The night before, Pete had said, “Paul definitely told Kevin and Mike St. Germaine about you, but by now, the others have probably gotten wind of it.” And as Tom watched, following the opening prayer, he saw eye contact being made across the table; some eyes avoided his. Kevin was unusually quiet and kept grinning, glancing down the table to Paul’s end. Kevin had been quiet in the car on the way over, avoiding Tom’s eyes. He and Pete had exchanged looks about Kevin’s behavior in the car; Tom decided now that Kevin definitely sided with Paul. As at other dinners, Tom let Paul open the conversation. He could always depend on him to jump right into some detailed discussion. Early on, at these dinners, Tom had realized the importance they held for Paul and had casually, thankfully, let him have his way with the other guys.
He picked up a silver fork and poked around in the limp salad. No comparison to the lively rich greens and tomatoes from Mrs. Reece’s garden, Tom thought. Paul munched on a tomato dripping with Thousand Island dressing. “Brother Allen made a good point this morning on forgiveness,” Paul began. Crunch. Crunch. “’One must prepare himself for forgiveness as well as he prepares for communion’, as your father says, Brother Thomas.”
Pete rolled his eyes at Tom as if to say, Oh, brother!
Tom glanced his way, wanted to smile, but decided to play serious for awhile.
“What does that mean, Paul?” Mike St. Germaine asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he said, “that to be forgiven you must be of clean spirit?” Mike was sitting about midway between Tom and Paul on Tom’s left. The guys all looked at Mike, then divided their attention between Paul and Tom.
“Exactly,” Paul said. He paused, as if thinking. He speared another tomato wedge, then with it on the tip of the fork, he pointed vaguely toward Tom. Tom saw a familiar blaze in Paul’s eyes that said, Watch this trick. Paul said, “You can’t be forgiven for sins of the flesh, just because you ask, Brothers.” He looked around, nodded at a couple of the guys, then stuffed the tomato into his mouth. His tiny rodent’s teeth sank into the meat of the tomato and his thin lips closed over the carnage. “Let’s say you make quite a show of asking forgiveness.” he paused again, and Tom thought it was well done. He bet every guy at the table remembered his repentance in front of the church last Sunday, making quite a show.Paul sneered, “but then you continue in the same old way you always have. Of course, you shouldn’t expect Jesus to intercede, should you, Brother Thomas?”
“No!” Kevin said, suddenly, and seeing attention turn his way, he sat up proudly, grinning.
Tom didn’t answer, and in the silence that followed, Paul pounced again. “So, isn’t that right, no matter how much you pray, unless you fully intend at the time of repentance to…to cleanse your thoughts.that lead to your foulness, you can forget about salvation?”
Pete leaned over to Tom and whispered, “Sounds rehearsed, huh?”
Tom nodded. Rehearsed as hell, he thought. Paul sounded like a puppet, suddenly animated of its own volition, sitting in its chair with the puppet master absent, the wooden mind stuck and going through its nightclub act. His knees had begun to quiver under the table. Paul was very good, but completely obsessed with his purpose. What better way to dig at me, he thought, than to think up little pointed remarks beforehand?
“Did Mary Magdalene have a clean sprit?” someone else asked. “She was a fallen woman. She made her living that way, yet Christ forgave her.”
Tom saw the frown on the questioner’s face and the searing look Paul shot him. Tom’s answer would have been Jesus’ admonition to go and sin no more, but he wanted to see how Paul would handle it.
“Yeah, was her spirit clean?” someone across the table agreed. “She was a hooker, man.”
“The Bible clearly says ‘be of pure spirit.’” Paul blundered, and Tom felt the smallest smile creep up on his face. He cleared his throat and quickly stuffed a bite of salad into his mouth to cover it.
“And Christ said, ‘Let him among you who has not sinned cast the first stone!” Pete said, almost shouting. He was visibly angry, and Tom thought, too caught up in Paul’s game.
Kevin looked at Pete with a smirk. “Whoa, there, pal! This is just a friendly discussion.”
“No, it isn’t!” Pete said, loudly. “And I’m kind of sick of this whole fake—” Tom kicked him under the table. Their eyes caught briefly and Tom shook his head very slightly. Pete frowned back and began eating.
Tom saw, from the silent casting about of eyes, who believed Paul, who nodded firmly at Pete’s challenge. A few of the guys looked at Tom, asking for help, but he went on eating, trying to calm his own nervousness. I’m going to do it, he decided finally.
For a moment, the conversation seemed to die. Most of the guys seemed to be embarrassed and began cutting into their steaks. Only Paul and one or two others seemed cool. These are the ones on Paul’s side, Tom thought.
Tom began to relax, like getting over stage fright when the play is under way. He was glad for the chance to tell these guys his side. At one time or another, they had liked him. They were, after all, the members of the church who, over the past year, Tom had seen most often. Paul had said just last week that they were sometimes in awe of him. He ate quietly, deliberately staying out of the argument. He bet that Paul was itching for him to start quoting scripture. But Tom didn’t cooperate. He was tired of Bible thumping, weary of Paul’s particularly snotty brand of it. That’s what it was, this whole concern of Paul’s. Who can be the most religious? Too bad Paul wasn’t the Christian he so much wanted to be. He was a caricature of one. Tom laughed to himself at the picture of Paul
Romaine, elder’s son of a dinky church, in a dinky town, in the middle of nowhere, lurking around ponds, peeking in windows, spreading rumors, and trying to stop Tom’s evil sex, before it destroyed who knew what?
He had to keep in mind exactly what it was he was doing there. It was like the last day of class before summer vacation, and he felt like just getting up and shrugging off the whole afternoon. But he’d be damned if he didn’t take at least one good swing at Paul for trying to force things between him and his father, for getting the disciples involved. They were good guys, most of them, and the church didn’t need to be dragged into the mud either.
Tom still hadn’t spoken, but as the dinner was nearing dessert, he put down his fork. He rested his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. He looked directly into Paul’s face and stared until Paul became quiet. Paul stared back, unable to look away. The others soon noticed and sat still. Not a breath sounded at the table.
When he did speak, Tom kept his voice quiet, and Paul had to lean forward from his end of the table to hear. “I know what you’re up to, Paul. And because of you, I’m going to leave this church. What you’re trying to do, whether you’ll admit it or not is to ruin my life. It doesn’t have anything to do with me being a sinner, does it, man? You’re working your little heart out, you have been all afternoon, to set me up for a big crash.”
Paul looked surprised. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“No!” Paul said with conviction.
“Really? Aren’t you planning to tell my father that I’m having sex with my friend, Joel?”
Everyone had stopped eating, and even the waitress, who had been hovering nearby fiddling with water glasses and dessert plates stopped to listen. Tom caught a glimpse of her shocked face and knew she’d heard. It made his own face flush a little, but like
Paul, he was now too caught up in his purpose to stop, regardless of the consequences.
“You’re going to upset the whole church, man. Why have you been making up stuff, spying on us? Did you know Joel saw you at the pond?” He watched, satisfied, that Paul hadn’t. “Just tell these guys.” Tom looked around, “what it is you want. Tell me too, Paul, because I sure can’t figure it out.”
“Brother! I swear to you as your true friend, I’m not trying to hurt the church. Why should I do that? I love the church. I love you, Tom. I just want to
bring you back to Jesus! You’re lost, Tom, and you don’t even know it.”
Tom gazed slowly, deliberately, over the group, then let his eyes rest on Pete’s upturned face. Pete was grinning widely.
“Look, guys. “I’m out. Not because I particularly want to be. You’ve got to understand that. I think I am a Christian. I think most of you are. But what Paul is doing is just plain wrong. If it was one of you guys.you know, who were homosexual, I wouldn’t go spreading it around behind your back. If I thought it was wrong, I’d talk to you about it to your face. But look what Paul’s doing, how he’s doing it. He’s spying on me and lying about facts he couldn’t possibly have, and he’s using you guys—not because he particularly cares how his lies will affect you, but how they will affect me. He’s never once said anything directly to me about what he thinks. Look, when I’m gone, the rest of you can think what you want. Snicker about me, use me as a bad example to scare yourselves with. In fact, what Paul says about me is true. You don’t have to depend on his exaggerated reports that he saw me doing one thing or another. He’s just causing a lot of unnecessary trouble and pain. I didn’t ask to be a preacher’s son. I didn’t ask to be brought up in this particular church, and like a new, good friend pointed out to me a few days ago, the world is made up of hundreds of religions. I’m not sure anymore if being what I am is wrong. I didn’t ask to be…what I am, either. It just so happened that I fell in love with another guy. And you never saw a guy as shook up about that as I was. You think it’s easy, feeling like you’re crazy, feeling like your emotions are evil, trying to not feel what you feel?” Tom looked around and saw that on the surface, at least, they appeared to be listening. Paul had a sickened look, a doubtful expression about his eyes. He didn’t intend to say anything more, but Paul was moving his lips, as though he were about to talk. Tom had intended to get up and leave them all speechless, but he cleared his throat.
“When I’m gone,” he began, “would you pray for me sometimes? Who’s to say that my sin, if it is one, is more—or less—damning than your own? If you believe in Original Sin, like our church teaches, then you also have to believe that you are all sinners. And listen, try doing like Jesus says. Get rid of the junk in your own life, before you start hassling someone else about his. If you believe you are already saved because you’ve judged yourselves and found yourselves to be without sin, you’re seriously deluded. And speaking of today’s sermon, I think it’s a good idea to remember the basis of it. I don’t mean to sound so dramatic, but when you pray, pray hard, and pray in this manner:
Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven…
“If you can’t find forgiveness, unless some condition or other has been met, Brothers, you are in the wrong business, because the business of Christianity is not to go around finding fault but to find forgiveness in your heart, no matter how wronged you feel.”
Whether or not he had reached any of them, Tom felt better, but he had to put Paul in his place for the others’ sake. He wanted them to see through Paul, too. He stared at Paul again. This time he smiled at him sadly and his voice was low. “By tomorrow night, Paul, you’ll have what you want, but you’ll probably be disappointed, because getting what you want may not be what you bargained for. By Tuesday, I’ll be gone. You did you’re duty last week. My father showed up at the Reeces’; we talked, and now it’s none of your damned business what I do. And Paul? There’s not a thing you can do to stop me.”
He stood up to leave, but Paul sputtered, “You can’t! You’ll be lost! We’ll be denied a chance to save—”
“Oh, shove it!” Tom shouted and walked out.
He called Joel from a pay telephone in the lobby. “It’s over, Joel.
I’m going to spend one more night with my parents.”
* * *
The box and clothing were exactly where Tom said they would be. Joel looked down at them, feeling funny. He’d been in Tom’s room a couple of times and had always been impressed. It was tidy and full of possessions that showed clearly how much more Tom was informed about things. So smart. So many books. He was so much more equipped to go out and make a living anywhere he wanted. He’d often thought, coming away from Tom’s house, All I’ve got is a chance to make a good living if I stay right where I am. He wasn’t sure if it was right to make Tom give up everything for him. He picked up the small box. It was light and inside he could hear the loose shuffling of a few papers. He had expected it to be stuffed with books or something. The suitcase was small, too. He shuddered, feeling like a thief, feeling inadequate to the trust Tom was placing in him.
But there wasn’t much to be done about it now. He couldn’t just say to everybody, “Hold on. We were just kidding. Go back to the way things were.”
Not now.
He felt the same kind of panic that used to seize him before a boxing match. The tension of waiting was almost unbearable. The solution, when it came, was to explode. To slug and slug and slug until the tension was gone.
He drove home by way of the high school, down 8th Street and south, out of town. This was probably the direction Tom had walked last Sunday in the sandstorm, Joel thought. It was sunny and hot now, much like it had been on the day after the dance. And it was strange that today, so much different than a couple of weeks ago, that Tom was planning to tell the disciples that he was queer. He smiled feeling strange that he’d won, wondering uneasily what he’d done to Tom. Tom was telling them by now, telling those guys from his church about them—him and Tom. He’s more honest. I didn’t tell Nicky. I didn’t tell Bill. I let it slide. But Tom was coming right out and saying “Joel and I have sex.” He didn’t think Tom would buckle under after all—not to a shit-head like Paul. Pete would be there. That would help. At least Tom was throwing the first punch, bringing Paul out into the open. That would help, too. Tom was right about that. Joel was certain that Paul would “spill his spiteful little guts,” anyway. So, why not land a punch when Paul was probably expecting Tom to break down and beg for his help?
When he got home, Joel left Tom’s belongings in the back of the pickup. He threw a canvas tarpaulin over them and went inside. His mother had left him a note saying that they were over at the Strouds’ to straighten things out with them. So he waited alone, feeling he was going crazy. Tom called a few minutes later and said it was over. The sound of his confident voice made all Joel’s doubts melt. He agreed reluctantly when Tom told him he was going to spend the night with his mother and father. “Well, okay, Tom. But listen, if anything happens, get out of there fast, please. They’re your parents, I know, and I guess it’s hard to know you’re gonna leave home. Sleep well tonight.” He hung up, sorry that Tom didn’t just run away now, but like his father said, Tom probably did need to see it through. Twenty minutes later, the telephone rang again, making Joel jump. He picked up the receiver, expecting the worst. But it was Coach.
“We’ve been wondering about you, Joel. And we’ve got someone here who’d very much like to meet you. Can you bring Tom?”
Joel dialed Tom’s number and waited. Hearing the ring on Tom’s end reminded him of the last time he’d called the Allens. But Tom answered and agreed to go to the coach’s house. “Why not? My parents still aren’t home, and I can tell you about the dinner.
You should have seen Paul’s face!”
* * *
When Tom and Joel arrived, Bill Hoffins led them through the house to the patio. He introduced the man who stood up from a nylon webbed chair and shook their hands. “The Reverend Suskine,” Bill said.
“Nice to meet you,” Joel said to him. It was unusual, meeting a preacher who was wearing an old faded pair of Levi’s and a blue work shirt. He was barely as old as Coach. Way over six feet tall, he towered over Joel. His grip was firm and his large hand swallowed Joel’s.
“Bill tells me you boys.” he nodded toward Tom, who was standing beside Joel, “are having a
little trouble.”
“Well, yessir. We were,” Joel said, and smiled at Coach. “We got over that.”
Bill’s face seemed confused. “I mean,” Joel continued, “Me and Tom are doing fine for ourselves, now, between us.”
JoAnna opened the patio door and motioned Bill to help with the chairs she laid against the wall. She disappeared and came out with a tray of lemonade. Tom took the chairs that Bill handed him and unfolded them. He put his and Joel’s side by side, opposite from Rev. Suskine’s. He tapped Joel on the shoulder and they sat down.
“Bill told me everything, Joel. You two can trust me, I promise,” Rev. Suskine said.
Joel looked at Tom. “Is it okay with you?”
“Sure, Joel. Maybe I should explain.” Tom accepted a glass of lemonade from JoAnna. When she left, he told in his own words a version of things that allowed Joel to see that all his doubts had been groundless. He told about himself most of all, explaining to both Bill and the minister how he and Joel had met. Hearing Tom explain how he had waited in the hallways for Joel to appear, how he had learned of Joel’s class schedule and hung around outside those classrooms hoping to get a glimpse of him, and what he called discovering how much they loved each other—all this in Tom’s words—made Joel secretly happy. “The trouble started when I told Joel it was a sin, you know, as it says in Leviticus, Romans, Corinthians, Timothy.”
Completely out of his league with this turn in the discussion, Joel could only listen. His heart pounded and he felt extremely uncomfortable. He drained his glass and helped himself to another one. Throughout Tom’s explanation he had watched the kind face of the minister, who kept nodding at Tom, and saying, “Exactly. Um-hmm. I see.”
“But it was no use,” Tom said. “I couldn’t get over it, and I guess I didn’t really want to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to meet Joel.”
Common Sons Page 27