Covet Thy Neighbor

by L. A. Witt

  He smiled. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He started toward his apartment and I started toward mine, but I hesitated.

  “Hey, um.” I cleared my throat. “I know we don’t necessarily see eye to eye on beliefs, but that… that outreach program.” I paused. “Is there any way I can help? You know, help the kids out?”

  “We need all the help we can get.” As he pulled his keys out of his pocket, he turned toward me again. “Do you have any evenings off coming up?”

  “Monday and Tuesday.”

  “Why don’t you come by on Monday, then? If you don’t have anything else going on? The youth group usually helps out on Wednesday nights, but the other nights can get a little thinly staffed.”

  “I can be there Monday, yeah.”

  “Great.” He smiled. “I really appreciate it. Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’D SWORN up and down for the past several years that I’d never set foot in a church again, but here I was, walking through the front door of the New Light Church. On the way across the threshold, I was strangely tempted to stop and cross myself. Very weird for a nonspiritual person who’d never been Catholic, but going into a place like this, I’d take all the wards and protections I could get.

  Relax. It’s just a church. And it’s not that church.

  So like a vampire strolling onto holy ground, I walked inside.

  This definitely wasn’t one of those gaudy megachurches like the one my family had attended. No multimillion-dollar facility. No gilded statues and candle holders in front of massive speakers. No elaborate stained glass or giant screens at the front of a sanctuary with stadium seating and surround sound.

  It was almost like a glorified community center. I half expected the sanctuary to be full of folding chairs instead of pews, but it did have pews. Weathered ones with the odd crack or stain, but pews.

  Though it was nothing like the church I’d attended eons ago, it had its familiar points. A black-covered, gold-embossed Bible. Uniform hymnals with their red-edged pages. The odd painting of a pensive, Caucasian Christ.

  All those familiar things and the single large wooden cross at the front of the sanctuary were like a weird connection between what I’d believed back then and what I believed now. The memory of my feelings about that icon—the sense of peace and devotion—was crystal clear, but somehow disconnected. Like I’d picked up the emotional memories of someone else. Someone who would never in a million years wonder how anyone could find peace in a symbol akin to a hangman’s noose.

  “Seth?”

  I shook my head and then turned toward the sound of Darren’s voice.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I rolled my shoulders under my hoodie, pretending I didn’t feel like I was breaking out in hives. “Just, um….” And how exactly do I explain this?

  “There’s no holy water,” he said. “So you shouldn’t have to worry about it bubbling or frothing when you walk by.”

  I laughed. “Well, that’s always a plus.”

  He chuckled, but his brow was still creased. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I swallowed. “I’m fine. It’s just a little surreal to be back in a church after so long.” A little surreal? Understatement.

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said. “If you’re sure you’re all right, though, I’ll show you around.”

  “Right. Sure.” I followed him farther into the church.

  “There isn’t really much to it. The classrooms behind the sanctuary have been converted into dorms. The pastor and his wife live in the apartment over there”—he nodded toward the left side of the sanctuary—“and volunteers stay here in shifts so there’s also at least two people over eighteen in the building. And in about”—he checked his watch—“thirty minutes, the other volunteers will be here to start getting dinner put together for the kids. After they’ve eaten, it can be anything from helping them study or apply for colleges to playing dodgeball in the sanctuary.”

  “Dodgeball?” I blinked. “In the sanctuary?”

  “What? You’re not afraid to play against a bunch of kids, are you?”

  “Pfft. I’ll wipe the floor with them.”

  Darren flashed me a grin. “I’ll remember that when I’m helping you ice a black eye at the end of the night.”

  I laughed. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.”

  Chuckling, he gestured for me to follow him. “All right, let’s put you to work before you get into trouble.”

  “It’s almost frightening how well you seem to know me.”

  He just grinned again. And I shoved all my thoughts about how well I wanted to know him to the back of my mind.

  He took me back and introduced me to some of the kids who were staying in the church’s makeshift dorm. That was eerie and more than a little disturbing, seeing all these kids—mostly sixteen or seventeen, one who couldn’t have been more than thirteen—essentially homeless and turned out on their own. There had been many times over the last several years when I was thankful I’d dodged that bullet, that when my family had disowned me, I’d been an adult with the capability of getting on my feet, even if it took some struggling. This was one of those times.

  As everyone started migrating from the dorms toward the kitchens, I noticed one kid sitting off to the side in the sanctuary, refusing to acknowledge anyone else and making no move to join everyone. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her blouse sat on shoulders that—

  Wait.

  The shape of the shoulders. The lack of shape in the hips. Makeup covering a jawline that was coarser than I’d have expected. My heart sank. At this age, most boys pined for that time when they could justify shaving more than once or twice a week. This poor girl was well ahead of that curve.

  I turned to Darren and gestured at the girl. “Hey, is she okay?”

  He sighed. “Sometimes it takes a while for kids to feel like they’re part of the group. She’s the only trans girl here right now, and I think she’s self-conscious about her voice.”

  “Her voice?”

  “You think it sucked when we were teenagers and our voices kept cracking?” He nodded toward her. “Think how that must be for her.”

  I grimaced. “Poor kid.”

  “No kidding.”

  I looked over at the kids heading into the kitchen. Then at the girl sitting by herself. “Listen, um, can you do without me for a few minutes?”

  Darren turned to me and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Why?”

  “I’m going to see if I can talk to her.”

  “Good luck,” Darren said without a trace of sarcasm. “I’ve tried, but….”

  “Couldn’t hurt to try.”

  He followed the other kids, and I walked back to where the girl sat alone. As I approached her, I said, “Hi,” silently cursing my own awkwardness.

  No response.

  I sat beside her but kept a comfortable foot or so between us. “You all right? You’re awfully quiet.”

  She turned away, and I cringed on her behalf when her Adam’s apple jumped.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  She glared at me and pointed at the name tag on her blouse.

  “Josephine.” I extended my hand. “I’m Seth.”

  She didn’t take my hand and instead turned her head away again.

  I chewed my lip. “You know, there’s—”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone, all right?” she snapped, her cheeks immediately reddening under her makeup. Darren was right: her voice was caught in that limbo between a boy’s and a woman’s, not quite out of the higher register of the former but trying really hard to dip into a register that was too low for the latter. Nothing sabotaged an attempt to master a female speaking voice like that bitch called puberty.

  Josephine clenched her jaw.

  “Listen, um….” I cleared my throat. “I might be able to help you with your voice.”

>   She didn’t speak.

  “There’s a vocal teacher at Tucker U,” I said. “She can work with you.”

  “I don’t want to learn to sing,” she growled. “I just want to talk without—” Her voice cracked, and she made a frustrated gesture at her throat.

  I nodded. “Yeah, but she can help you learn control.”

  Josephine’s brow furrowed, but the tension in her shoulders lessened. “Does that… does that work?”

  “It helps.” I smiled. “A friend of mine took singing lessons when she was transitioning and wound up the lead singer in a metal band.”

  For the first time since I’d seen her, some of the hostility lessened in Josephine’s expression. “Really?”

  “Yep. She was damn good. And she could turn around and nail some of the lower notes, which made her an amazing musician.”

  “And she….” Josephine hesitated, shifting a little so she was facing me. “She passed? For a girl, I mean?”

  “To be honest, I didn’t even know she was born male until a good six months after I joined her band.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You’re in a band?” Then she eyed at my arms. “I guess you do kind of fit the part.”

  “Should I take that as a compliment?”

  She managed a laugh too, even if it was quiet. “So, what? Are you in one of those Christian metal bands or something?”

  “Uh, no.” I chuckled. “I don’t think they’d let me stay in a Christian band for very long.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because a prerequisite for a band like that is—” My teeth snapped shut as I remembered, a little too late, where I was. “Um, well….”

  “I thought the only prerequisite was you had to be a crappy musician.”

  I laughed. “Well, okay, there’s that. But you also have to be a Christian.”

  Josephine blinked. “You’re… not?”

  I shook my head. “I’m an atheist. Have been for a long time.”

  “Oh yeah?” She looked up at me. “Then why are you here?”

  “Because what happened to you and half the kids here,” I said, “happened to me.”

  “It did?”

  I nodded. “My parents found out I was gay, and they disowned me.”

  “But this is a church.”

  “I know. But Darren—Pastor Romero, I mean—and I are friends.” Just friends. Just. Friends. “He said they needed some help down here, so….”

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “So your parents really disowned you too?”

  I nodded. “Haven’t spoken to them in years.”

  “What happened?”

  I forced back the sick feeling that always came with rehashing this story. “I grew up in Los Angeles. My parents were hard-core Christian. Like… hard-core. So I was raised that way, and it was one of those crazy extremist churches. Nothing like this.” I waved a hand at our surroundings. “I think you could fit this place in a bathroom stall at that church.”

  Josephine laughed. “No way.”

  “Trust me. Anyway, I was here in Tucker Springs going to college. My parents were paying for everything, so I was living the dream. Just studying, playing in a band or two, doing some partying. Didn’t have to worry about a job or anything.” I took a deep breath. Just saying this part never got much easier. “And then I came out to my parents.”

  Josephine’s eyes widened. “What’d they do?”

  “They flew in with our pastor and my godparents and tried to take me back to LA. They were going to try to force me into one of those programs that makes you straight. You know what I’m talking about?”

  She shuddered. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Well, fortunately, since I was an adult, they couldn’t. Didn’t stop them from trying, but… yeah. And then they completely cut me off. Cut off my tuition, closed my bank account, canceled my credit cards, took my car back, the whole works. I had to get on my own feet almost overnight with no real work experience and absolutely nothing to my name.” I paused. “The worst part, though? They told me as long as I was gay, I was no son of theirs, and I haven’t heard from them since.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “It’s been….” I ran the dates through my head. “Man, it’s been years now.”

  “And you haven’t talked to them since?” A note of disappointment crept into her tone. “At all?”

  “Nope.”

  “But you still got on your feet?” Josephine held my gaze now, like she was searching for something in my expression. “I mean, you did okay? Even after they cut you off?”

  “Yeah. It was hard for a while. I did a lot of couch-surfing, and believe me, there is no one on the planet who knows more ways to prepare ramen. But I got it together.”

  She was quiet for a moment. Then, speaking so softly I almost couldn’t hear her, she asked, “Do you miss them?”

  “Sometimes. I miss being part of a family, but to be honest? The longer I’ve been away from them, the more I’m at peace with it.”

  Josephine swallowed, and she lowered her gaze. “How do you make peace with your family kicking you out?”

  “Well, think about it.” I kept my tone as gentle as possible. “Would you want to be friends with someone who thinks you’re less than human, or that you’re not worthy of being loved?”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “It’s kind of like when you break up with someone,” I said. “It sucks, and it hurts, and it takes a while to get over it, but then one day you realize that if that’s how they are, then you really are better off without them in your life. Doesn’t make it easy, and it doesn’t stop hurting, but it does get better.”

  Josephine said nothing for a long moment. I wasn’t sure if I should keep talking or just let her digest everything, but I also wasn’t sure what I could say.

  After a while she said, “So what do you do now? You’re just a musician?”

  “No, I play in bands for fun. Never really suited me as a professional thing, and I’m not even in a band at the moment. My job is”—I pointed at the sleeve on my left arm—“tattoos.”

  “Really? So you’re an atheist, and you tattoo people for a living while you play in rock bands, but you’re….” She looked around. “Here?”

  “You’d better believe it.” I gestured behind us in the direction of the kitchen, where all of the other kids had gone. “All these kids are in the same boat you are, and when I was out on my ass a few years ago, I would have given my right arm for a place like this.”

  “Even in a church?”

  “Didn’t matter where. I just needed people. You know, someone there who still treated me like I was a human being.”

  Josephine’s shoulders sagged beneath her blouse. She folded her arms and leaned forward, resting them on her legs. “I really miss my family.”

  “I know you do. Sometimes I still miss mine. But if they think you’re not good enough for them, then… they’re not good enough for you.”

  “How do you live without a family, though?”

  “Family’s not all there is. There’s friends. I didn’t know a soul in Tucker Springs when I came here, but now I’ve got a bunch of great friends here. In fact, one of my buddies from that church I grew up in moved here a while back, and he’s living with one of my best friends.” I paused. “And you know, sometimes there are advantages to not having your family around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I offered a cautious grin. “Well, for one thing, you don’t have to spend the holidays with people you don’t like.”

  Josephine laughed, but then her voice cracked, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks reddened. “Damn it.”

  “It’s all right. I’m telling you, my friend can help you with that. So, here.” I dug an old gas receipt out of my wallet and wrote Diana’s phone number on the back of it. “Give her a call and tell her you know Seth Wheeler. And don’t worry about paying for the lessons. She and I will work something out.”

&
nbsp; She smiled, folding up the receipt and slipping it into her purse. “Thanks. And thanks for talking to me.”

  “Anytime.” I gestured over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “Why don’t we go see about getting you something to eat? Sounds like they’re going to turn this place into a dodgeball court before too long.”

  We got up, and when I turned around, Darren was there, staring slack-jawed at me. Josephine wandered past him, and he watched her go, blinking a few times.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That….” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you did, but….”

  “It worked.”

  “Yes, it did.” He held my gaze. “I shouldn’t be so surprised you’re good with kids, but….”

  “I just know where she’s coming from.”

  “Well, do feel free to come down here anytime,” he said. “These kids could definitely use someone like you.”

  I smiled. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Thanks.”

  By all rights, we should have broken eye contact and headed toward the kitchen. We didn’t, though, and now my heart started doing weird things.

  I cleared my throat. “You’re, um, sure you want an atheist around here all the time?”

  “I want you around here all the time.”

  The statement made me jump. It took me a second to realize he meant he wanted me around to help with the outreach. Right?

  I forced a grin. “Is this part of that whole ‘love thy enemy’ thing?”

  Darren frowned. “You’re not the enemy, Seth.”

  And still, we kept looking at each other.

  My heart pounded. This wasn’t the time or place. And Darren? I couldn’t. I just—

  “Well, I’m not your enemy now,” I said. “But we’ll see what happens if we’re on opposite sides on the dodgeball court.”

  “Oh really? I’ve had more practice than you, you know.”

  I clapped his shoulder and we started toward the kitchen. “I guess we’ll see if it’s done you any good. I mean, as long as you’re not scared.”

  “Scared?” Darren raised an eyebrow. “Bring it on.”

  “I CAN’T believe he nailed me right in the goddamned face.” I rubbed the tender spot above my cheekbone.