A pop of the handle, and my door swings wide, letting in the humid night air. A shiver makes its way up my spine as I climb out of the car. The resounding thud echoes against the house as I shut it.
“Mike?” The window retracts as Chris leans over the center consol.
I hesitate, his voice keeping me anchored.
“I’m sorry if I sounded harsh.” His eyes sparkle in the darkness, greedily hoarding every glimmer of light they can find. “This isn’t easy for either of us. But I’m glad I have someone to share it with. The weight would be too much to carry alone.”
A nod is the only response I can deem appropriate.
“See you in the morning.” He flashes a devilish grin. “Sleep tight.”
Leaving me blushing and speechless, Chris puts the car in reverse, my pulse racing as he narrowly misses the mailbox on his way out.
Crickets and cicadas are the only noise now, a choir of voices in the dark. They sing their song as I trudge towards the door, muddling through the events of the night.
Anxiety has become my closest friend, second only to guilt. Mom has a rare day off from work today, so she’d prepared a spread of breakfast I politely decline. Food at this point would just make the nausea worse.
Stronghold stands fully intact when Dad drops Rosy and me off, and students mill around the lawn like any other day. They’re careless, my fellow teens. None of them privy to the warfare that raging in my head.
Jackie isn’t much help this morning either, she just exhales pungent clouds of nicotine and ash, texting away as my sanity slips slowly out of my ears.
It’s almost time for first period and I haven’t seen Chris anywhere.
“Why do you look like you’ve committed a crime?” she asks, flicking the end of her vice.
“What are you talking about?” I run my hands along the strap of my bag.
“You.” She tosses her butt to the ground, stomping on it. “You just seem a little off. Oh God, did I scramble that measly brain of yours when I laid you out the other day?” She snaps her fingers. “That has to be it. I’ve unlocked the psychopath inside you, and now, it’s only a matter of time before you kill everyone you love!”
She strikes a pose, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her forehead.
“Are you sure you don’t want to audition for theater this semester?”
“As if.” She snorts, breaking character. “You’re as bad as my mom.”
The bell rings in the distance, fueling the gnawing anxiety in my stomach.
Jackie brushes a patch of ash from her skirt. “All right, American Psycho, let’s get to class before people start getting suspicious, or you decide to butcher me and toss me in the dumpster.”
I grunt a response to her ridiculousness and we head for the side door.
Jackie waves as our paths branch off, and a cold layer of sweat breaks out across my palms.
Thoughts of Chris and our night together are the only thing keeping me going. Without those, I would have curled up in a dark corner somewhere, paralyzed with fear.
Dr. Redford seems especially bored as I make it to my seat, Chris’s empty desk doing nothing to help my nerves. Without him here, I feel like I’m drowning. Then again, it’s like that when he is here, but I get a burst of air every now and again.
In true Chris Myers fashion, he skirts in just as Redford goes to lock the door. Flushed and breathing hard, he rounds the desk and plops down. He leans over to me but is interrupted.
“I have the results of yesterday’s test,” Redford announces. “And, for those of you who assumed prayer was enough to get you through it, I’m afraid to say faith without works gets you nowhere.”
An audible groan swells through the room as he begins to condemn the class to their subpar grades. Chris writes something on a slip of paper.
He slips it over to me, and I hide it in my lap, waiting for the moment Redford is busy destroying someone’s GPA.
I quietly unfold it, scanning the tiny handwriting.
My fingers shake as I fold it back, stowing it in my pocket. Three words bore into my mind and seep into my lungs until they fill them, forcing out all the air.
I’m so sorry.
The apology says everything.
We’re fucked.
“Mr. Hernandez,” Redford says, standing over me, glasses pulled down and magnifying his eyes into dinner plates. “Excellent work, as always.” His voice comes from a distance, muffled and reverberating.
Shallow breaths come quick, and the edges of my vision go dark as pressure sets in.
“Michael?” Redford sounds miles away.
Big Guy, can I just go ahead and get beamed up? I’m pretty sure my heart’s about to explode and I’d really prefer not to be here for that moment. Is there an express lane option or something?
“—the nurse,” he says, crouching down to my level. “Michael, Laura’s going to help you to the nurse, all right?”
Laura Platt helps me to my feet, my knees so wobbly I have to lean on her. Thankfully, she’s the captain of the volleyball team, so she’s sturdy. But I can’t will my feet into motion and everything’s getting so dark.
The sensation of falling overtakes me and I blackout before I hit the ground.
My forehead is freezing. Heaven must be super cold. That, or maybe, they got things mixed up and Hell is just a frozen waste land where Satan makes you shovel snow for the rest of eternity. Which, in retrospect, I guess isn’t so bad.
But I’m not dead, and a towel full of ice rests on my forehead. I pull it away, opening my eyes to blinding fluorescents and a pounding headache.
The nurse’s office smells of cleaning chemicals. Ms. Harden, the school nurse comes to my side, placing a wrinkled, fluffy hand on my cheek. “You had me worried for minute,” she coos in her soothing, grandmotherly tone.
My mouth is drier than Mom’s cornbread. “What happened?”
“From the looks of it, you had an episode of acute hysteria brought on by stress.” She holds my wrist with two fingers, monitoring her wristwatch. “In other words, you freaked out, kiddo.”
“Oh.” Well, that certainly does explain the sudden loss of my whereabouts. Here I was thinking Heaven was really just a nurse’s office and God a grey-haired woman with a tattoo of a bird on her neck.
“Your mother should be here in a few minutes.” Ms. Harden releases my arm. “So, I’ll leave you to rest until she gets here.” She gives me one last comforting smile before crossing the room. A voice comes through the door as soon as she opens it.
“—he all right?”
“Calm down, Christian.” Ms. Harden’s hushed voice carries. “He’s fine, but you really need to get back to the office.”
“Can I see him?” Chris pleads.
“I’ll tell you once more, it’s against school policy. Now, I really have to ask you to please go back—”
The door shuts, reducing the voices to murmurs as I stare at the paneled ceiling. My pocket vibrates, and I fish out my phone.
Are you okay?10:01am
I’ve been out for almost an hour?
I’m not dead, if that’s what you mean.10:02am
He starts typing an answer, but those three dots just keep disappearing and reappearing, doing nothing to settle my nerves.
Mom will show up soon, and no doubt make a scene gushing over me. She’ll want me to go to the emergency room and run fifteen different tests. At least, then, I’ll be away from here when the shit hits the fan. I can only guess at what Chris’s message meant, but I have a pretty good idea. Tabby’s talking again.
An excruciating half hour passes before my mother arrives in a tizzy. She bursts through the door like a woman possessed and jumps into twenty questions.
“What happened? Did you experience any facial paralysis? Did you smell burning toast? Did you soil yourself? Was there any—”
“Mom! Jesus!” I push her off me.
“Ms. Hernandez,” the nurse tries to interject but gets
swept aside.
“I told you not to skip breakfast this morning.” Her hands are on the side of my face, manipulating me to look her in the eye. “Maybe this is a blood sugar issue? Did you check his glucose levels?”
“Ma’am, if he’s not a diabetic, there’s no reason to—”
“Well, obviously, there’s some reason. Come on, Michael. I’m taking you in to see Dr. Bradford.”
“Mom, please stop,” I plead. “I’m just fine.”
“You are not fine, Michael. People who are fine don’t just fall out in the middle of first period. Now, grab your things, and I’ll pull the car around.”
“Ms. Hernandez?”
A new voice catches my attention, the tall man standing in the entranceway. He has salt and pepper hair, and his charcoal suit is tailored to perfection.
“Principal Peters.” Mom’s voice shoots up an octave. This may be the first time she’s seen the Principal outside of PTO meetings.
Peters, the Double P, leans over to catch my eye. “How are you feeling, Michael?”
“Much better, sir,” I answer, straightening my tie out of habit.
“Mrs. Hernandez, may I speak with you in private for just a moment?”
Mom stiffens like she’s speaking to the president instead of the man who’s about to ruin her life. I can’t help her now. I can’t prepare her for what’s about to happen any more than I can prepare myself.
“Of course.” She steps forward. “Mike, I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
I nod, words caught in my throat.
The two of them leave the room, Nurse Harden motioning for me to join her by the door. “The Principal asked me to escort you back to the front office,” she tells me. “Just to make sure you’ll be all right.”
Or to make sure I don’t run away. That’s a lot more likely.
We exit her office, walking along the quiet halls. It’s almost lunch time now.
Nurse Harden delivers me to the office where Double P’s secretary asks me to take a seat. The window into his office is closed, blinds covering the view. They’re in there, most likely discussing what’s to be done about my…situation.
I wonder if Chris will get dragged in here too, made to suffer the same fate. Will they call his dad? I can only imagine the shit show that’s about to begin.
My leg bounces uncontrollably as the minutes tick by, every second another personal hell pulling me closer to the realization of exposure.
I nearly jump out of my skin as the receptionist’s phone rings. She picks up the receiver. “Yes?”
All is silent while she listens, nodding her head.
“Absolutely. You’re very welcome.”
Why’s she looking at me?
“Michael,” she says, rising from her seat. “Mrs. Owens will come and collect you in just a moment. Would you mind waiting here?”
Mrs. Owens? What’s the councilor have to do with this?
“Um, sure.” My head still hurts, so I dig a finger into my temple, attempting to calm it. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
The door of the office opens, and two dark-haired people, in the midst of a heated discussion, step inside.
“—it obviously isn’t helping, I mean his grades have improved but that doesn’t mean—”
“Honestly, Roger, just give him the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure this is nothing serious.”
The Myers’ step up the receptionist and I become one with my chair.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes,” the man says, a phony smile spreading across his lips. “I’m Pastor Myers, and this is my lovely wife, Vanessa. Principal Peters says it is an urgent matter.”
“One moment.” She dials something on the phone, then speaks quietly into it. With a nod, she hangs up. “Please, go on in.”
Well there goes the slim chance this has all been some misunderstanding.
It’s inevitable, I guess. My life is about to get turned upside down, and nothing I can do will change that fact. But there is one thing that I still control. And that’s how I come out to Jackie.
I won’t let them take that away from me.
I unlock my phone, selecting Jackie number. My hands shake as I type.
Jackie, I’m gay.10:47am
The sound of the sent text echoes in my ears and I blink to keep from tearing up. Jackie’s bound to have a million questions, so I shut my phone off before they can come. I’ll deal with it later. That is, if I survive the next few hours.
“Michael?”
A woman stands outside the door to the left of Double-P’s office, a kind smile curling the side of her lips. It takes me a minute to recognize her. “Yes, Mrs. Owens?” I pretend I don’t know what this is all about. Only one reason comes to mind as to why the school councilor would be talking to me right now, and plausible deniability is my only option.
“Do you mind if we chat for just few minutes?” she asks, tucking a strand of long blonde hair behind her ear.
“Sure.” I rise from my chair, legs unsteady.
“Chris,” she says into her office, “if you would please wait outside the principal’s office a little longer.”
Stone-faced, Chris exits Ms. Owen’s office, the two of us crossing paths. He tries to give me a smile, but a grimace is the best he can do. He takes the seat I just left, and I enter the councilor’s office, settling on the cushioned couch. I half expect her to pull out one of those, ‘where did they touch you?’ dolls.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” says Ms. Owens, shutting the door behind her. “I heard you had an episode earlier this morning.”
I nod, not wanting to say a word.
“You must be wondering why you’re here right now.” She sits across from me, unfolding a pair of brightly colored reading glasses and sliding them on. “But something tells me you might already know.”
I’m here because I’m gay and some bitch with a serious disregard for personal space decided to turn me in.
But I remain silent.
“This must be a very confusing time for you, Michael. I want to help you work through these thoughts you’re having and help you see there are alternative options to the lifestyle you must feel is unavoidable.”
“And what lifestyle is that?” I ask, my voice as small as a mouse.
“I think you know.”
“Do I?” I scoff. “I think you should just mind your own goddam business.”
Ms. Owens doesn’t recoil from my words, but simply crosses her legs. “You’re angry, Michael. Is that because, deep down, you know what you’re doing is wrong?”
“What am I doing that’s so wrong, Ms. Owens?”
“Michael, there’s no need to lash out. We’re both aware of the behavior you’ve been—”
“You can’t even say it!” I explode. “Jesus, it’s not that hard! You called me in here because I’m a fag, and I need help. Is that it?”
“Those are your words, Michael.” The councilor writes something down. “Do you believe them to be true?”
I lean back in the cushion, crossing my arms. “Whatever.”
“Let’s talk about yesterday, Michael.”
“What about it?”
“What were you doing yesterday morning before first period?”
Yesterday? What was I doing yesterday? All I can think about is last night and the weight of Chris on top of me.
“I was outside the school,” I tell her, straining to remember. Where is she going with this?
“And what were you doing?” she asks again.
“Nothing, just talking with my friend Jackie.”
“Anything else happen?”
I think back through the conversation. Other than Jackie smoking, nothing happened that could be considered— Oh!
Chris kissed me.
I’m suddenly very itchy, heat rising to my cheeks as I squirm on the sofa.
“Michael?”
But who would have seen that? Who could have known about the kiss?
Jackie and I have been hanging out back there since freshman year, and no one’s ever busted her for smoking.
“I want to show you something Michael.” Ms. Owens picks up a tablet from the table between us, swiping a password to illuminate the screen. She finds what she’s looking for, and then turns it to me.
My heart sinks as I see a grainy photo of Chris kissing me beside the dumpsters.
“This was sent to Principal Peters early this morning from an anonymous source.”
Anonymous my ass. I know exactly who sent that picture in…. Except, I don’t. Tabby wasn’t at school yesterday, so it couldn’t have been her.
Who else would have taken it?
“You’re aware it’s against school policy for this inappropriate behavior to take place between same sex parties, Michael?”
I nod.
“But more importantly,” Ms. Owens says as she sets the tablet down, “I wanted to talk about what brought you to act out this way in the first place.”
I ignore her ignorance, wracking my brain, trying to come up with a name. Someone with the motive to do this. Did I make an enemy without even knowing it?
“Same sex attraction isn’t innately wrong, Michael.” The councilor continues, “In fact many young men your age struggle with it. But it’s in understanding God’s plan for us that we can overcome these temptations and focus on devoting ourselves completely over to Him. I know that’s what you truly want, deep down.”
An opportunity arises. “And what proof do you have?”
“Excuse me?” Mrs. Owens lowers her glasses. “I’m not sure I understand your question.”
“What proof do you have that homosexuality is wrong?”
“Michael, I’m sure you’re well aware the Bible makes it very clear God’s intentions for a man to be with a woman.”
“Oh, I’m clear about a lot of things they mention in the Bible,” I inform her. “But my question is, why is this one thing different?”
“Once again, I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Do you eat shellfish, Ms. Owens?”
“What?”
“Shellfish,” I repeat myself, “crab, mollusk, lobster?”
There Goes Sunday School Page 25