by L B Winter
I sent off all my questions, and then was surprised to see a new email from my dad. The subject line was “The elephant in the room,” and when I opened it, I saw that it had been sent to all the church’s newsletter subscribers.
Tears blurred my vision when I read his words:
My dear church,
Today, my wife and I had the great joy of worshiping our heavenly Father together with our beloved son, Paul, who was home with us for the long weekend from college. Many of you know Paul; he grew up in this church—he was baptized here, confirmed and graduated here, and participated in every youth group event, missions trip, potluck dinner, bake sale, and sleepover. He is a kind, respectful, responsible young man, and my wife and I could not possibly be prouder of him than we are.
Today, as our dear son worshiped with us at the church where he grew up, he—and we—noticed something that disturbed us deeply. It was a bit of an elephant in the room. People he knew, loved, and respected—the people who comprise the church, our family—were no longer welcoming him. While he made every effort to share the peace of God with his church family, the church turned up its nose at him. He was not embraced; he was not welcomed. He was treated as a pariah, a leper, and an outsider.
He was treated this way because he is gay.
All day I have been wrestling with this, and with a certain fundamental question: If I had known one month ago that my decision to share my son’s homosexuality with the church would have resulted in such behavior, would I still have done it? The answer is yes, decidedly—because I am overwhelmingly proud of my only son. If my pastoring of this church has led you all to believe that shunning the gay young man among you is aligned with God’s heart, then I have drastically failed you, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart for leading you astray. Please allow me to correct this failing now.
My son is gay, and I love him. My son is gay, and God loves him. I am ashamed when I think that, if this had happened to anybody but my own son, I might not have cared. But the anger I felt today when I saw people mistreating my beloved son was a sudden, bitter reminder: we are all God’s children, and therefore, when we exclude any of God’s children, we offend him.
I plan to learn more about this, to dig deep, and to be unsatisfied with easy answers. We all must do better, and that will begin with me.
I was still on the couch, crying like a baby as I stared at my laptop screen, when Jamie walked through the door.
“Are you okay?” he said immediately, a look of concern on his face.
I was conflicted about what I should say; would showing him the email make him feel worse? Finally I said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just reading an email. I’m happy-crying.”
He cocked his head and smiled at me dubiously, and I responded with a laugh that was embarrassingly high-pitched. “Honestly. I’m fine. How are you? You guys just finish up at the store?”
Jamie still looked unconvinced, but he took his coat off and joined me on the couch. “Yeah, it was slow, so they sent me home. Your friend Lynn is awesome,” he said.
I smiled. “I know she is. They all are, Trent and Steven and her.”
Jamie folded his arms and sighed. “I don’t think Steven likes me very much.”
Before I could think better of it, I said, “What was your first clue?” Then I cringed, looking for a way to backtrack.
But Jamie just said, “Uh…well, it wasn’t so much the first clue as the eleventh or twelfth that alerted me to it.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. “Probably starting with how I reacted when I saw them together. I don’t know.”
He just looked so morose. I said, “He wants to like you.”
He shrugged. “Honestly, he reminds me of my first boyfriend. Like, once upon a time I would have thought he was really cute.”
And just like that, fire-hot jealousy burned in my belly. “Oh, really?” I said coolly. Actually, was that cool? Yeah, sure, that was cool. I was totally cool.
“I mean, that’s not really my type now,” Jamie said. “I just liked guys who were…obviously gay, I guess.”
The jealousy-monster in my belly settled down.
I answered, “Steven might fit that stereotype, but there’s a lot more to him. He gives great advice. Honestly, the best advice in the world. I come to him for everything.”
He frowned and shook his head. “I don’t really want advice from him. I mean, not yet,” he added quickly, afraid I might misunderstand. “I just need to come to terms with where I’m at.”
“Are you—” I started, then stopped. I didn’t want to get snapped at again.
“Am I what?”
I sighed. “I don’t mean to pry.”
Jamie shook his head. “You aren’t prying. Honestly, you’ve done so much to help me. Ask me whatever you want.”
“Are you going to try counseling again?”
For some reason, his face fell when I asked him that. He said, “Yeah, I think I probably should.”
I nodded, and our mutual silence filled the room. Of course, how would he pay for counseling? How would he ever get the help he needed, in anything? Asking him about his future only created more questions, few answers, and probably loads of anxiety as he tried to resolve them.
“You’ll figure it out,” I said, though I hardly knew what I meant by it.
He smiled at me weakly and said, “Yeah. Thanks, Paul.”
***
The next day, classes resumed for Tay and me, and Jamie started working all kinds of hours at the store. None of us saw each other that much; Tay was super busy with all his studying, and Jamie was either avoiding me, or…no, he was definitely avoiding me. That was honestly fine with me; things always got too intense when we talked.
My meeting with my academic advisor was on Friday. I didn’t have any classes in the afternoon, so I went to her office at 3 o’clock and brought my course catalogue.
“I’m so pleased that you’ve selected a major,” Ms. Kesseler said. “I was really glad to get your email, Paul, and the courses you’ve selected are excellent.”
She walked me through the next three and a half years, figuring out that, in addition to my gen eds and major courses, I could add a minor and still graduate on time. She asked what I was thinking of for a minor, and I suggested religion.
“Have you considered something that might complement your business courses? Perhaps a foreign language?”
I had not considered that, but I liked the idea. “I took Spanish in high school,” I told her.
“That’s great!” she said enthusiastically. She helped me sign up for the Spanish language placement test, and even suggested that I might be able to study abroad later on if I liked it.
“You need to take one semester of a foreign language for your general education requirements, anyway,” she explained, “so if you sign up for this now, you can decide later whether it’s the right minor for you.”
I almost laughed; only a week after I’d finally figured out a major, and now I was supposed to select a minor, too. Go figure.
“Want to talk about extracurriculars?” she asked.
“You mean like internships?”
“Well, yes and no. Eventually it will be smart to look at internships, but right now let’s think about some clubs and societies that you could join to network with some peers with similar interests.”
Ms. Kesseler had a brochure from Student Affairs with the business clubs highlighted. There was a professional fraternity, a society for budding entrepreneurs, and a future leaders club. There were lots of other pages in the booklet, and as I copied down the information for the business extracurriculars, I remembered something else I’d been interested in.
“Ms. Kesseler, is there a club for LGBTQ students?”
For a split second, a look of surprise crossed her face. Then, she smiled broadly. “Oh! Yes, there is. Here, let me show you…” She flipped to a new section in the booklet, then turned it so I could see. “Here. This is the gay-straight alliance club, and ther
e’s also an LGBTQ support center, and a social club that arranges a few group outings every month. We have lots of activities for LGBTQ students!”
She seemed so proud of herself for sharing these with me, it was almost comical. I wondered how many students she had had the opportunity to share this information with. It had to be loads, but you’d think there were hardly any, judging by her reaction. “Thanks,” I said, jotting down that info, too.
“My daughter is a lesbian,” she volunteered, proudly, and I looked up to see her beaming at me as though her daughter were a worldwide celebrity.
“Uh—that’s great!” I said, and she nodded vigorously.
“She started dating another girl in her class. They’re only juniors in high school, so who knows what will come of it, but she just makes my daughter so happy! I love being able to support kids like you.”
What was I supposed to say to that? She was positively gushing over her daughter, and she seemed to think that my being gay was not only okay, but wonderful. Like it was something to be proud of. Was it something to be proud of? My dad’s email had said he was proud of me, and suddenly I wondered if I was missing something.
Ms. Kesseler said, “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for internship opportunities for you, Paul. I’ll email you in the spring, and we’ll start thinking about applying. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I walked out of the office and saw that I had a missed call from Steven. I decided to call back and tell him about my business classes.
“It’s you!” he answered. “Why have you not called me all week?”
“I called Wednesday.”
“Oh. Right. Well, hi!”
It was warmer than it had been in weeks and weeks outside—a clear, sunny day. I sat on the bench outside the University Center and stared up at the trees. “You’re cheerful.”
“I’m excited. I just got a call from The Beat, and they said I can be a regular there starting in January!”
That was great news. Steven had continued commuting to Pittsburgh for work several times a week because there weren’t any openings for regulars at any of the gay bars with drag shows in town. He explained that one of the drag queens was a student who would be graduating in December and had just accepted a job out of town.
“So make room for Stephanie Coxx!”
“That is awesome, Steve-o! Congratulations.”
“Thanks! Only a few of these horrendously dull commutes left.”
“That’s amazing. I’m happy for you,” I said. “Want to know what I just did?”
“Please don’t say you got your hair cut.”
“What? No, of course not; I met with my academic advisor. Does getting a haircut sound like something I would do?”
“No, it certainly does not. Which is why I made an appointment for you!”
“You did what?”
“I made you an appointment at Mint and Sage Salon. It’s tomorrow morning at ten.”
I sighed heavily. “You didn’t really, did you?”
“Of course I did. You have a mullet, Paul! Actually, worse than a mullet, because now it’s long everywhere, but still too short to look like it’s on purpose. I am one hundred percent through with being seen around town with a hobo. And you cannot watch me at The Beat looking like that.”
“Mint and Sage? That’s the worst name for a salon that I ever heard of.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it? Well, he didn’t name it himself.”
“Who didn’t name it?”
“Zeke! Ezekiel, your hairdresser. Did I not mention him?”
He had not mentioned him, but that name was familiar for some reason. Where had I heard that name?
The puzzle pieces were just starting to fit together when Steven said, “He’s one of the guys I found for you to date! The one with the amazing smile. You’re going to meet him tomorrow!”
CHAPTER 13
Hello to You, Too
__________
Ezekiel was tall—even taller than Jamie—with chocolate brown eyes, dark, smooth skin, and perfect corn rows in his hair. He worked at this salon with basically all women, and he was intimidatingly serious about doing hair.
I sat in his chair the next morning, staring into the mirror at his reflection—the focused, steady eyes; the strong, precise hands; the tense jaw. He dressed great, too, with blue slacks and a crisp black shirt, finished with a skinny black tie. His muscles were visible right through the shirt, and I could see that he was really fit. He wore a silver watch, and he smelled amazing. I just wished I could have had my hair cut before meeting this dude, so he wouldn’t see me for the sloppy kid I obviously was.
According to Steven, Zeke was only three years older than me, even though he seemed about a lifetime more mature. He was a stylist for several of Steven’s friends at The Beat, and he had been single for the past year following a bad break-up.
I didn’t know what Steven had told Zeke, or what he was expecting, but I had to assume right away that Zeke would be neither impressed with me nor attracted to me. Why would he be? I was dressed in running gear and hadn’t had a haircut since before school started. I should have paid more attention when we’d checked him out on social media, because there’s no way a dude like this would ever be even remotely interested in me—and if I couldn’t be myself around him, what was the point?
Zeke surprised me, though. He decided to try a blended shave on the back of my head, then asked if he could put a design in it.
“Sure,” I said.
“Great,” he answered. “Let me see your shoe.”
Zeke used the bottom of my shoe as the inspiration for the pattern in my hair. He shaved lines that looked like gears around the back of my head. It took a long time, and I watched his focus while he worked. He had his tongue peeking out of his mouth just slightly, probably out of habit, concentrating on what he did. He was artistic about it, checking how it looked from a distance every few minutes so he could be sure it was perfect.
I liked how much attention he gave my hair; I liked how much attention he gave me. I was used to a hairdresser my mom brought me to who usually chatted with Mom while I got my hair trimmed. Having somebody focus totally on me was new. It was nice.
“So I see you’re an athlete,” Zeke said, moving from my left side to my right to finish the design.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just run track, mostly. And not for Franklin; since coming here, I just run for fun.” I paused. “Oh! And I did the club basketball team with my dorm, but that ended before Thanksgiving break.”
“That’s cool!” he said enthusiastically. “I play ball sometimes on campus with my little brother and his friends. They go to Franklin, too. I was in varsity all four years of high school.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but it was tough, you know, being the gay dude on the team.”
“You were out?”
“Sure. Nobody had a problem with me on our team, but dudes on other teams could be real dicks about it.”
I made what I hoped was a sympathetic face.
“What about you? Were people weird about you being gay?”
I shook my head, and Zeke corrected me by putting a hand on either side of my jaw. “Hold still,” he said, then returned to trimming my hair.
“Oh right, sorry. But um, no, nobody has been weird to me. My friends don’t care at all. The guys on the track team didn’t even know until we graduated, though, I don’t think.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, they might have guessed,” I conceded. “But I wasn’t out in high school.”
“Hmm.” Zeke looked closely at my hair and didn’t push the subject.
I didn’t appreciate the implied judgment there. Nobody else could decide for me when the right moment was to come out, and he had no idea what I’d been through.
When my hair was finished, Zeke said, “Look at you, all sexy.”
I looked up at his face to see whether or not he meant it. He was grinning appreciativel
y at my reflection in the mirror, and I finally looked at myself.
And he was right; I looked awesome. “Whoa. You did this? Dude, I look amazing. I never knew my hair had it in it!”
He chuckled. “Thanks. I don’t spend a lot of time on white boy hair. Girl hair, sure. So you basically got the black dude haircut.”
“You won’t hear any complaints from me,” I said, rubbing my flattened palm over my hair and turning my head from side to side so I could see the total finished product.
“Listen, I have one quick haircut after this, and then I’m free for lunch in half an hour. Want to go grab a bite to eat?”
Zeke caught me by surprise, but then, what were the odds that Steven had been even remotely subtle about my intentions for this appointment when he called Zeke?
“Sure, that sounds great.”
Zeke and I went out for burgers and watched a basketball game together. He had surprisingly eclectic interests, and we spent a long time talking. He had to go back to the salon at one, but he asked if he could see me again, and I gave him my number.
It occurred to me later that he might have been asking if he could see me again to cut my hair. Had I just agreed to come back for a trim in six weeks?
I found out later that night that wasn’t the case. I was watching TV on the couch with Jamie and Taylor when my phone pinged.
“Is that Steven?” Tay asked.
I glanced at the screen and saw that it was an unknown number. “I don’t think so,” I said.
Hey sexy. Loved that haircut today. Lunch was fun 2. Maybe nxt time we do dinner?
My face felt hot, and I glanced briefly at the guys to see if either of them had caught a glimpse of the screen. When I was satisfied that they hadn’t, I clicked on his number and added “Zeke” to my contacts.
When that was done, I wrote back, Definitely. When are you free?
He wrote back almost immediately. Friday? I know the perfect place.