be weird. Not necessarily bad weird. I mean, your parents might be into unusual stuff. That’s okay as long as they’re both into it. At least that’s what it says here.”

  Shanice asked a follow-up. “What kind of unusual stuff? Are there examples?”

  I scanned my results again, tried not to let my shock show. “Some people dress up as fuzzy animal mascots.”

  Everybody in the room pushed back into their chairs a little.

  I stirred the offerings, digging for a question at the bottom of the pile, really getting into my role as a sort of sexual raffle announcer. I touched a strip I liked, unfolded it, read the question a couple of times before I was brave enough to ask it.

  My cousin has Down syndrome. Is God punishing his mom because she wasn’t married when she had him?

  Tinny music secreting from Kiera’s earbuds was the only sound in the room. I couldn’t even hear their breaths.

  My gut answer was no. Hell no! I was still on the fence about God as a thing at all, if I was being honest, but if that’s how He worked, I didn’t want any part of Him. Me and the Purity Pledgers had our ways, though. My answer alone wouldn’t do.

  I typed the question into Google, and immediately got links to several mental health and parenting sites. When I clicked on them, I didn’t like them. Many were sketchy, badly in need of updates. Design aesthetics aside, there was no direct answer to the question—how could there be?—but the tone of the articles seemed really negative. Calling the syndrome a “death sentence” in some cases.

  Naw. Not doing it. I adjusted the search, using only the term “Down syndrome,” and got a great-looking site with simple stats and info. But, those didn’t answer the question either.

  They began to stir, shift, everyone uncomfortable. So much so, Kiera noticed and tugged the buds from her ears. “What’s wrong?”

  When I repeated the question, the flesh between her eyebrows pinched and her mouth became a flat line. She searched the faces of everyone in the room, read their concern. “Guys, no. Absolutely not. At least the God I believe in doesn’t punish people—babies—because He doesn’t like something their parents did. That’s monstrous. Sometimes people are born . . . unique.” She leaned sideways so far, I wondered if she’d fallen from her chair, but popped back up with her personal Bible. Her flipping pages sounded like bird’s wings beating the air, then she traced her finger down a particular page. “Here. Ezekiel 18:20 says, ‘the one who sins is the one who will die. The child will not share the guilt of the parent, nor will the parent share the guilt of the child.’”

  She gave a curt nod as if that cleared everything up. I got what the verse was supposed to mean. I’m sure it comforted some of the Purity Pledgers because it came from Kiera. But, I’d been thinking on the God thing more and more lately, and monstrous stuff happens on His watch all the time. Turn on the news.

  Jameer wasn’t sold either, obviously. With no Bible handy, or needed, he said, “Exodus 20:5 says the opposite. ‘I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me.’”

  Kiera sucked her teeth loudly. “You’re taking it out of context. The ‘those who hate me’ part is important.”

  “What’s hate really mean? Let Pastor tell it, anyone who doesn’t fall in line hates Him.”

  They bickered. Tossing out Bible chapters and verses back and forth like battle rappers. Then the Pledgers were in on it, the girls gravitating naturally to Kiera’s point. The Burton Brothers drawn toward Jameer. Me remembering why I zoned into my happy place instead of absorbing all this confusing and contradictory info on Sundays.

  The librarian shot us the stink eye again, on the move now, intending to shush us or kick us out, for sure.

  “Hey,” I hissed, “save the Bibl
e Bowl for later and get studious fast. We got company.”

  The librarian popped in and I apologized profusely, assured her we weren’t going to be a problem, and when we were left to our own devices again, I said, “Maybe we should talk about that fashion show, before we kill each other.”

  No one argued.

  We spent all day getting absolutely nowhere on the presentation, and by three that afternoon our group began to disperse, happy to move on with the rest of our day. Missus Burton got Ralph and Bobby first. Then the girls piled into Mya’s car for their ride home. Kiera remained preoccupied with her phone, breaking from her nonstop texting to say, “J, you okay getting home?”

  Jameer said, “I’m fine. I’m going to hang with Del for a bit.”

  Awesome. We had much to discuss.

  I gave my good friend Kiera a wave goodbye that she barely noticed. Mya’s bucket puttered out of the lot, leaving me and Jameer to recalibrate our plans.

  He shadowed me to the bike rack, where I undid my lock and asked, “Is she texting Mason?”

  He twisted away, sighed. Delaying.

  “Jameer.”

  “I think so.”

  I groaned at the sky. “How is this happening? Is he getting the same ‘timing’ excuses I am?”

  “I don’t know. Probably. She’s said a bunch of times that she’s not interested in a boyfriend right now.”

  “Because of Colossus.” We walked my bike from the library lot in the general direction of my house. “That asshole. What happened after we left the restaurant?”

  “Colossus and his friends got a booth. I guess they ate.”

  “You guess. Where did you go? Who dropped you off last night?” No quick answer that time. My overall frustration leaked. “It’s bullshit that you’re trying to keep secrets. I can be your perv question errand boy but you can’t tell me what’s got you so distracted that you don’t seem to really care that our well-laid plans are falling apart.”

  My bike gears continued clicking as I walked, but I was suddenly alone. I turned, found a frozen Jameer a dozen or so feet behind me. Scowling. “They’re not perv questions.”

  “What?”

  He unfroze, stomped toward me. “Like you give a shit about anything in my life.”

  That “shit” made me flinch. I’d never heard Jameer curse before. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re obsessed.”

  I dropped my bike. “I’m honoring the deal you proposed.”

  Jameer chewed his bottom lip.

  “No comeback? I didn’t recruit you, Jameer. You came to me”—I mocked his prim voice—“‘Because Pastor won’t like it.’ What did that even mean?”

  “It meant you were new, and interesting, and not brainwashed. That’s all the stuff Pastor hates.”

  “Wrong. He thinks my collages are incredible.”

  Jameer blinked. Blinked some more. “That was pretty funny.”

  “I know, right.” Some of the tension sloughed away. Not all.

  Jameer said, “I like you, Del. I want to tell you something very personal. Can I trust you?”

  “You have so far.” He struggled with it. I felt it. “Go on.”

  “The person driving the car last night is . . . my . . . boyfriend.” He turned his body sideways like boxers do when they want to become a smaller target, raised his hands halfheartedly, then went statue still. Waiting.

  Was I surprised? Yes and no. I hadn’t thought much about Jameer’s life, let alone his love life. When did I have time? So any new information was surprising. Was I going to hurt him over this revelation? Hell no. For as long as I could remember, my parents have taught me and Cressie not to hate on people for who they liked or loved. Once there was something on the news about people in our state protesting same-sex marriage. Dad said, “Gay couples should be allowed the right to the same dumb arguments about which way the toilet paper roll should go as straight couples.”

  Mom said, “The correct way is under. Anyone who says over is a monster.”

  The point of all that: “Okay.”

  Jameer said, “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s it?” His body sagged, abandoning the fighter’s stance.

  “I’m good if you are.”

  Relief came off him like a breeze; he wasn’t used to that reaction. Everything around us felt better. The tense energy from before . . . gone.

  For a little bit.

  Gathering my bike, I got us walking side by side again. “That’s why your parents are so hard on you. No door, no mirrors. It’s why you kind of hate Pastor Newsome. They don’t like your boyfriend and they’re punishing you for it.”

  His eyes got wide. “They don’t know about my boyfriend. They can’t know.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “They’re fixing me, Del.”

  That phrase, the way he said it, made the day about ten degrees cooler. I wasn’t going to pretend I knew much about being gay. I knew it wasn’t something that you fixed.

  His voice got fake deep, maybe mocking his dad. Or Newsome. “You’re confused. You have too much freedom. You’ve been corrrrupted!”

  “They told you that?”

  “It’s what they told me to say. To everyone in the congregation. Two years ago.”

  “Baring your soul.”

  His head jerked toward me, surprised, then not. “Kiera said something.”

  “The basics. It sounds horrible.”

  “It was horrible. The worst thing I’d ever had to do. My parents caught me looking at some shirtless muscular guys playing flag football in a YouTube video. It wasn’t porn.”

  My cheeks and forehead flamed. I pushed Lindy Blue to the deepest part of my subconscious.

  Jameer said, “Even then, it was a lie wrapped in a confession. Pastor Newsome was very clear that when I stood before the congregation, I was not to specify that my ‘impropriety’ was about someone of the same sex. Pastor told me, ‘We want this to be something you can come back from in the eyes of the congregation.’”

  “Dude, how do you keep stepping in that place every week?”

  “God.”

  I thought it was a joke. I almost laughed. His clenched jaw and downcast eyes killed those giggles.

  “My whole life First Missionary has been my church home. I love thinking about the good God does. The way there’s comfort in His words when things get hard, like when my grandma died. I want to see her again, in heaven, Del. I believe that’s something that can and will happen. I’ve seen how a little push from Him can help people be better, like when Jimmy Carmichael, the organ player at church, first came in saying he was addicted to drugs and thought he’d be dead within a year if we didn’t help him change. The church welcomed him, and prayed, and he got the strength to go to rehab. Stuff like that happens more than the bad stuff. Because I do believe God’s there with us.”

  “So why’s there bad stuff at all?” I was louder than I’d intended.

  “That’s a big question.”

  “No. It’s not. I’m not talking about why God lets bad stuff happen in the world, though we could talk about that, too. I mean why, in a place where Newsome has the power, does he force you to tell your deepest secrets? That dude, Jimmy, wanted to tell y’all what was happening in his life. He wanted y’all to chime in with prayers, or advice, whatever. Totally in bounds, because it was his choice. But why does Newsome get a pass to stick his nose in other stuff? Why doesn’t someone call him out on it?”

  Jameer ticked off the words slowly. “Why doesn’t someone at the church call out the pastor? You are, obviously, still very new at this, Del. Because you’d be considered an agent of Satan and nobody would listen. The faithful protect their pastor the way the really big guys in football protect that one slightly smaller guy who throws the ball.”

  “You’re talking about the offensive line and the quarterback, which you obviously know nothing about.”

  “Sorry. I wanted to put it in terms you get
. If you go after the pastor, a lot of big folks are in the way, and they’ll hurt you. I don’t want to get hurt anymore. I’m clockwatching, now. A year and a half until college. I’m going to the farthest one that will take me.”

  “Until then?”

  “I continue to mount my tiny rebellions. I’m like the guy who puts itching powder in the quarterback’s jockstrap before the game.”

  Does a guy like that exist? Were we still in sports analogy territory? “Do all of the Purity Pledgers know you’re gay?”

  “Maybe not Ralph and Bobby. I don’t think they know much of anything beyond their video games and hormones. Kiera knows, so the other girls probably do, too. We don’t talk about it.”

  “Why tell me all this now?”

  “So you know I’m being honest when I say you really have helped all of us in the Pledge. My parents are extreme with the laser-focused holiness, but the rest of them have their own barriers. Thanks to Newsome. I hope you’ll still want to help when I say this next, very honest thing.”

  He let that hang, like he needed me to agree before moving forward. “Okay.”

  “There’s not much more we can do with your Kiera situation.”

  My stomach twisted like an old dishrag, but I couldn’t say I was totally surprised.

  “Don’t be mad,” said Jameer, “she’s been really different since she broke up with Colossus. And, she needs—”

  “Time. I got it. It’s cool.” I didn’t want to talk about this anymore.

  We’d reached an intersection, and though we still needed to go in the same direction a ways before we split for our separate neighborhoods, Jameer said, “I think I’m going to walk downtown and get a burger.”

  He didn’t invite me to come along. I wouldn’t have accepted if he had. I preferred him when he had more of a “can do” spirit.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said, and turned my bike toward home before he could respond.

  I stewed the whole way, recalling every little moment since the Sunday I joined the Pledge, looking for the missteps and missed opportunities that had me still trying to crack the code on Kiera. She needed time and space, but there had to be a way to, subtly, let her know a guy like me was worth giving some of that time and allowing into her space. More so than an ass dude like Mason.