by John Herrick
“You’re right about that.” Gabe tucked his portfolio back under his arm and shoved both hands into the pockets of his coat, then peered off into the distance. Hunter couldn’t tell if Gabe felt cold or if his actions were meant to buy himself a chance to become invisible.
Hunter’s mother patted Gabe on the arm. “Thanks for helping Hunter out. I know he appreciates it.”
Hunter’s father exhaled, his breath spilling forth in a massive cloud. Hunter picked up traces of oregano and dry, red wine.
“We’d better get going, Cindy. I’m sure these guys are as cold as we are.”
With another round of nice-to-meet-you greetings, Hunter’s parents waved good-bye and headed in the opposite direction. Hunter kept his eye on them as they trekked, but not once did either parent take a second look behind them to reassess their son or his buddy from work.
Hunter and Gabe stood still, watching as Hunter’s parents rounded the corner and out of their lines of sight. Though relieved, Hunter had a sick feeling in his gut. He stared at the spot in the distance where he last saw his mother and father before they disappeared.
By this time, Gabe had dropped his defenses and appeared awkward. He glanced over at Hunter, no doubt unsure how to break the silence.
“Your parents seem nice.”
“Yeah,” Hunter said. “They’ve never suspected a thing about me.”
Hunter paused. His cheeks now felt chapped. A mass of clouds overtook the moon and concealed its glow.
“They’d be devastated if they knew.”
CHAPTER 25
Fatherhood and the role of family.
Such topics were standard fare in a men’s Bible study group and proved helpful. Given Hunter’s recent circumstances, however, he had grown uncomfortable listening to the discussion that occurred in his midst this Thursday evening.
While not all group members were married, they operated under the assumption that most of the group’s unmarried men wanted to marry one day, so the topic remained applicable. Hunter found it curious that the Apostle Paul, a bachelor who wrote most of the Bible’s New Testament books, believed it more beneficial to remain single, yet today, Christians often felt pressured to settle into a family.
For as long as he could remember, Hunter had considered marriage and fatherhood part of his future and had dreamed of it since childhood. He’d never questioned it. He loved the notion of becoming a father. And though he hadn’t related to his own father as well as he had wished, Hunter believed in new beginnings and determined to make himself as accessible as possible to his own children.
Sitting on the sofa tonight, a thought dawned on him: What if a same-sex relationship turned out a comfortable fit for him—to such an extent, he could never be happy in marriage to a woman? How would that impact his prospects of becoming a father?
Hunter’s stream of consciousness flowed from there. He considered himself a man of perpetual hope. With that in mind, what if, down the road, he found himself free from attraction to his own gender? Suppose he found himself fixed one day, no longer tempted toward other men. Suppose he desired a heterosexual relationship and marriage with his whole heart, with everything within himself. At that point, what if anyone discovered his current inclinations? What if he and Gabe entered a relationship, and others found out about it after it ended? Would it render Hunter damaged goods? Would any woman want him after that? Would any woman want to live her life tormented by lingering doubts she might have about his sexuality?
The flipping of book pages brought Hunter’s attention back to the group meeting.
“And so, in marriage, God gives us a picture of His relationship with the church,” explained Dan, the group leader. “When we read about that husband-wife relationship in the Bible, the love the husband has for his wife and the affection the wife has for her husband, we see Christ’s love for His church, for His people, and the love we hold for Him.”
Hunter looked at Joe Garza, who sat on his left, and Jesse Barlow, who sat on his right. As they read the next paragraph in the study guide, Hunter scanned the entire group of men, who sat in a circle which, Hunter now mused, resembled the shape of a wedding band.
What would they say if they knew about him? He and Gabe had experimented with a first date. Hunter felt confident no one else in the group had experienced what he had. Albeit exploratory rather than a firm step toward a relationship, in his heart, Hunter knew he and Gabe had crossed a demarcation line. Now, sitting among these men, Hunter harbored a new secret. Nobody suspected anything, but he was sure they would disapprove of what had occurred. They wouldn’t want his secret in their presence. He didn’t want to keep it a secret, either.
He felt like a hypocrite, sitting with a Bible open in his lap while hiding a major aspect of his life, a feeling of shame in his heart, albeit a shame that also came with unconditional acceptance from another individual. The first date had done nothing to ease the conflict that roiled inside him and tormented him.
They think I’m living one way, but I’m living another way.
Hunter couldn’t shake the notion. He felt unworthy sitting in this wedding-band circle of Christians who must have their lives together so much better than he.
Desperately he wanted to confide in someone and release the pressure, the way he’d confided in Gabe. Romantic enticement aside, the whole reason he’d started talking to Gabe was because he felt so alone.
Advice would come quick if he spoke up. How easy to advise someone to snap out of depression, for example, when you’ve never awakened each morning under the weight of its chains. And gossip comes easier when you haven’t endured the experience in question. People have good intentions of keeping matters confidential, but when faced with the temptation to talk, sometimes they give in—even Christians, as much as Hunter hated to admit it.
His sexuality represented the most private, most sensitive facet of his life. Confessing its details carried significant risk, more so than the admission of an individual who had quit smoking but sneaked a cigarette in isolated moments of stress. That confession wouldn’t ruin the individual’s reputation; Hunter’s confession would. What if he confided in someone and that person broke his confidence? What if word spread, people abandoned him, and he wound up alone—the very thing he’d sought to avoid in the first place? What if he wound up not only alone within himself, as he felt tonight, but also physically alone from the company of others as a result of his honesty? What comfort would that bring? Yes, he would still have Jesus, and Jesus was all he needed. But in the Bible, God Himself had said it wasn’t good for man to be alone. That was why He had created not only Adam, but Eve, as well.
As the group moved through its list of discussion questions, Hunter glimpsed each individual in the circle, one by one. Dan the group leader … Joe Garza … Jesse Barlow … Ross the college student. Each one a Christian. Each one a mystery.
Isn’t there someone I can trust?
Other group members had confessed struggles during these Bible study meetings and nobody had judged them. Ross had admitted to cheating on an exam. Another individual had admitted he’d checked out pornography on the Internet—only to discover several members of the group had done the same thing at one point in their lives and broken free from the tendency. They prayed for each other, respected each other, and moved on. They had tested the group members’ willingness to listen, but hadn’t necessarily tested their trustworthiness or the boundaries of their support. They hadn’t confessed anything as shocking—or as scandalous—as Hunter’s revelation.
Then again, perhaps he could trust them. They hadn’t proven themselves untrustworthy. These were his brothers in Christ, after all. Maybe he should take a risk. He hated the mask, the hypocritical feeling. Maybe he should take a bold step, end the torment right now, and open up his heart to this group.
Hunter felt his defenses drop. Already he sensed a wave of relief in anticipation of the burden that would disappear from his shoulders in a few minutes. If he could trust
anyone in this life besides God, it should be the people in His church.
Okay, here we go …
Hunter awaited a break in the discussion, a lull between wrapping up one discussion point and moving on to the next. But the group had detoured into one of its tangent discussions with no end in sight. Hunter’s stomach somersaulted. In his nervous state, his eyelids felt hot, but he gathered courage. He needed to set himself free.
Just interrupt the discussion and get it over with. They’ll understand.
“But what about high divorce rates and blended families?” said Ross, the college student. “Wouldn’t that make it even harder for everyone involved?”
“How would it make it harder?” asked a guy across the circle.
Hunter measured their words and tried to find an inkling of a breather in which he could speak up. His arms trembled.
“My parents stayed together, but I always wondered what the transition must be like for blended families,” Ross answered. “I mean, what’s it like for a kid? In a way, he has two father figures, right? A father and a stepfather.”
“Better than two dads, though,” Joe chuckled. Because he sat beside Hunter, his voice sounded forth in a sudden boom, louder than the other voices in the room.
“Two dads?” asked Ross.
“Yeah,” Joe replied, his eyebrows now raised, a smirk on his face as though he found the conversation amusing. “Like in those gay relationships where they adopt.”
“Do you know anyone like that?”
“Of course not,” Joe snorted. “I’m just saying, that’s all.”
By this time, every group member had fixed his attention on Joe and Ross, back and forth, as the verbal tennis match played out before their eyes.
“But that’s different from what I’m talking about,” Ross said. “That’s two equal fathers, not a father and stepfather. The kid with two gay dads knows his dads from birth, so right or wrong, it’s at least been consistent.”
“Consistency isn’t exactly what I was talking about,” Joe said. Another smirk, another chuckle.
“Okay, then what’s your point?”
Joe straightened his posture. “I’m thinking more about the environment, where the two dads are … well, the perversion of it, you know? Think about it: Eventually the kid is gonna wonder why each dad chose to be with another dude instead of with a woman …”
Hunter froze. No way could he say anything now, given the direction in which the conversation had veered and the flippant way in which Joe had spoken of people who struggled like Hunter. Hunter locked himself down in fear.
Motion startled him, but he recovered in time to suppress an outward reaction. The movement had come from Jesse Barlow, who sat on Hunter’s other side. Jesse sank back into his chair, arms crossed, but said nothing. Just listened.
Hunter pondered Joe’s last comment, a rusty nail which punctured Hunter’s heart. A new wound formed.
Hunter knew his attractions wouldn’t be met with approval, but now, Joe’s words revealed a harsher truth, one Hunter had never considered: Some people wouldn’t see Hunter as merely shameful; they would regard him as perverted.
The word sounded both glib and horrible at the same time.
Some people wouldn’t see him in a conflict. They would look at him as an individual who awoke one morning, made a conscious choice, and started a new life as, in their view, an evil person.
Hunter had never looked at his struggle as perversion. He had always thought of perversion as the result of a long road of intentional, specific actions—a series of desired choices, things people welcomed into their lives. Yet Hunter’s battle felt nothing like a choice, and he certainly never considered it welcome.
In fact, Hunter’s feelings had little, if anything, to do with any type of sexual encounter. Rather, it felt more like a need for acceptance, a desire for companionship with someone who could understand him.
He didn’t know why the need was there. It just was.
Of all people, the individuals in this Bible study group were the ones that should feel like a second family to him, in whom he could confide and find help. But now, he realized it was a mirage: He could never open up and trust them. They could never begin to understand him.
And once again, with that fresh awareness, he felt alone.
Dan’s voice interrupted Hunter’s contemplation.
“Hey, guys, this discussion has really drifted off course. Why don’t we move on to the next paragraph in the book?”
Heads nodded, followed by scattered Yeahs and Okays.
“Thanksgiving and Christmas are coming up, so this is our last meeting until January,” Dan added. “We might as well try to make it through a full chapter in the book once, right?”
Hunter peered down to discover his knee jostling as fast as his heart rate. It resulted from bouncing the ball of his foot upon the floor, a frequent reaction when he felt anxious and didn’t catch himself in time. He put an immediate halt to his fidgeting, maintained his poker face—he almost hadn’t stopped his eyes from widening the moment he’d noticed his knee in motion. Hunter begged God that nobody else had noticed. Looking around, he doubted anyone had; they appeared too enthralled with Joe and Ross’s conversation to have noticed anything else around them.
He mouthed a word of thanks to God, then bit his lower lip as a shroud of sadness settled over his soul.
“Hey man, you okay?” A whisper.
Hunter looked beside him. Jesse Barlow remained sunken back in his chair, arms still crossed. Jesse had leaned so far back, Hunter had to crane his neck farther and look over his shoulder to meet Jesse’s eyes.
From the corner of his mouth, Jesse had managed to whisper soft enough, discreetly enough, to make sure no one except Hunter heard him.
Jesse Barlow, the minister’s son. Talk about a guy who had fought through some rough years. Hunter didn’t know the whole story, nor had he tried to find out. He’d always felt Jesse should have a right to privacy.
Jesse had disappeared to California for more than a decade. Apparently, along the way, he had made some choices that had caused him severe regret. When he’d returned to Ohio, Jesse had found out his high school sweetheart had given birth to a son—Jesse’s son. Nowadays, Jesse found himself in the process of trying to raise a pre-adolescent.
Yes, Hunter figured, Jesse must have seen some hardship of his own. No wonder the guy hadn’t jumped into Joe’s discussion a few minutes ago. He’d seemed as if he didn’t even want to hear it.
Hunter gave him a discreet nod.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth.
Fine, thought Hunter.
If only.
CHAPTER 26
Hunter didn’t have answers. Nor did he have a solution.
He found it difficult to reconcile his feelings for Gabe and didn’t know what his next step should be. But his guilt continued to rise, strengthening by the day—the sense that he had begun to string Kara along.
Along this unfamiliar road, Hunter discovered the presence of many unknowns. But he did know this: His feelings for Gabe had grown and had now replaced any feelings he’d had—or convinced himself he’d had—for Kara. It didn’t seem fair to her. Besides that, her travels and absences for long stretches of time only made resistance to Gabe that much tougher. Yet Hunter and Kara’s relationship hadn’t lasted all too long, so asking her to set aside her job for the sake of their relationship didn’t strike Hunter as fair, either.
He’d given a lot of thought to tonight’s location, but no matter which option he considered, he knew Kara would interpret it as a date setting. He wanted to take this step in the kindest manner possible; doing so at her home seemed insensitive, and his own home provided specific memories of romantic evenings.
He had settled on a small winery. He knew Kara loved the place, which meant he could offer at least one pleasant aspect to an evening that might otherwise prove thorny.
In season, dozens of individuals
packed the patio on Saturday nights. In late November, however, Hunter knew the winery’s population would be sparse, which meant a private setting. Although it was too cold to sit outside, the owners had added at one end of the building a small annex, with beautiful tiled floors and a gas fireplace made of polished stone. The winery crew had unpacked the Christmas decorations early, and over the fireplace hung a row of stockings with a staff member’s name etched on each. Seasonal music played overhead—steel drum music, which Hunter pegged as a reminder of warm weather, a cue for visitors to return to the winery when summer rolled around.
A Christmas tree sat beside the fireplace. On either side of the tree, Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus figurines, each the size of a toddler, stood guard with smiles on their faces. The figurines’ hands were clasped, as if delighted someone had finally come to visit them. Tonight, the room was empty aside from Hunter and Kara, who sat at a table near the tree.
Hunter tried to savor the scent of bread fresh from the grill. He munched on a hot panini of turkey and artichoke, while Kara nibbled on a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich. Hunter also felt a bottle of wine might help keep Kara relaxed—if possible—as they ended their relationship.
How could he transition to that topic? Cutting to the chase struck him as cruel, and he didn’t want to hurt her. So he had started the evening with light conversation and proceeded with care, vigilant not to use words or actions that would lead her into a romantic mood.
“By the way, we never talked about Christmas,” Kara said. “I hope you won’t be disappointed, but I promised my family I’d travel home to see them in Minneapolis. That means I can’t be here for our first Christmas together.”
Maybe he could transition from there. “I understand. When you think about it, we haven’t been together long enough for Christmas to be a given, have we?”
“You’re right. We’re in that in-between zone. No black or white.”
“Have you booked your flight yet?”