“All right.” He silences the music. “Um…. Here goes. Well, for the past couple years, I have felt the space between what I believe and what I feel growing. The divide gets wider every day. I’m sure you know exactly where I’m coming from here.”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“Faith commands one thing from me, but my heart… Jesus, that sounds corny. Sorry. It’s really my whole self. I’m not satisfied. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve cried out to God, begging him to make me straight. To make me normal.” He snorts a laugh. “Just hoping, one day, I’d wake up and realize this is all some cosmic mistake, or I’d meet the one woman that would change things for me.”
That sounds familiar. His story makes my heart race.
“But, surprise, surprise, that day never came. It felt like God was laughing at me and just ignoring the persistent whining of a lost gay boy. The longer this went on, the angrier I got. Furious God wouldn’t take these thoughts away from me.
“They consumed my life, every waking moment. It was all I could think about. My reaction was to dive deeper into the doctrine, to immerse myself in scripture. I would fill my head so full of righteousness that it would squeeze all the impure things out. And to match a busy mind, I needed a busy body.
“There were youth group functions and school activities. Hell, I even became the vice president of our local garden club. Anything to distract. Still, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how busy I stayed, the thoughts were there. Like a black hole, they continued to consume and consume until I felt nothing. A void.”
He pauses, whole body tense. He squeezes words out like they’re causing him pain.
“Nothing I did filled that space, Mike. Nothing. I was completely empty.”
Silence swallows us. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Then last summer—” He starts, then stalls, voice thick. “Something cracked. A splinter, digging deep into me. And that’s when I decided…I had this all wrong.”
When he doesn’t continue, I find my voice. “Had what wrong?”
“Everything. And that’s exactly what I decided to let go of. All the guilt, all the shame, it fled like a bird from a cage just as soon as I opened the door.”
Chills spread down my spine, the hair on my arms standing.
“That expanding space, the hollowness, it halted. I can’t begin to explain how amazing it was, Mike. To look myself in the eye and not be overwhelmed with hate.”
The back of my neck is hot and itchy. I squirm in my seat.
“And last night?”
“Right.” Chris nods. “I couldn’t sleep. This tugging sensation in my stomach kept me awake. It was like someone pulling a thread. I lay there for an hour, just wracking my mind for answers. Even spent an embarrassing amount of time on WebMD. And then I realized what it was, this alien feeling. Something I’d never allowed myself to experience before.”
My stomach flutters. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“And what was it?”
“I think…I have a crush on you, Michael.”
He says it so quietly I almost miss it.
“Oh.” I look ahead, stomach sinking.
The car stops at a red light, and his eyes are on me. I don’t turn, though I wish I was anywhere but here.
“Obviously, you don’t feel the same.” His voice is thick with disappointment.
It makes my chest ache.
“But I thought you should know.”
“What do you want me to say, Chris?” I still can’t bring myself to look at him. “Even if I did, what good will that do either of us? It’s not like we’d be able to do anything about it.”
“Why not?”
The innocence in his voice grates on my nerves. How can he be so naïve?
“Because this is the real world!” I find myself shouting, frustration boiling over. “Come on, Chris. What would our parents do if we just walked into church tomorrow morning, hand in hand? Let’s be honest.”
The light changes, but the car doesn’t move.
“I’m not saying I want to go home and rub it in their faces,” Chris says. “I’m just asking a simple question. Don’t we deserve the chance to feel normal? To be happy?”
“Chris, the light is green.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Just fucking drive!”
“Answer the question!”
A horn blares behind us.
“I don’t know!”
Chris latches onto my hand. “Tell me this doesn’t feel right to you.”
I can’t breathe. The air inside the car is stifling, and the roof is caving in above me. With a bit of effort, I pull away from Chris, fiddling with my seatbelt.
“I can’t do this.” I gasp, free hand opening the door behind me. I nearly fall out of the car before scrambling to my feet.
Headlights follow me onto the shoulder as I run away from Chris, his impossible questions, and that suffocating car. My insides are vibrating, organs bouncing off each other until I wrap my arms around my abdomen in an attempt to hold myself together. At this rate, I’m going to burst.
“Mike! Wait!”
Footsteps sound against the pavement, but I keep moving. If I stop, then I have to face all these things ricocheting round my head, and that’s not something I want to do.
Chris tails me until I can’t go any farther. I stop, leaning against the metal railing running parallel the road. It’s dark on this stretch, headlights and the moon over us the only light.
He rests against the rail beside me, arms folded against his chest.
I let out a staggered breath, raking my hand through sweat-dampened hair. Stupid Georgia humidity.
We stare at the ground, neither speaking.
“I fucked this up,” Chris says finally.
That’s an understatement.
“Yeah,” I agree. “You kinda did.”
“What was I supposed to do, Mike?” he asks. “This is all new to me here.”
“You ask me as if I’m some expert.” Another car passes, and I wonder if they think we’re just hooligans up to no good. “I can barely make it through a day without having a panic attack as it is, Chris. And you want to throw another secret on top of that stress? It’ll kill me.”
He’s quiet for a while.
“I guess it’s too late to ask you to forget I said anything.” He gives me a nudge with his shoulder.
My laugh is pained. “What and deprive you of this delightfully awkward experience? You wanted to be normal. Well, here you go. Crushes suck.”
He lets out a sigh, arms falling to his side.
Big Guy, this is not how I saw this evening going. Lots of sugar? Sure. Crude humor? A given. A fun party? Eh, it was all right. But this? This is a curve ball if ever— Oh God! I’m making a baseball reference? Jesus, take me now!
“Can I ask a question?”
Chris perks up slightly. “Yeah?”
“Why me?” I watch another car go by. “Is this just because I’m the only other gay guy you know?”
“I thought about that,” he says, “but this is different than anything I’ve felt before. There’s been attraction to other guys. I mean, come on. I may be a P.K., but I am a guy. This time isn’t the same.”
“Then what’s makes it different?”
“Who knows? I don’t think I could explain it, even if I wanted to.”
“That’s not super frustrating.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, what are we doing here?” I shove off the railing.
“I’m making an ass of myself,” says Chris, “and you’re freaking out. And I’m pretty sure both of our pancreases are attempting to produce enough insulin to keep us from going into shock.”
I’m laughing again, though I don’t know how. He looks at me with eyes that hold the stars hostage.
I have to admit to myself, even with a swollen cheek, Chris is handsome. Even more so by moonlight. How easy
would it be for me to just wrap my arms around him?
But I can’t let myself feel these things he asks of me. No way I can keep up the charade if I do. Dad tells me I wear my emotions on my sleeve for a reason. No matter how hard I try, they come out. If I end up loving this boy, there will to be no way for me to hide it.
I can’t take that risk.
“Can you take me home now?”
He nods his head, stepping past me. I follow, allowing a few feet of buffer. Man, I didn’t realize just how far I went. I’m wiping sweat off my forehead by the time we make it back to the car.
Lowering myself into the seat, I fasten my belt. He does the same, face expressionless as he pulls back onto the road. Thank God, we aren’t far from my house. That means I’ll only have to endure this awkward torture for a few minutes.
The silence is oppressive. It’s heavy, weighing on my shoulders and pressing against my ears. I would kill for some music—even a Christian radio station at this point. Anything would be better than being forced to process how my night went from totally awesome to the screaming train wreck of fuckery it is now.
Chris has feelings for me. Crush feelings, but feelings nonetheless. And it’s something new and strange, being the object of someone’s crush. I mean, I’m sure at least a couple of girls over the years have developed an affection for me. Lord knows I didn’t pay them any mind, but this is different. This is someone I can actually picture having a relationship with, not just a one-time fling of heavy petting in a small, dark, undisclosed place.
Oh God, is this what straight people feel like? This constant anxiety about people liking them?
No wonder they’re all so miserable on MTV.
Then again, what if this is it? What if this is my chance to find the happiness I’ve only ever seen on sitcoms? Me and Chris getting married, raising a family, and going through life in front of a live studio audience with real laughter, none of that canned garbage.
The thought makes me smile.
And then a familiar crushing sense of guilt takes over, shredding my fantasy into tiny little confetti bits and throwing them back into my face like a deranged birthday clown. It’s wrong, what I want. There are no happy endings for me, not with Chris, not with anyone. Abominations don’t get those, do they?
The lump in my throat sticks, and I can’t swallow around it. This is all too much, too quickly. Too many variables spinning in my head. Heat burns behind my cheeks as anger bubbles to the surface. I blink the stinging tears from my eyes, nails digging into my palms as I clench my fists.
I have to do something before I explode.
“Fuck.” The word escapes my lips with a hiss. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” My first slams into the dashboard with every expletive. Pain barely registers, but I pull away bloodied knuckles.
“Hey!” Chris grabs my wrist, halting my assault. “What’s your damage?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“Look.” He holds firm, “I know that I upset you, but that’s no reason to go ballistic and take it out on my car! Jesus.”
I pull my arm free. “Just drive.”
Chris lets out a breath, hitting the acceleration. The car rolls forward, but with a jerk of the wheel, we’re on the shoulder again.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s wrong?” Chris shuts the engine off, lights above us flickering to life.
He stares at me, like really stares at me.
“What are you talking about?”
He motions to the crimson smear on his dashboard. “I may be new to this whole crush thing, but I think there’s something you’re not telling me, Mike.”
“That’s none of your business. I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He crosses his arms. “But it’s also kind of childish, don’t you think?”
“Fuck you.”
“Ha!” Chris laughs. “That’s even better! Come on, just tell me what’s wrong and maybe I can help.”
“I don’t want your— I don’t need help.”
Another lie. Pile them up until they bury me, and I don’t have to think about who I am.
“Everyone needs help,” Chris says, voice soft. “But some people are too stubborn to ask for it. Most people, however, don’t randomly decide to Mike Tyson my dashboard unless there’s something pretty serious going on.”
I don’t want anything from him. There are so many things I want from him. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Now, can you please drive? My parents are going to freak the fuck out if I’m not home in the next fifteen minutes.”
“That leaves us ten minutes to talk.”
“Jesus,” I hiss, “will you just give it a rest? I’m perfectly fine, okay? End of story. I just had to blow a little steam.”
“Steam?” Chris echoes. “Is that what you want to call that?”
“Chris, please. Just go.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I watch him wrestle with his decision. His eyes tell me as much. I don’t like how easy it is to look into them. With a turn of his wrist, the car comes back to life, and he pulls out onto the road.
I’m crying, of course, because this night just isn’t embarrassing enough. I crank down the window, warm air helping them to dry. Fuck, my hand hurts. I hope there’s nothing broken. That’s not something I want to deal with right now.
“You can just let me out here,” I say as we pull in front of the house.
“Mike—” Chris starts.
I cut him off. “Chris, don’t make this any worse.” I open the car door with my unbattered hand. “I’ll see you around,” I call over my shoulder.
The wet grass soaks my ankles, and I don’t turn to watch him leave. The house is quiet, Mom and Dad long asleep by this point. That’s for the best, seeing as I will probably burst into tears if anyone tries to talk to me right now.
The stairs creek their usual dirge as I retreat into my room.
I don’t undress, just fall onto my comforter, careful to avoid getting blood on the cloth. I should have grabbed some ibuprofen, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, I guess. And, at this point, not even God himself could get me out of this bed.
My dumb brain plays the last fifteen minutes on a loop, and I just want to shove an icepick into my eye. That’s how they used to do lobotomies, right? I should probably Google that.
Like it or not, it’s processing time.
Why did Chris have to do this? We had a good thing going. I was even starting to get used to the fact someone knew about my secret. Then, he had to go ruin it by catching the feels. Feelings ruin everything.
His stupid face flashes into focus. “Don’t we deserve the chance to be normal, to be happy?”
That’s just the thing, Big Guy. I don’t know if I deserve that. I can’t know for certain if anything I feel is right. And there’s this nagging in the back of my mind, gnawing at me like a rabid weasel. Maybe I’m miserable because this is wrong. I’m wrong.
And I can ask and ask until I’m blue in the face, but I don’t ever get an answer from You. That’s not super frustrating. What is it? Did I piss You off from the womb or something? Did I draw the short straw at conception, so You just decided to curse me with these stupid ass feelings? Cause that’s a really shitty thing to do, Buddy….
What? No come back? No hellfire and brimstone? No smiting? No, of course not. Because it’s me, and those things would require You actually acknowledging my existence.
Okay, Mike. Let’s bring it down a notch. There’s no need to silently yell into the void. We’re going to focus on the real world and your very real problems.
Maybe, if I write them all down, that will help me start to sort through them. Organization at least gives me the illusion of control. I grab a notebook and pencil from my bedside table, flipping to an empty page.
Now what are my problems?
Number one: Chris
There’s not really much more I can say about this one. I have absolutely no clue what to do about it, othe
r than ignore him completely. Which is easier said than done. Then again, how can I possibly face him after tonight? I feel like such an idiot. Plus, he has to clean my blood off his dashboard. God, my fucking hand hurts.
Number two: Global Warming
That’s a great problem to distract me from my other, less world-ruining problems. You know, despite what the insane newscasters my parents love to listen to says, I believe in global warming. I really think someone should do something. Maybe I can start a club or whatever at school. Then again, half of my class doesn’t believe climate change is a thing, so maybe not. Let’s circle back to this one.
Number three: The essay due tomorrow for Dr. Redford
Fuck. I forgot all about that until just now. I crumple my useless list and toss it into the pile of paper underneath my drafting table. Letting out a yawn, I fish my laptop from its bag on the floor, booting it up with the push of a button.
Time to half ass something and make it seem really pretentious by including a bunch of words no one’s heard of while silently counting up to my word-count requirement.
At least I have cake frosting coursing through my veins.
My alarm goes off, and I really wish I was never born. The sugar high ran out somewhere around 1 AM, so I had to resort to slapping myself in the face to stay awake long enough to finish my paper. Surprisingly it isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever written. Plus, it actually almost makes sense, so that’s a plus.
Dad hums to the radio on the way to school and I really want to nap, but I can’t without getting carsick. So, there’s no relief in sight as we pull into the parking lot, and I begin my obligatory trajectory toward the smelly dumpsters.
“There you are!” Jackie flicks the end of her cig, scattering the ashes in the breeze. “Hey, Mom let me drive Winnie in this morning, so I can get used to her before the driving test later today.”
“Winnie?” Is she driving a yellow stuffed bear to school? I’m way too tired to deal with this bullshit.
“Yep! I decided on the name last night.” Another puff of smoke twirls in the garbage breeze. “I was going back and forth between Winifred and Gertrude, but eventually Winifred won out. Isn’t it perfect?”
There Goes Sunday School Page 16