The Telling (7 page)

It was Michael’s turn to sigh. After all the man had been through, his worries were still for someone else. “How could you ever think
that? I’m just glad I was there when you needed me.”

“Uh, so you’re not upset about…”

“No, Ryan, I’m not upset. Surprised maybe, but not upset.”

Ryan rewarded Michael with a chuckle. “You have the gift for understatement, Big Guy.”

Michael smiled at the familiar nickname, used only by Ryan and Jimmy, given to him the first day they’d met at boot camp. The memory of the two
smiling Arkansas boys made his heart ache. They’d all been so young and innocent back then, with no idea what life had in store. “So,
how are you doing, really? You gonna be all right?”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Do you want me to come there?” The words were out of Michael’s mouth before he had a chance to stop them. Shit. This is what
he should have offered days ago. Regardless of his own fears and phobias, if Ryan needed him, Michael would be get there some way.

“You’d do that?”

“In a flat minute.” In the silence that followed Michael steeled his resolve. He would leave the safety of home to provide support for
his friend without question, even though a small, frightened part of him hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

Ryan let him off the hook. “That’s nice of you, Big Guy, but I really need to stand on my own two feet right now.”

“No, you don’t, Ryan, that’s what you’ve got friends for.”

This prompted another silence. Finally, Ryan said, “Listen Michael, I just want to thank you for, you know… everything.”

“Look, I cared about Jimmy, too. I don’t think I’d have made it without the two of you. We’re bros,
right?”

“That’s right, we’re bros.”

“Well, don’t think for a minute that I won’t come out there, ‘cause I will—just say the word.”
For Ryan. For Ryan, Michael would climb mountains.

The strain was gone from Ryan’s voice when he answered, “Well, that’s good to know, but I’m just relieved that
you’re not mad. I couldn’t have handled that.”

“No, Ryan, never mad. Look, I know you’re busy and all, but maybe in a few weeks you could come visit me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ryan said, in an off-handed way that didn’t sound very convincing.

Michael let it pass. He’d wait a few weeks and ask again. “The offer stands whenever you’re feeling up to it.”

“Thanks, Big Guy. I gotta go now, but don’t be a stranger, all right?”

The words were so earnest that Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Only if you make the same promise.”

“You got it.” After a moment’s pause Ryan added, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Bros.”

“Bros,” Ryan agreed, then broke the connection. He seemed to be doing pretty well, all things considered. Michael closed his eyes,
recalling their fateful final mission, getting so far and hitting a blank wall. Why couldn’t he remember? And most importantly, why had he been
sitting in a transport with Ryan while Jimmy had been assigned to a Humvee at the head of the convoy—Michael’s normal spot?

Ryan worried about Michael’s possible anger, but in truth, Ryan was the one who should be pissed. By all rights it should have been Michael lying
in that flag-draped casket instead of Jimmy. How long before Ryan realized it, too?

Chapter Five

On Sunday, against his better judgment, Michael agreed to venture out into the world. Mom wasn’t really implying anything by insisting he
accompany her to church, but his anxiety level, once they left the book store, rose. Heart beating double-time and breathing erratic, he hurried to the car
and jumped inside, slamming the door. Screwing his eyes tightly shut, he focused on deep, even breaths as he’d been taught by his therapist.

“Michael, honey, are you all right?” His mother’s worried voice penetrated the fog of panic. “You didn’t
take your meds, did you?”

When he opened his eyes, she scowled at him, that sixth sense mothers have telling her he hadn’t taken his prescription. She’d raised
him to think of her as a friend, but was still capable of going maternal when necessary. “You know, Mikey, you really need to start taking your
pills. That doctor gave them to you for a reason.”

“No, Mom.” Michael plastered on what he hoped passed for a genuine smile. “It’s okay. I really don’t need
it, I’m fine.”

“Well, if you’re sure.” She put her aging Focus into gear and pulled away from the curb, heading out of town toward the old
church his grandparents had attended most of their lives. En route she briefed him on the former members and what they were doing now, about the new
preacher who was so much better than the last one, and how a committee had formed to clean up around the church and make some necessary repairs to the
grounds. It was an old church with a cemetery surrounding the main building. Generations of Michael’s family lay beneath the earth in that old
churchyard, the faded inscriptions on their headstones barely legible. Would he have joined them there had things gone a little differently in the attack
on his convoy?

Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts, he turned back to his mother, thankful her attention was on parking the car and not on him. She gave a
reassuring smile and patted his hand, once she’d found an open spot. “Ready?” She climbed out without waiting for an answer,
smoothing her skirt and hair.

Going home now wasn’t an option, though it’s what Michael really wanted to do, no longer in the mood even if his mother did say the
preacher delivered excellent sermons. The last time he’d been here was in the teens’ class. Now he’d be in with the adults.
Damn. Feeling old at twenty-two.

Some of his earlier panic returned upon exiting the car, but he was soon caught up being welcomed back by more people than he recalled ever knowing. His
mother swept him along, reintroducing former friends’ parents who, in turn, insisted on telling all about their children and where they were now.
By the time he made it into the building both his head and his heart pounded. The first strains from an ancient piano caused a hush to descend on the
congregation, allowing a reprieve from all the attention.

After an hour of Sunday school, he found himself sitting next to his mother on the back pew of the church, trying to ignore the stares from their fellow
church-goers. He checked his watch. Wasn’t it time for service to start? Maybe then folks would face the preacher and stop worrying about him so
much.

However, the sermon caused more problems. The new preacher was indeed charismatic and well-spoken. Too bad this morning’s topic was on the evils
of homosexuality. Why today? Did the preacher know something? Could he look at Michael and tell? Had everyone known all along, even before he did?

He’d always known that things with Ruth Ann weren’t exactly how his friends had described their experiences, but at the time
he’d just thought, as she had, that he was “cold” when it came to the physical aspects of a relationship. Michael liked
women; hell, he liked Ruthie, but females just didn’t do much for him sexually. Ruthie accepting their breakup with minimal questions had been a
relief.

Then there were the dreams. Repeated nocturnal visits from a faceless lover—a male lover. Michael’s dream self was never cold when his
lover took him to new heights, leaving him sweaty, shaking, and needing to change the sheets. The dreams had started in his teens and intensified as he
grew older and gained a better working knowledge of the mechanics of sex. They’d horrified him at first, but he’d later dismissed his
fears as just his overactive imagination twisting things.

His bigoted stepfather had called him a fag on a normal basis, considering it to be the worst possible insult. Those scathing comments saw to it that
Michael kept his thoughts to himself, not even discussing them with his mom or sister, whom he could normally tell anything. The secrets and misgivings
remained his own. He told himself he wasn’t gay and that he wanted the women he slept with even though those experiences never failed to
disappoint. Later, the mysterious dream lover always appeared, never leaving Michael wanting.

Then came the defining moment, the night before returning home, when he’d turned a corner from which there was no going back. The first time
he’d held a man, had one in his bed, he knew what had been missing in all those past experiences and what he wanted. There’d be hell to
pay to get it.

Five minutes before services ended his mother took his hand and pressed two small pills into his palm. “Take this and don’t
argue,” she hissed, while everyone else sang the closing hymn. He took a quick peek at his nearest neighbors, confused that time had passed
without his noticing. Slipping the pills into his mouth, he choked them down dry, whispering, “Thanks.” Trust Mom to know when he
needed them.

She was right. Leaving the building was much easier than arriving, the meds he normally avoided working fast to take the edge off his frayed nerves. With
Mom running interference he managed to make it to the car without being stopped by curious well-wishers. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when they pulled
out of the parking lot and onto the county road that led to his grandparents’ house. Alone with Mom. The perfect opportunity to speak his mind
without distractions. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mom, can we talk?”

“Sure, baby, you know you can talk to me about anything,” she answered, just as he knew she would. “You okay?”

She probably anticipated him opening up about the things he normally wouldn’t discuss. There would come a time when he’d have to voice
them, but not now. No, in a way Iraq might be easier to talk about as so much of his tour amount to gaping holes in his memory, fragments of disjointed
events like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing.

Michael turned to gaze out the side window. Not looking at his mother made talking easier somehow. Why he felt compelled to speak up at all he
didn’t know, but with the sermon and his recent acknowledgement that he was gay, he needed reassurance of her love and that she
wouldn’t judge. The preacher called homosexuality a choice but Michael didn’t believe it. Why would he choose to jeopardize his
relationships with his family and risk being ostracized? Who would do that? He thought back on the genuine love between his two friends in the unit. Even
though they tried so hard not to let their affection show, Ryan and Jimmy were crazy about each other. How could someone pretend a thing like that? And who
could fault them for taking what happiness they could in life?

He recalled that one of his mother’s proudest moments came when he’d gotten into a fight to defend a gay classmate, even though he
hardly knew the guy. It was the principle of the thing. Three big rednecks against one average-sized teenager weren’t fair odds. She’d
praised Michael the whole way to the local high school for defending the weak and helpless. She’d even gotten his suspension reversed. But that
was someone else’s gay kid, not her own. Then he was a hero, now the shoe definitely fit the other foot.

Michael sighed before beginning what could very well be the end of his relationship as he knew it with his mother. He hoped not, but he wouldn’t
lie to her. “Mom,” he said past the lump in his throat, “I have reason to believe that I might not be totally
straight.”

A moment’s silence, then, “How long have you felt this way?” She kept her tone neutral, giving away nothing about what she
might be thinking.

Well, he supposed it was a reasonable question, after all. “I guess I began to suspect when we lived in Biloxi.” He slammed the door on
the memory of the dark-haired Cajun boy who’d lived next door and on whom Michael had had his first crush.

“Oh, that long, huh? You were thirteen when we left Biloxi.” She grew pensive and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind.
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I wasn’t really sure at the time and didn’t know how you’d take it. Besides,” he said, unable to keep
the bitterness from his voice, “you can just imagine what Crawford would have said.” He shuddered inwardly at the memory of the bigoted
asshole who’d spent way too many years in his life.

“Now you know you could have at least talked it over with me. I could have kept it from Crawford.” Did she have to sound so hurt?

“I just wasn’t sure, ya know? You could very easily have screamed at me that I was going to Hell for being a disgusting
pervert.”
Like the church folk do
remained unsaid. “Believe me, this isn’t something I dreamed up, no matter what
the preacher said. It’s how I feel. I didn’t just decide one day to be different.”

“I never would have thought that.”

“Yeah, well that seems to be the general consensus around here.” Michael picked an imaginary piece of lint from his
sleeve—anything to avoid seeing disgust in his mother’s eyes.

“Michael Aaron Ritter! Don’t you dare accuse me of being like those narrow-minded, self-righteous idiots in this little podunk town.
You know me better than that.”

“C’mon, Ma. Today’s not the first Hellfire for Gays sermon I’ve sat through.”

Her mouth dropped open. “And all this time, I’ve dragged you to church with me, and you never said a word.”

“I like church, Mom, getting up go to Sunday School, then going to Grandma and Grandpa’s to eat. The Christmas Plays, the baseball
team, summer camp. But I’m confused of why God would make me the way I am if there’s no hope of me going to Heaven.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry. I go to church because it gives me a sense of peace, of belonging. When I was your age I sat through Hellfire
for Divorcees sermons, but they never bothered me, ‘cause you know what? The God I believe in loves his children, every last one of us, no matter
what other people think.”

There she was in all her glory: the mama bear, defending her cub. How he loved this woman. Slowly the tension drained. Michael should have known
she’d be there for him, just like she always had.

“And I go to this church ‘cause I grew up going there, and my parents go there, but there’s nothing stopping us from finding
another, more accepting place to worship. I’m your mother and you’re my son, nothing could make me turn my back on you, got
that?”