Thinking Straight

by Robin Reardon

  Charles nods and attempts to wipe his eyes surreptitiously, and Rick starts telling this supposedly inspirational story about something that had happened to him “on the outside.” It doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else I know, and I can’t make much sense out of it, but John keeps laughing like Rick is quite the comic. It would have been intolerably boring except that John’s laugh is so nice to listen to.

  As for me, I’m still focused on what Charles said about Leland: he’s going to read his Public Apology tonight. What did Leland have to apologize for? It was Ray who’d killed himself. Am I right about them being lovers, and are people trying to lay this on Leland? I’m getting angry already. And even though I realize I’m not doing a very good job at not taking this stuff seriously, it’s hard not to get angry.

  During Fellowship, after dinner, I manage to move away from Charles pretty early on. I edge around the room, sticking close to the walls, watching, and catching snatches of conversation. It’s about like last night, really: kids talking loudly about their epiphanies and chastened hearts.

  I see Monica Moon huddled in a corner. She looks at least as glum as ever. Maybe it will cheer us both up, or at least give us someone to be glum with together, if I go over there. I nod at her. She looks at me with something that’s almost a glare, and as soon as I lean against the wall a couple of feet from her, she leaves.

  I stare after her, not quite sure what to make of that.

  “What are you doing all alone here in the corner, Taylor?”

  It’s Marie Downs, smiling for all she’s worth, looking like she expects an answer. I point to my yellow sticker. She laughs.

  “Oh yes. I know. Monica’s not very friendly, is she?” Marie’s eyes look toward where Monica disappeared into the crowd.

  What’s she getting at? She knows I can’t answer, so I don’t.

  “I heard you yelled at Nate Devlin in the laundry room today.”

  Christ! Is there anyone who hasn’t heard about that? Then I think, Devlin? His last name is Devlin? It has a Satanic note to it.

  “Were you sticking up for Sheldon?”

  I just blink at her. Sheldon had nothing to do with it. It was between me and Nate.

  “You don’t want to answer? You can just nod, you know.”

  I almost nod, to say I do know that, but I don’t want her to think I’m answering her other question. I retreat into SafeZone. I point at my sticker, turn, and walk away from her. As far as I’m concerned, what she’s doing is trying to tempt me to speak. I’m thinking about this, walking along the wall again, when I remember what she said yesterday. That she’d been trying to—how had she put it?—reach out to Leland. And Charles had basically told her to leave him alone. She’d done something, something that Leland might not think was for his own good, if I remember Charles’s words right. Well, she’s not doing anything to me. I won’t give her a chance.

  I catch sight of Monica again. Not in a corner this time; she’s with Dawn, shadowing her like a dancer. Then suddenly everyone starts to disperse, just like yesterday. Man, this place is creepy.

  I find my own way to Isaiah for our group, not waiting for Charles, and I take a seat near the back this time. No more front-and-center for me, thank you. And Charles, bless him (sarcasm alert), appears beside me. Perhaps he wants to hide tonight, too, given how scared he seems to be about Leland’s True Confession, or whatever it’s supposed to be.

  “Up,” Charles says to me. “Stand up, remember?”

  Oh yeah. So we go through the same ritual as last night, waiting for the girls and Mrs. Harnett to sit first, hearing Mrs. Harnett pray again just as sincerely, just as practiced, and just as spontaneous as before. Same message: we’re all sinners for our own reasons, and my love for Will is wrong. She doesn’t move me as much tonight, even before the bit about Inappropriate Love.

  She smiles at everyone again, even me. And then she bows her head for just a moment. No one else does, so I don’t either. Then she looks around the room.

  “We have a very important mission this evening. We have a brother in trouble, and we must help him. He’s had some time to consider his relationship with God, to understand his trouble, and to prepare his confession. Open your Bibles, please, to James, chapter five, verse thirteen.”

  Most everyone in this little group knows the Bible so well that they don’t need to be reminded where in the New Testament the book of James can be found. I know where a lot of the books are, but James is tiny, and I can’t remember anything from it. So I watch Charles, who of course knows the exact page number it’s on in his Bible, and I’m able to figure out that it’s right after Hebrews.

  I expect Harnett to ask someone to read, like she did last night, but she reads the verses herself. The Prayer of Faith. It talks about people who are in trouble or sick or have sinned, and how we must all turn to each other for help. How we must confess our sins to each other and pray for each other to be healed. How these are the prayers of the righteous and are powerful.

  She closes her Bible. Then she says, “Brother Leland, please come to the front.”

  Nothing happens, except that everyone looks toward where Leland is rocking back and forth in his chair. Slowly, Harnett walks over to him and holds her hand out. When he doesn’t take it, she puts it on his shoulder. He curls forward a little and then stands, wobbly but on his feet, paper clutched in one hand. Harnett walks him to the front, one hand on his shoulder and one on his elbow. She strips the yellow sticker off his shirt and then sits in an empty chair where she can watch.

  Leland, who would be tall except that he’s hunched over and miserable, doesn’t look up. He does manage to raise the paper so he can read, clutching each side, and it rattles with the shaking of his hands. He’s thin, so the shaking makes it look like he’s cold, but I can tell it’s fear. He stands there, eyes tight shut for a moment, and then he starts to read. His voice shakes, but you can tell he’s doing his best. He reads slowly, each word hanging in the air as he releases it, like each one takes a special effort.

  “I have sinned. I allowed myself to feel Inappropriate Love for a brother, and I encouraged him to feel it for me. We were discovered, and we were reported. He is gone now”—and his face crumples a little here before he forces himself to go on—“to be judged by God. To you, my brothers and sisters, I make my confession. I beg forgiveness.”

  He lowers his arms slowly and looks for all the world like he’s about to follow Ray into the Great Beyond. I scour every inch of him that he presents—anguished face, clenched hands, trembling legs—for a sign that he doesn’t really believe what he’s just said. That’s not sinning! I want to shout at him. That’s not evil! Jaw clenched, hands in viselike grip on the seat of my chair, I manage somehow not to say anything, not to jump up and run to Leland, not to condemn everyone here for making him feel like it was his fault that Ray is gone. But the silence is killing me.

  This silence is shattered by the voice of sister Marie, who’s on her feet, quoting scripture at the top of her voice: “First Corinthians, chapter six, verse nine: ‘Or don’t you know that the unrighteous will not inherit the Kingdom of God? Don’t be deceived. Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor male prostitutes, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor slanderers, nor extortioners, will inherit the Kingdom of God.’” She points not just her finger but her whole arm at Leland, who stands cowering. She must have memorized that just so she could do this tonight! Everything in me wants to lunge at her, knock her over, and trample on her. And I actually start to get up, but Charles grabs my upper arm with both his hands and holds on.

  Then another voice chimes in; Brother Nate stands. “Sister,” he says, looking at Leland, “the chapter continues: ‘Such were some of you, but you were washed. But you were sanctified. But you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and in the Spirit of our God.’” When he’s done he turns toward Marie. Turns on Marie, would be closer to it, like he’s preaching to
her, condemning her. It’s eerily like last night; there’d been a textual confrontation between these two then as well, and Nate had come to Charles’s rescue. Tonight, it’s to Leland’s.

  Before anything else can happen, Mrs. Harnett rises and goes to where Leland stands quivering. She touches his shoulder. “You may return to your chair, child.”

  She nods first at Marie and then at Nate, and they sit down again. She spreads her arms to the room as if to embrace us all.

  “Children of God,” she says, her tones large and round, “do you see what sin can do? Even among those who want so much to love God and each other? Even here, there is sin. For sister Marie is pushed toward hatred of sin that borders on hatred of the sinner, and brother Nate becomes angry with sister Marie for her fervor.

  “Romans, chapter twelve, verse nineteen: ‘Don’t seek revenge yourselves, beloved, but give place to God’s wrath. For it is written, Vengeance belongs to me; I will repay, says the Lord.

  “Romans, chapter fourteen, verse ten: ‘But you, why do you judge your brother? Or you again, why do you despise your brother? For we will all stand before the judgment seat of Christ.’

  “Children of God, reject sin but not the confessed sinner. Do not allow sin to cause discord among us. Brother Leland?” And here she turns toward him. He seems startled, as though he’d been sure the worst was over and yet now he’s faced with more.

  “Brother Leland, do you repent?”

  Warily, it seems to me, he nods.

  “Speak it! Say it aloud so that we may all know your heart.”

  Leland begins to speak but nearly chokes. He tries again and manages, “I repent.”

  Mrs. Harnett looks like she’d just won the lottery. “Halleluiah! Children, rejoice with me!” And all around me there are shouts of “Halleluiah!” and “Praise the Lord!” just like last night. Only this time it’s for a reason I can’t accept.

  I do not repent, I say deep inside me. I do not repent. I so do not repent.

  And then the most awful thing happens. Marie, tears running down her face, goes over to Leland and practically lifts him out of his chair. She takes his hands in hers and shouts, “I forgive you, brother! I forgive you!”

  For his part, Leland is crying, too. But it doesn’t seem to me there’s any joy in it. I could swear he doesn’t want the forgiveness of sister Marie, or of anyone else, except possibly Ray himself. Which he can never have. So he cries, all right. He cries. And I feel so bad for him. If it had been me, I would have pushed her clear across the room, but he stands there and does his best to pretend it’s a good thing. Pretend all is forgiven. Pretend he doesn’t know that she hates him as much as a dog turd she’s stepped on in her new Sunday shoes. I watch like I can’t turn my gaze away from a train wreck.

  I feel kind of like crying, too, some for Leland and some for me. I mean, how am I going to fake this crap? My mind is sending up a prayer that’s part thanks, because I can’t speak and so don’t have to celebrate the way everyone else does, and part a plea to help me figure out how the fuck I’m going to get through six weeks of shit like this when I want to run screaming from the room after only two days.

  I look right at Mrs. Harnett, the founder of this feast. She’s looking right at me. So I think of Will. And in my head, I tell the Saint on the throne there, “Jesus loves you. But I’m his favorite.”

  I guess my expression is calm enough; she smiles as though satisfied with what she sees and turns to look around the room at other kids. So I turn my attention back to Nate, who’s confused me by coming to Leland’s rescue, only to see that he is looking at me. Christ, is everyone in this room looking at me? He smiles, too, but it doesn’t look like the same kind of smile as the one the Saint had given me. It’s like I’ve passed some kind of secret test. And it confuses me even more.

  Meanwhile, the room is gradually calming down. The thing between Marie and Leland has turned into a mini hugfest, but kids are backing off now and returning to their seats.

  It dawns on me suddenly that Charles is very quiet, that he didn’t shout when most everyone else did, and he didn’t go over for the group hug. I look at his profile, and he must sense it, because he turns to me. And I get yet another smile, from him this time. Such a sad smile, so much pain in it.

  I don’t go to the library after Prayer Meeting. I’d thought I might, but instead I turn in early. Despite my nap that afternoon, I feel drained and exhausted. Charles sits at his desk for a while, and I hear him get onto the floor just before I fall asleep, no doubt praying at his chair again.

  Halfway through the night or so, I wake up. At first I’m sure I’ll fall asleep again, but my mind starts making lists. Lists of impressions I’m getting about the other inmates here. I start with my roommate, snoring quietly in the other bed.

  Charles. Pious, even self-righteous. Wants to do everything right. Wants to love people, but seems to have as hard a time as St. Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians (the famous text starting in chapter thirteen that talks about how useless and empty he is if he’s without love). Tries hard; a little too hard. Seems desperate to leave his past behind—including his gay past—and to convince others to do the same. Desperate: an important word in understanding Charles. He needs to give up desperation before he can let Jesus take any burdens off him. But if you’re desperate because you’re afraid, how do you let go of desperation when that increases the fear? Faith, that’s how. Faith. And Charles is desperate for it.

  Nate. Inscrutable Nate Devlin. Interpreter of scripture. Rescuer of those in pain, of those under assault. Especially if they’re under assault from Marie Downs. Condemner of those in disobedience. Irritating. Arrogant, and self-righteous in his own way, though it’s different from Charles’s way. Gay? Don’t think so. Then why’s he here? Drugs? Disobedience? That would make sense; he comes down so hard on others who are disobedient, including me. Mysterious. Intriguing. Gives off mixed signals. I’ve no clue what others, except maybe John McAndrews, think about him. And what does Sean think? Why was it so important that no one see I’d asked that about Nate? “What’s with Nate? Who is that guy?” That’s all the paper had said. But Sean wanted no one to see it. Why?

  Sean. Gorgeous body. Pretty sure he’s gay. Sweet nature, doesn’t want to rat on people, doesn’t want anyone to get into trouble. I need to know what gives between him and Nate. There’s something, I’m sure of it. He seems to frighten easily; probably doesn’t have enough backbone to be relied upon in a crunch. Remember that.

  Marie. The word bitch comes to mind immediately. I’d guess she’s one of those people who look for ways to cut others down. Probably makes her feel more righteous, more holy. I don’t believe for a second that she embraced Leland tonight out of any sense of sisterly love, or any other kind for that matter. Putting on a show for Harnett, more like. Likes being the center of attention. Avoid at all costs.

  Jessica. Friends with Marie, or just taking the opposite approach from me? Does she feel safer if she always knows what Marie is up to? So there won’t be any sneak attacks on her? And something about the way she poked at Charles at breakfast Monday didn’t ring true. Almost like she was playacting. Hard to know what to make of her. Avoid whenever possible.

  Dawn. Now, there’s someone I’d like to talk with. Refreshing. But I don’t think she disobeys the rules—despite that hair. One reason it looks unruly might be just that it’s growing out. She reacted positively to Charles’s Monday night confession scene. Coming from some of these other characters, I might have doubted what was said about it. But I think Dawn was sincere. Make friends with Dawn.

  Leland. Shattered. That’s the first word that comes to mind with him. Then tragic. I think I have a pretty good idea what happened with this Ray thing, and even though I didn’t see Leland react to the suicide, I have enough imagination to get there anyway. I wonder if there’s any way to reach out to him. Not the way Marie meant, I’m sure! More like one gay brother to another. I’m convinced he said he repented to
night just to escape the spotlight, just to be left alone sooner. I wonder if anyone has him on suicide watch.

  Somewhere in there my mind drifts off, coming up with bizarre ways to watch someone who might be likely to do himself in. And then I have this dream.

  I’m in some room, without windows, but it’s brightly lit. Too brightly, really. Other guys are in the room with me, and there’s some kind of difference between one group and another. It comes to me that I’m in prison, and there are other prisoners like me, and there are guards—fewer guards than prisoners—who aren’t armed, but no one makes any attempts at escape. The feeling of hopelessness, of despair, is enough to keep us prisoners contained.

  I have a kitten. I’ve had it since before I was in prison, and it’s with me now. It’s very attached to me, and I love it very much. But I’m worried for it. How can I protect it in here? Many people in this place will want to hurt it. And it’s inquisitive. It likes exploring and doesn’t want to be held all the time, so it’s difficult for me to protect it. I hold it as much as possible, and often it asks to be picked up, but also it wants to explore. It wanders off, and I’m frantic with worry, and then it’s at my side, reaching a soft paw up for me to hold it.

  I’m in a smaller room now, with only a couple of other prisoners. I’m sitting on a wooden chair, and my kitten is exploring the room. A man sitting on another chair, between me and the door, is reading a newspaper. One ankle rests on the opposite knee. He has a different feeling about him, different from me and the other prisoners. He’s some kind of warden. Not just a guard, but someone with real power. He’s flaunting his power.

  As I watch the kitten, worried about it, the man begins to talk. He tells me that he can do things for me, take care of me, see that nothing bad happens to me. Or to that little cat. But I’ll have to pay the price. Whatever the warden says, I have to do. And if I don’t, the kitten will pay.