The God Box (20 page)

Why hadn't I thought of that? We talked about my doubts and worries a little more, but I knew that I wanted to tell him, and Angie suggested we pray."Dear Jesus .. ." she started slowly. I kept my eyes open, gazing at her. "Please guide Paul and help him make the right decision about his dad. Help him to trust that no matter what happens, you'll be there for him ..."As Angie prayed, I recalled St. Paul's passage about how nothing210could separate us from God's love. Listening to her, I felt closer to that love than I had in a long time.As I was leaving, she said, "I'm here for you, whenever you need me."I kissed her on the cheek and walked to my car. When I drove away, she waved to me from the front doorway, like she had so many times before. Except tonight she left the porch light on.211

WHEN I ARRIVED HOME FROM ANGIE'S, PA WAS ASLEEP IN FRONT OF THE TV,

SNORING. AN EMPTY BUTTERMILK GLASS STOOD ON THE END TABLE BESIDE

THE COUCH. I WATCHED HIM FOR AWHILE, AND WONDERED,CAN I REALLY TELL

HIM?I knew I had to tell him. I didn't want to hide anymore, and I didn't want him finding out from someone else. But first I needed to eat. Talking to Angie had left me drained and starved.Ever since Manuel had gone into the hospital, Pa had been leaving dinner for me on the stove, knowing I'd be home late. Tonight he had made chopped steak, rice, and pinto beans. I warmed it up, trying to be quiet. I was mixing a glass of chocolate milk when I heard the TV shut off. A moment later Pa stood in the kitchen doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes."Hi." He yawned, covering his mouth. "How is your friend? Any better?""No, the same." I sat down at the kitchen table with my dinner and started to eat.Pa pulled a chair up and watched me quietly, his thoughts seeming years away. "Every day when you drive to the hospital," he said softly, "I think of your ma."I stopped chewing a moment. Pa hardly ever mentioned Ma. I had followed his example, figuring that it hurt him to talk about her. I now set my fork down and admitted, "So do I.I miss her a lot."212Pa nodded across the table, his eyes clouded, and we both sat quietly again.Maybe now wasn't the best time to tell him about me. But then, when would be?I took a swig of milk to fortify myself. "Pa? I need to tell you something." I tried to keep my voice steady as I looked at him. "I'm gay."The words seemed to hang in the air between us. I waited as Pa sat silently, his face showing no emotion, his eyes getting that miles-away look again. What was going on inside him now? Was he angry? Disappointed? What was ever going on inside him?Unable to stand the silence, I asked, "Are you going to say anything?"He raised a hand to rub his wrinkled forehead, his fingers shaking a little. "I promised your ma I'd take care of you."I shifted in my chair. Did that mean he would accept me being gay? Or that he thought he'd screwed up?"Well, you have taken care of me.""No." He brought his hand down from his brow, across his graying mustache. "Not very well. I should have paid more attention to you."What was he implying? That I was gay because he hadn't paid enough attention? I recalled Manuel once asking, "Why do some people always try to find something to blame being gay on?""Pa, this isn't about you--or anything you did or didn't do."Pa shook his head as if seeing things differently.

"I'm sorry, mijo.""Sorry for what?" I had feared he might be angry, but I was the one getting mad.

"There's nothing to feel sorry about. It's just how I am. It doesn't matter why."I got up and carried my half-eaten dinner to the sink, no longer hungry, and scraped the remains into the garbage disposal. After213shoving my plate into the dishwasher, I turned to face Pa. "Are you going to get drunk again?" He flinched. "What?"I felt a little crass for having asked, but wasn't that a big chunk of the reason I'd been so scared to come out to him?"I said, are you going to start drinking again?""No." He shook his head as though he still didn't understand why I was asking that."Good!" I folded my arms. Why was I so angry at him? He had taken my coming out much better than I'd expected and said he wasn't going to drink again. What more did I want?His dark eyes stared back at me, as unreadable as ever. Would he always be a mystery to me? When he spoke again, he simply said, "Te quiero, mijo.""I love you too," I muttered, meaning it, though I didn't feel it very much right now.That's all we said that night. I felt like there were volumes more we needed to say, but I didn't know what. Maybe he didn't either.I went to my room, kicked my shoes off, and fell onto the bed."Well, I did it," I told Jesus. "I don't know if it was your will or not, but I did it."I stared at the crack in the ceiling, waiting for some sort of reaction to my prayer, but there wasn't any. Sometimes God seemed as mysterious as my pa.214

WHEN I AWOKE THE FOLLOWING MORNING, WELL BEFORE MY ALARM, THE SKY

WAS STILL DARK. I SAT UP IN BED, RECALLING DAKOTA'S NEWSPAPER ARTICLE.

MANUEL HAD SAID WHAT A FREEING FEELING COMING OUT WOULD BE. IT WAS

TRUE: I FELT STRONGER AND MORE FULL OF ENERGY THAN I HAD SINCE

MANUEL'S ATTACK.I got up, dressed, pulled my sneakers on, and tiptoed down the hall. Not even Pa was awake yet. I bounded out the front door, and while the sun rose, bright and orange, I jogged down the empty early morning streets and prayed. "Thank you, Jesus, for giving me the strength and courage to be honest." I still wasn't convinced it was God's will for me to be gay, but I felt set free.When I got to homeroom that morning, I whispered to Angie, "I told Pa.""How'd it go?" she said brightly. "You don't look devastated.""I guess it went okay. I'm not sure." I told her about it and she nodded reassuringly."Well, give him time. Just remember how long it took for you to accept it."I thought about that a lot during the remainder of that day. I didn't tell Dakota or anyone else about me. I wasn't quite ready for that yet.215After school I drove to the hospital to see Manuel, wishing I could communicate to him what I had done. I knew he would be so proud of me. But then I had a disturbing notion: What if he never came out of his coma, like in one of those news cases? I shook my head, not wanting to think about it. Now that he'd stepped into my world, I couldn't imagine it without him."Please Jesus," I prayed. "Don't let that happen to him.

Please heal him. Please."And yet, what if Manuel was never healed and his condition never changed? Because he'd come into my world, I had been healed and changed. And nothing could ever undo that.When I arrived at the medical center, I was relieved--actually more like ecstatic--to hear that Manuel had in fact improved, even if it was only a tiny bit. He was now able to breathe without a respirator and had gotten moved out of ICU. Although the staff warned Manuel's family and me to keep our expectations in check, I prayed over and over and over, "Thank you, Lord.

Thank you."During my visits to the hospital I had been gradually getting to know the staff. As one of the nurses said, "You come here as much as his family."One afternoon she had asked me to help bathe Manuel. At first I felt a little embarrassed at the thought of seeing him naked, especially when I recalled how lust-crazed I'd gotten from merely seeing his bare arms. But when I saw the full impact of the attack on his still-bruised body, I had to swallow hard to fight back my tears.How could anybody have hurt someone so much? How could anyone be so full of hate?

I had to pray hard and long after that to not feel the same hatred toward Jude and Terry.There were other afternoons when I helped to clean and change him after he had soiled himself. That was hardly something I'd ever foreseen doing for anyone. Not that I was becoming a saint216or anything, and I didn't do it to score points in heaven. I did it for Manuel, and for all he'd done for me.Several days after he'd been moved out of ICU, when I walked into his room, a nurse was there, and Manuel's mom brightened at the sight of me. "He almost came out of it for a few minutes this morning.""It's still too early to say," the nurse cautioned, "but the doctors think he may be regaining consciousness, though there is still the question of brain damage. Let's keep hoping for the best."I stayed with Manuel's mom till visiting hours ended. The entire time I prayed and hoped Manuel would awaken. But he didn't.For the next Saturday both Angie and Dakota had planned to come to the hospital, and they'd mentioned it to Manuel's group. Stephen Marten offered to take everyone in his family's mini-van. At ten a.m. we all met at his house. As Stephen drove, I found myself avoiding his gaze in the rearview mirror. I guess I still felt guilty about never helping him.It was the first time I'd really hung out with anyone from that group.

Gerald, the atheist Goth guy, brought a whoopee cushion that cut a fart sound every time someone sat on it. It was kind of gross but hilarious, and it helped to cheer everybody up. I never would have expected that from somebody who once wore a black trench coat to school every day.As we all rode to Abilene together, talking, I realized there was more to everyone than I had pegged them for. We spent the whole morning together at the hospital, with Manuel's family, waiting and hoping.After lunch I went to the men's room. When the door swung closed behind me, I saw Stephen at the washbasin, rinsing his contact lens with saline solution.217"Hi," I mumbled, and slipped into a stall, not wanting to face him. While peeing, I listened for the hallway door to open, hoping he'd leave. Instead, I kept hearing him at the washbasin.I stepped out from the stall and he explained, "They're new contacts.""Yeah," I replied, and washed my hands. I knew what I needed to tell him. My heart pumped hard and I scrubbed my hands way longer than necessary, until finally I sputtered, "I'm sorry.""Huh?" He gazed over at me.I made myself look at him. "For never saying anything and turning away. I'm sorry."Stephen nodded, and his voice came out soft and sad: "You have no idea how hard it was, how scared I was coming to school every day, and feeling so alone."I stood quietly beside him, listening to his hurt and feeling more humble than ever in my life."No one ever did anything," he continued, "until Manuel.""I'm sorry," I repeated a third time.Stephen gave a shrug. "It's past.I wasn't sure exactly what he meant by that, but I hoped he was forgiving me.We rejoined the others in the hospital room, and I continued to pray that Manuel would come to again... but nothing.During the drive home that night, each time Stephen's eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror, I still felt a twinge of shame about the past, but I no longer looked away.218

ON SUNDAY MORNING WHEN MY ALARM RANG, I HIT THE OFF BUTTON AND

ROLLED OVER. FOR THE FIRST TIME I COULD REMEMBER, I DIDN'T FEEL LIKE

GOING TO CHURCH. MAYBE IT HAD TO DO WITH BECOMING MORE HONEST AND

OPEN--OR MAYBE I WAS JUST TOO EXHAUSTED.I had drifted back to sleep when I felt Pa shaking my foot. "Mijo, get up.""Would you stop doing that?" I yanked my foot away and blinked my eyes open, glaring at him. "I don't like it!""Sorry." Pa lifted his hand from my foot, looking stricken. We stared at each other a moment. "Well," he said, "are you coming to church?""Yeah," I grumbled, not wanting to get into a discussion.On the drive to the service neither Pa nor I said much. We each looked out our separate sides of the windshield at our different sides of the road. The bleak winter landscape seemed so cold, and inside the truck it hardly felt any warmer.Ever since the night I had come out to Pa, we had been like strangers sharing the same house. Neither of us said any more219about my announcement, but the memory of it was always there. It was as if everything had changed between Pa and me, even though we were still the same people.When we arrived at church, the usher found us seats only a few rows from the front. As I sat down, I spotted Angie sitting with her mom several rows back. We waved. The service began as usual, with singing and praying till it came time for Pastor Jose's sermon.He stood before the congregation, his head bowed in silent prayer for what seemed like a very long time. When at last he began to speak, his voice was somber, not at all his normal cheery tenor: "Brothers and sisters in Christ, this morning my heart is heavy."Somehow I knew what he was going to preach about. My chest tightened as I braced myself."I have learned," Pastor announced, "that some students at our very own Longhorn High are forming a club for homosexuals." A wave of gasps and whispers rustled through the pews--and beside me, my pa grew rigid.I had figured that Pastor would eventually have to say something about the group--

especially after Dakota's website article. I glanced over my shoulder at Angie. She nodded as if she, too, had expected this."Now," Pastor continued, propping himself against the pulpit, "I'm going to tell you something else that may shock you ..."His sullen gaze scanned his congregation, as we waited for his revelation."I know people," he confessed, "who practice the homosexual lifestyle. I'm not ashamed to admit that I've reached out to them. Because I believe that the power of love, as demonstrated in the life and teachings of Jesus Christ, compels us to extend his holy love to all our brothers and sisters, even those who choose to turn their backs on him."220Around me people shifted in their seats, anxious about where this was going--as was I."There is so much pain"--Pastor shook his head sadly--"among those lost souls who choose homosexuality: promiscuity . . . alcoholism ... drug abuse ... AIDS ... all the result of hearts closed to the love of Jesus."Throughout our congregation heads nodded in agreement."Some of these people," Pastor pressed on, "I've helped to change ... restoring them to a healthy, wholesome, and holy heterosexual life."Several people called out, "Praise Jesus," and "Amen.""Unfortunately," Pastor announced sternly, "others have refused the call to repent." He paused to exhale a sorrowful sigh.

"But that's how it goes sometimes. Some people don't want help. Remember what Jesus asked the man who had been sick for thirty-eight years? We, too, must ask those we try to help, 'Do you want to be healed?'"As I listened to my pastor--a man I liked, trusted, and admired, who seemed to truly care about people--doubts began to churn again in my mind. Had I truly wanted to be healed? Maybe I hadn't tried hard enough."We cannot turn our backs on our brothers and sisters .

. ." Pastor's voice rose with passion. "But neither can we allow a sinful school club to seduce our children into a destructive lifestyle that can only lead to death and damnation."My doubts of a moment before vanished abruptly. Was he talking about the same little club that Angie, Dakota, Manuel, and I had discussed at our lunch table?"What's next?" Pastor's voice grew angrier. "An incest, bestiality, and pornography club? Is that what we want for our children?"All around me people responded at full voice: "No!"221I squirmed, as little blisters of sweat burst upon my forehead."Just as almighty God destroyed Sodom for its wickedness," Pastor continued, "today Jesus calls on us"--His hand swept over the audience--"to speak out and stop this vile and profane homosexual club."I should have known the Sodom reference was coming, once again equating gay people with violent rapists. I wanted to correct Pastor. But how could I stand up in front of two thousand people and say that he, our minister whom we all believed in, was misrepresenting Scripture?As if he could read my mind, Pastor Jose paused and stared down at me. Pa followed his gaze and whispered, "Are you part of that club?"I shrank in my seat, knowing how much Pa respected Pastor. "Yeah. But the group isn't what he says. It's not true. He's wrong."Pa gave me a hard look, his dark eyes drilling into me. Was he angry or trying to believe me? Without warning he bolted to his feet, tugging at my arm. "Let's go!"I hesitated. Go where? No one ever got up in the middle of Pastor's sermon unless they were going for the altar call or having a coughing fit. I grabbed my jacket and scrambled after Pa, jostling past the people seated in our row.Pastor's gaze followed Pa and me. He had stopped preaching, almost as if he wanted to draw attention to us.I hunched down in my collar as the entire congregation stared. Would Pastor use me as an example of a homosexual who'd turned his back on Christ? Maybe he thought Pa and I were retreating in shame. In fact I kind of was. And I figured Pa was too--ashamed of me.But when Pa reached the aisle, he stopped and drew himself up. My pa, who hated speaking in front of even small groups, said in a voice loud enough for all to hear, "Pastor, you're wrong."222Then he turned toward the front entrance. I stood dumbstruck. Instinctively, I looked toward Angie. She was gazing at my pa and smiling bright as the sun. I hurried after him, past the whispers and blank stares of the congregation and out the front door, asking myself, What just happened?As Pa drove out of the parking lot, he pulled his tie off and carefully folded it onto the seat. I glanced over at him, waiting, but he didn't offer any explanation for walking out of church.Rather than wait forever, I asked, "Why'd you do that?"His brow wrinkled as if he were baffled by my question. "Because I believe in you. You're my son."Apparently, he didn't feel the need to explain any more than that. I wished he would have, but he didn't. I leaned back in my seat, glancing at his rough gardener's hands and not knowing what else to say.223