by RJ Martin
What really got me was this: “It should come as no surprise the outing of parish priest Father Svi Zweizweswaz (told you) would be construed to be a moment of divine intervention. Did this young mystic (me) shine a light on what the Catholic church considers one abomination on top of another and another: a gay married priest with a child?”
“They think that’s why you were at the church, Jonah.” Chad looked me straight in the eye in a way he never did before. “God used you to get rid of Father Svi for being gay.”
The lady reporter on TV hadn’t gotten there yet, but how long until she did? Darcy held up her phone. Tweets were flying all over the place. Some worshipped me for doing something terrible they thought was God’s will. #DivineIntervention, #JonahTheRighteous, #GodHatesGays! Others damned me for the same reason. #JonahsAHater, #MiracleOfThePhobes. I pushed their phones away and turned off the television. We sat for a moment, all of us silent, as the sun grew stronger outside and began to engulf the room.
“You can’t let this happen,” Rusty said as he took my hand.
“I know.” I squeezed his fingers in mine and knew what I had to do.
WHEN WE reached the edge of the trail, I stopped to take in the circus that was my yard. The news crew had been moved to the other side and off our road. The same lady TV reporter needed her cameraman’s help to not get her heels stuck in the soft ground of the narrow shoulder in front of the trees. More cars were there now too, lined up all the way down past Chad’s house. The troopers had put up a tape and a whole line of cars filed slowly past. Some of the people inside crossed themselves or took pictures as they drove by. Some in the crowd now had folding lawn chairs and a guy sold bottles of water. A couple of Mémé’s Legion of Mary friends were there and with rosaries, of course. Sister Matilda was with them. A smaller cluster of mostly younger-looking people held up rainbow-colored signs and traded insults with some of my fans, followers, or whatever. A third group the other two left alone because they weren’t there to protest. They were looking to be healed.
A little girl in a wheelchair sat under an umbrella while her mother gave her a bottle of water. There was a frail looking man with a baseball hat because cancer had taken his hair. His wife held him by one arm. There were other wheelchairs and a gray woman who pulled an oxygen tank behind her like it was luggage. Hilda the waitress was beside her. All of them thought I could help them. It had gone that far.
“Ready?” Rusty asked with his hand still in mine.
“Yeah.” I stepped forward, but Rusty didn’t and I almost fell backward.
“Wait.” One more step and we’d be on the lawn, visible to the still growing crowd. “Are you sure, Jonah?” He brushed the hair out of my eyes. “I think you really need to be sure here.”
“I am.” I wasn’t totally but enough I wanted to go ahead. How can you ever be 100 percent sure about leaping into an unknown? My tipping point had been reached, though. If I was ever going to be more than a line segment, I had to act and now. “Are you?”
He answered with his feet. After a few more steps, people began to notice. The camera spun around and followed Rusty and me as we crossed the lawn that needed cutting, and I was sure would leave grass stains on my “good jeans,” as my mom called them. I never thought my other pair was bad. In fact they were softer, more broken in, and felt better against my skin. Rusty was my bad jeans. The weird analogy gave me something to focus on other than the eyeballs all on me. We reached the porch and the crowd surged just a little. Rusty turned my way and I faced him. Just as my parents opened the front door, Rusty kissed me and I let him.
The people gathered there were stunned into silence; nature was not. Birds whistled and spring breeze rustled the new leaves. If sunlight had a sound, I heard it that morning too. Still with his hand in mine, Rusty playfully swung his arm a little so mine did too. A quick horn blast stopped us, and we both turned at once to see Jace’s “fresh from the car wash,” glistening wunder-car slowly roll into the driveway.
“Right on time.” Rusty smiled wide and showed the world his dimples. “I’ll call you later.”
“You better,” I said as Mom put a hand on my shoulder. I hoped to feel Dad’s on the other one but that didn’t happen. She led me into the house alone and shut the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“JONAH GREGORY.” The assistant principal, Ms. Cross, still called my name when I was the only one there. I climbed off the orange plastic chair that was all one piece like a potato chip sitting on four metal legs. I didn’t think there was any plastic in NC3; everything there was made of wood and gray steel. “Good morning, Jonah.” Ms. Cross pursed her lips as I tried to avoid dwelling on the irony of someone with her name being my guide into public education. Tight silver curls ringed her whole head and matched the poodle on her sweater. Maybe that’s why nuns wore plain skirts and jackets, so they wouldn’t have to guess at fashion and risk such terrible mistakes like this poor lady had.
“Welcome to Lake Henry.” The Cross smiled wide and directed me to a chip across the desk from her. I later found out she was called that because she would crucify you if you broke the rules.
“I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Well, then to the high school.”
“I went to school.” My newly manifested involuntary snarkiness was probably why my mother wanted to come in with me. I insisted she didn’t. The only thing worse than being expelled from my old school would be my throng of new peers seeing me as a mama’s boy.
“Not this one.” She didn’t pretend to smile anymore. “Here, you’ve got a clean slate.” Ms. Cross winked. A clean slate? I hated the way it sounded, like I’d done some terrible thing.
“So do you.” I winked back.
MY FIRST class was biology, and the lab was state of the art, cutting edge, compared to what I was used to. Here the kids sat at high tables on stools; there were plenty of specimens to go around, and the textbook was in color. So were the kids. None of them were clad in dull gray or the bleak white of an NC3 uniform. Their slacks and tops were every hue in the rainbow. Guys wore sweats all day or blue jeans. I wasn’t ready for that. Cords and a rugby shirt already made me feel a little underdressed. Our teacher, I recognized from Holy R: Mr. Farley. He came to Mass once in a while since his divorce, usually on holidays. I’d heard Mom dishing about him with Chad’s mother in the church parking lot one rare Sunday in Advent—the four weeks before Christmas.
He didn’t smile when I first got to class or ask if I was adjusting okay or anything. You’d think he’d be cool; divorce was actually a sin. JC even talked about that one. Gay, on the other hand, he never mentioned. Not once in all four Gospels, and as I’ve already said, I’m totally cool with me. I stink-eyed Farley back. He was no better, and I wouldn’t let him think he was. When the bells rang, the roar in the halls was like a prison riot that didn’t stop until the next one.
FRENCH CLASS was way too easy. The husky teacher, Mr. Dennis (pronounced de knee), had a thin white mustache, and he reminded me either of Santa without the beard or Chef Boyardee. Wanting to see how behind his other students I was, he asked me questions one after another and all en français. When I understood every word and told him my family were Quebecois, that my dead grandmother spoke French toujours, he really got into it. Rather than being some parochial school dullard, I was his Mozart. I wasn’t in the mood to be praised any more than to be shunned. I just wanted to be, I guess, at least until I got used to this colorful loud place.
Monsieur hadn’t read the memo because he asked me why I was at Lake Henry, and I responded, “J’ai aimais beaucoup trop Jésus et j’ai un chum.” I loved Jesus too much, and I have a boyfriend. I knew no one in class would know the Quebecois slang for boyfriend I used. I didn’t want to say gay because it was the same in both languages. I’m out and proud and everything. I just wasn’t in the mood to sing it from the barricades, n’est-ce pas? A lot of my new classmates already knew about me anyway. My kiss with Rusty played on the l
ocal news, and the YouTube of it got over ten thousand hits. Part of me might’ve wanted to broadcast the clip over the PA system, but an even bigger one hoped things would quiet down, and I could get used to being me.
“This is a public school,” le professeur said in English and moved on.
RUSTY PICKED me up after school, and I didn’t have to duck into the woods to see him. I texted Mom on my new cell phone I would be late and that was it. It was a gift, in a way, from Mémé. As her only heir, my father inherited some money she’d squirreled away in a bank account no one knew she had. This news helped end my mother’s grief, and she was livid my grandmother let them support her and never offered to help out. Dad countered she must’ve known he would get it in the end and it was meant as a parting gift.
“She probably wanted to take it with her just to spite me,” Mom replied. At that point Dad just washed his face and headed to the motel where he spent more time than ever. He didn’t really speak to me since our front yard became a circus, even though the tents folded and it all quieted down pretty quickly after that. I wasn’t trending anymore either. I knew because I googled myself daily on our new computer and high speed Wi-Fi. Of course Dad bought himself a fifty-inch flat screen TV too. Curly had taken down his site all of a sudden, and there was hardly anybody posting anymore—just some diehards who thought I was still mystical or whatever and I’d been forced to lie about it by the Illuminati or something. Others blogged my being gay shouldn’t have anything to do with my “gift.” A few haters said I was going to burn… but I never finished those.
“How was school?” Rusty grinned. He was in a tank top, really long shorts, and sandals. April—but like a teaser of summer, the day was over eighty degrees.
“Noisy,” I said as I pulled off my rugby so I was just in a T-shirt.
“I know a really quiet place.” He handed me the keys, and before I even got us out of the parking lot, I was putting the trial that was my day behind me.
“HERE?” I stayed behind the wheel as Rusty climbed out.
“It’s all set up already.” He opened my door. “You live here. Don’t you ever go out on the lake?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged and caved. That wasn’t really true. Occasionally we took the tour on the fake paddle wheeler, but actual boating, I figured was for summer people. Then I remembered Rusty was one. How much longer would he even stay? My stomach knotted up as I followed him into the office of Big Bart’s Marina and restaurant.
“Sign here.” Bart Jr. acted like I wasn’t there as he handed Rusty back his black credit card. Big Bart was still gone with the mall lady, and Bart Jr. now ran the place.
“Hi, Jonah.” In a halter and cutoffs, Karen Whitten was sitting in a captain’s chair and reading a magazine. She was with Bart? What about Dwight? Not my school anymore, I reminded myself, and they weren’t my friends. “How’s Lake Henry?”
“Big,” I replied, not sure if she was one of my supporters or a hater.
“And noisy,” Rusty put his hand on my shoulder.
Bart held the key for just a second too long when I reached for it and made me look in his eye.
“I guess I’m not full of shit anymore,” I said.
Bart had every right to pummel me considering how I misled him. He’d been on to me because he had a secret too. The richest, most popular kid’s family was imploding, and he couldn’t say anything. I’d overheard from my folks Big Bart had busted his son’s lip when Bart Jr. finally confronted him. That was when his mom finally tossed the jerk out.
“You be good, Jonah.” Bart’s expression told me we were cool.
“Nah,” I said and smiled wide.
“Hang in there,” Karen said between sips on a bottle of water and went behind the counter to Bart. She got right in front of him and cupped the back of his neck in her hand. I saw Bart smile for real; it suited him.
“FINALLY.” RUSTY set the cooler between the seats of the little skiff with an outboard motor. He cracked a beer and handed it to me.
“I’m underage.” I sipped anyway, getting why Dad liked one on a hot day.
“So am I.” He took out another for himself.
“How?” I pointed at my beer.
“I’m rich.”
“I thought it was your mom who had the money.”
“She shares.” Rusty fired up the motor, and we raced away from the dock and out on the water that shimmered like a sapphire in the late-day sun.
“So what was that about?” He shouted over the motor and mimicked Bart holding on to the key.
“Jealous?”
“Should I be?” I’d never really been flattered before. Rusty, worried about me with someone else. It made my day.
“No, he’s just a friend.” I hoped it wasn’t a lie.
Once we got out to the middle of the lake, Rusty cut the motor. While I lay across my towel on the bow, he worked the 30 SPF sunscreen into my still winter-pale shoulders and back. I hadn’t caught any rays since last summer.
“This stuff is like grease.” Rusty wiped some across his own chest.
“You live by a lake, you see a lot of skin damage.” I rose up on my elbows. “My mother has a friend we call Leatherneck.”
“Do you moisturize?”
“Every day.”
“And you didn’t know you were gay?”
“Of course I knew.” I rolled on my back and let Rusty slide his legs under my head like a pillow. I squinted up at him through the sunlight. “I just needed a reason, I guess.” I let my eyes fall shut for a while and zoned out to the sound of the water lapping the sides. The sun fell behind a cloud, and I felt a slight chill. I opened my eyes to see Rusty staring down at me with a kind of sad expression.
“Something wrong?”
“You miss church and all that?” He started a sign of the cross, but then his hand veered off into some crazy kind of signals and waves.
“Don’t blaspheme.” I laughed and pulled it down onto my chest.
“What do you call this?” He coiled his fingers around the first hairs that had just begun to sprout between my pecs.
“Divine.”
“It was kind of my fault, huh?”
“No.” I sat up. “I did this. Not you, not him.” I pointed up for emphasis. He smiled a little, but it didn’t really convince me.
Rusty twirled my hair in his fingers. “At least that website is gone.”
“You been googling me too?”
“What?” He laughed like he didn’t think I was being funny. “You going to be okay here for two more years?”
“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought I would. Without Angie it would be weird, but she was graduating no matter what happened.
“I think so too.” He stopped the conversation he’d started and kissed me. I didn’t look around for any other boats or anything and just kissed him back. I decided it was easy to forget about later and focus on now.
IT WAS dark when we got back to the dock. The light in the marina office was off and the door locked. The temperature really started to drop, and I shivered a little as we headed into the bar to drop the keys off and maybe get a coffee. After everything went okay with Bart, none of the barfly/game watchers were going to intimidate me. If anyone stared too long or something, maybe I’d offer them an autograph. Inside there was no music playing, no too-friendly hostess, and the big TVs were all off.
“I’m filing for divorce.” Bart’s mother stood and pointed with her empty wine glass down at someone hidden behind the tall back of the booth. “And that’s that.” She turned our way, and I guess we really startled her because Mrs. Tack gasped and dropped the glass.
“Who’s there?” Her guest lumbered up. The booth was a tight fit for him too just like it had been for dad. “Jonah, what are you doing here?” Father Dom was not wearing his white collar but still had on the black shirt that went with it.
“We’re returning a boat.” Rusty held out the keys.
“Junior didn’t tell me someone was stil
l out there.” She took them from Rusty. “You’ll have to pay for the overtime.”
“That’s not a problem.” Rusty whipped out the black card again.
Bart’s mother hesitated, not sure if she should leave me with the priest.
“It’s okay,” he directed her. “I wanted to talk to Jonah anyway.”
She didn’t go, and I figured out it was me she was more worried about. Did I want to be alone with him? There were no reports anything perverted happened to me at Holy R. That was just where folks’ minds went, I guess.
“I’m okay.” I was.
“Follow me.” Mrs. Tack led Rusty out toward the marina office and left me with Father Dom alone in the empty restaurant.
“Bart’s mother is having a difficult time.”
“Because his father is a jerk.”
“Your brothers are home?” Father Dom smiled, ignoring my disrespectful comment. It was true, but he didn’t want to hear a kid speak that way about an adult ever. I knew that and probably wouldn’t have said it before my rise and fall from grace. Now, what did it matter?
“Yesterday,” I said. “We didn’t make a big deal or anything. They aren’t supposed to get too excited.”
