“I’m fine. How are you?” Oh, and my cell phone is about to die.
“Dad, I’m calling to talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?”
Of all times, Rory thought. God, please let my cell last that long. “Sure, son, what’s up?” Rory wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes to concentrate.
“First, I wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry I haven’t been in touch with you for so long. I guess I was so angry at you for leaving mom and us, and kept it bottled up inside for so long … but I’m sure there are things Riley and I don’t even know about what happened between you two, which you couldn’t tell us. And now that I’m old enough and I minister to married couples who struggle, I know it takes two people to mess up a marriage, and I’m working through it.”
Rory had to think for a moment to remember how old his son was now. He turned twenty-three two months ago. Rory had at least remembered to send him a birthday card.
“Well, thank you, Rick for trying to be more understanding. You’re really growing up. It was nice to see you, even if it was at Pop-Pop’s funeral.”
“Yeah, Dad, that’s another thing. I know that had to be rough for you too, and I’m sorry about Pop-Pop … about your dad dying. I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with him, but Mom … well, she pretty much cut us off from the family. I hope to see Gran soon too.”
Tears streamed down Rory’s face, and he fought hard to keep his voice from cracking. “She would love that. And thank you, son; it’s been hard, but time is a great healer.”
“I know—I’m finding that out. Being a deacon for the past year has been a real eye opener.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah, it’s really brought me closer to God. And I guess that’s why I’ve learned to be more forgiving. I wish Riley would come with me to church once in a while, but she’s still so angry all the time.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m really glad to hear your good news.” Rory felt sadness clutch his heart for his long-lost daughter. She was so much like her mother, so bitter. He would have to remind himself to pray for her.
“But Dad, that’s not my big news. I don’t know if you know … so I hope this doesn’t come as a complete shock, but over the past several years that I haven’t seen you, I’ve also realized that I’m gay.”
A long, awkward minute of silence followed Rick’s announcement. Rory didn’t know what to say. He had known, but it still was a shock to his system to actually hear it. He started feeling nauseous all over again and wasn’t sure if it was heat, dehydration, or his son’s confession. Probably a combination of the three, he thought.
“That’s okay, Dad, you don’t have to say anything.” Rick mercifully broke the silence.
“I guess I realized it; I saw something on Facebook. I don’t know what to say except I still love you.” The words tumbled out as if by rote. What I really want to say is how my heart is broken, I’m so disappointed, I would wish for almost anything but this for my only son.
Rory had heard news that most Methodist churches these days accepted homosexual ministers who had already been pre-ordained as long as they remained chaste and single. He wondered if Rick was following those precepts.
As if his son read his mind, Rick said, “I know it’s tough for you to hear, given your upbringing and all. But here’s the good news. Through my education, training, and ministry, I’ve realized that even though I’m gay, I don’t need to give in to, well, the temptation of acting on it. I have come to believe that I should stay chaste. It’s not easy, but I think it’s what God wants.”
Rory wanted to ask, “So have you given in to the temptation of acting out on your homosexuality in the past?” Ironically, at the same time he wanted to scream, “Stop talking! Too much information, I’ve heard enough!” Again, he said nothing, not knowing how to respond and not really wanting to know any more details.
So Rick continued. “I’ve also decided I want to be assigned to a parish that really needs help—somewhere in the US that I think needs ministering the most. I want to come out there to where you are, to Las Vegas.”
“How did you know where I am?”
“I talked to Gran and asked where you were. I had already been considering moving to Las Vegas, but finding out you’re already there was icing on the cake, as they say. I figured we could make up for lost time and do some stuff together.”
How did his mother find out where he was? Oh well, that didn’t matter now. Rory was speechless and felt overwhelmed with conflicting emotions…happiness that his son wanted to be with him yet fear that he wouldn’t be able to handle his son’s lifestyle; anger and guilt because their relationship had been so strained up until this point yet worry that he would hurt his son all over again when he broke the news that he wanted to maintain his single lifestyle and didn’t really want to start up another relationship all over again, much less stay in Las Vegas… I would love to make up for lost time, but there’s no way on God’s green—or in this case—brown earth that I am going back to Vegas. Sorry, Rick, not even for you.
While he hesitated, Rory heard his phone give the signal that his battery was going to die any minute, and since his car wouldn’t start, he couldn’t charge it.
“Rick, listen, I’m really proud of you, and I want to see you too, but right now my phone’s about to die, and I need your help. I’m stranded out in the middle of the desert somewhere in Nevada not too far from the Arizona border on I-15.”
“Dad, why didn’t you just call the police?”
“I can’t. Long story.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine for a little while, but it’s getting hot, and I have nothing to eat or drink, or even any shade.”
“I’m sorry … here I went off talking all this time. So what do you want me to …?”
And the line went dead.
No transportation, and now no way to communicate. Rory stared at the lifeless cell phone in his hand then threw it onto the back seat.
The windstorm that, unbeknownst to Rory, had been forecast by meteorologists on television that morning, started to gather force.
Rory had reclined his driver’s seat and laid back in it, deciding to try to take a nap. He covered his head and face with an extra T-shirt he had grabbed from his suitcase to block the sun. If he fell asleep, he figured, maybe he wouldn’t feel so hot and thirsty and hung over.
He felt the shirt ruffle a little in a breeze that blew by, and he ignored it.
Then the shirt actually blew off his face, and Rory sat up, squinting in the blinding white sun.
He sucked in hot, dry air in his already parched mouth and felt grains of sand sting his sunburned face. He looked in the direction in which the wind was blowing and rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.
In the not too far off distance, Rory could see what he believed to be a sandstorm forming. He wasn’t sure, as he had never witnessed one before, but he figured if there was such a thing, this was definitely it.
The sky had turned a dull gray as whirls of sand were swirling and collecting like clouds, suspended in mid-air. They grew larger before Rory’s eyes as he watched in awe. Within moments, they had formed what looked like a tidal wave of sand, growing in size as it rolled his way.
Rory was dumbstruck for a few minutes, and then realized he had to do something to protect himself. He crawled into the backseat, unzipped his suitcase, and yanked out pants, shirts, socks, underwear. Then he saw what he was searching for—a garment bag he had received with his purchase of a suit coat he had bought on a shopping trip at the mall in the Vegas suburbs.
He placed a pair of his boxer briefs on his head, ripped a T-shirt down the seam and wrapped it scarf-like around his face, and then crawled feet first into the plastic garment bag and zipped it up around himself as best he could. If he stayed scrunched up with his knees bent up in a fetal position, the bag came up around his shoulders and covered him f
rom the neck down.
Rory lay face down on the back seat. He could hear the gale force winds whistle like steam from a kettle, howling as they picked up speed like a freight train. The sand stung him, pounding him hard and loud like hail, and then the storm engulfed him. He kept his eyes and mouth shut, holding his makeshift mask and head covering as tight as he could in his balled up fists under his chin.
He almost felt like he was going to suffocate so he took short, tiny breaths through his nose, trying not to hyperventilate. He prayed as he lay there. God, just take me. Let me just die here. I’m no longer useful to anyone. I did my job. Or rather, You did Your job. I knew You would save Las Vegas. I should have followed my first inclination and kept running as far away as possible from this whole miserable mission. It’s brought nothing but heartache and humiliation. I never asked for this assignment. So now that neither You nor Las Vegas nor anyone else needs me, and now that I have nothing left to live for, just let me die as quickly and painlessly as possible.
He eventually lost track of time and felt light-headed and drowsy, unable to breathe. Finally, mercifully, he passed out, the sandstorm still raging.
Rory saw his dad walking toward him out of the gray-brown haze that obscured everything but his shadowy figure.
Howard Justice walked toward him out of the sandstorm as if nothing had happened to him—just like Rory remembered him before he got sick with his lung disease. As his father’s shadow loomed closer, it became outlined, surrounded by a glowing white light.
Rory sat up as his father approached the dust-covered, tree-dented, flat-tired Maserati. His dad was dressed in his business suit and shiny shoes as if he were going to work at the FBI, just like he used to do when Rory was in his teens and twenties, but he shook his head, a look of dismay on his face.
“This wasn’t my fault,” Rory said defensively, already figuring his dad was disappointed that he had been in an accident.
“That’s not why I’m looking at you this way.”
“Then what’s the matter, Dad?”
“Maybe you can tell me, son.”
“What do you mean?”
“For starters, why were you just wishing that God would strike you dead? Do you really believe your life is that bad?”
“Yes … I mean no … well, I just felt like I have nothing more to live for, and I might as well die in this horrible sandstorm than live through it somehow.”
“Really? Hmmm … you have nothing to live for?”
“Well, I did have this great car I’m sitting in, but look at it. It’s ruined. It’s nothing but a piece of junk now.”
“It must have meant a lot to you, huh?”
“I loved that car. I won it from this Russian guy playing poker. It was so cool—I was so cool, the guys thought I was some kind of poker shark or King Midas or something. I couldn’t lose. It was awesome. I drove off into the night not caring about anything but feeling the night wind and driving fast and watching the sunrise. I felt free from everything and everyone I left behind in that miserable city—which by the way, you made me try to save … thanks a lot, Dad.”
His father just stood leaning against the dented passenger door, listening intently, resting his chin on his hand, occasionally nodding in understanding. He let Rory’s sarcastic comment slide by without a change in expression, obviously not offended by it.
“And then all of this happened,” Rory continued. “I never get a break. I came out here to this city I literally detest since it was your wish, and I did my part, and I won this great car only to have it turn into a broken-down piece of junk.”
“Kind of like some of the people back there, huh?”
“I don’t catch your drift.”
“Well, you went out to Vegas and met some real losers, as you call them—prostitutes, homeless people, gang members, junkies—broken down pieces of junk.”
“Very funny, Dad.”
“I’m not trying to be funny, Rory. I’m dead serious. No pun intended. I just find it very discouraging that you seem much more upset about a little car falling apart than you did about any of the people in Las Vegas. And to say you have nothing to live for … how very sad. What about your children? What about your son who just called you and asked you to spend time with him?”
“Well ….” Rory didn’t know what to say to that. He still felt unhappy about the fact that his son was gay. Besides, he was simply not going back to Las Vegas.
“Let me tell you a story,” Howard Justice said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rory’s father opened the passenger door and climbed into the front seat of the dirty, beat-up Maserati. Rory tried not to roll his eyes and summoned all the patience he had left within him to sit back and listen.
“There was this guy—a white man—who grew up in a small town of people who were also white. He was raised being told that people who weren’t white were not equal, were inferior in fact, especially colored or black people. He was taught that they weren’t to be trusted, that they were criminals, that they would rob you blind, rape your women, or stab you in the back if you let them. He never saw any black kids in his school or even in his neighborhood, so he believed what he heard about them, and he was afraid of them.
“It was ingrained in him that white people always had to be on the lookout, on guard, and stay a step ahead of them. That meant teaching them a lesson sometimes … like burning crosses on their lawns. And when they did something bad, like steal something, it meant they got a public beating to scare the others in hopes they wouldn’t try any funny business again. That small boy grew into a teenager and then a young man who hated blacks, mostly because he was afraid of them.
“Then one day he was working his first week on the job as a town police officer when he saw a sight he would never forget. A young girl, probably about seventeen, was walking home from school, taking a short-cut through a field, when two white guys, maybe about nineteen or twenty, jumped out from some bushes and attacked her. They threw her book bag on the ground, then they threw her down screaming, ripped her sweater, pinned her, and while one was the lookout, the other jumped on top of her, and was going to rape her.
“Just then a black teenager walked by. If he had been acting in his own best interests, he would have walked on by and ignored what was happening, minding his own business. Instead, he pulled the guy off the girl, and when the other lunged at him, the black teenager punched him in the face.
“What happened next would have been brutal if the young white cop hadn’t driven by at that precise time, put on his siren, and sent the white guys running. The black teen had been roughed up and had a cut lip, a swollen eye, and a few bruised ribs. The girl was crying hysterically and shaking so badly she couldn’t talk, while the black boy stood by silently, his good eye wide with terror.
“Since the boy and the girl remained quiet, the officer had to discern for himself what had taken place. He could either arrest the black teenager for assault, which would be the easy way out, or he could chase the young white men and arrest them for attempted rape. He knew that it would be a tough investigation, and even if they were arrested and found guilty of the crime, it probably wouldn’t serve any purpose. The district attorney who would eventually try the case would only have the word of a black teenage boy and a girl who had a known reputation for hanging out after hours and being on the loose side, versus the two young white men who happened to be former high school football stars and from very prominent families.
“The officer decided to do the right thing anyway. He conducted an investigation and arrested the white boys.”
“That police officer was you, wasn’t it, Dad?” Rory remembered the stories he had eventually been told about the Ku Klux Klan in Rising Sun, and that his dad had worked as a cop when he was small.
“Yep. And it was by far the hardest thing I ever had to do. I wanted badly to just look the other way. Here I was trying to save this black boy who was a total stranger. He wasn’t even from our town, bu
t was just visiting some relatives with his aunt that day. I wasn’t totally sure what had happened in the incident, but my gut told me the black boy was innocent.
“Of course I knew I would be ridiculed for my decision, maybe even lose my job over it, and definitely be shunned by half the town, including my own parents. But most of all I was afraid of putting my wife and two young sons in jeopardy.”
“Did any of that happen?”
“It all happened, and more. Most of my family and friends disowned me and the police department took away my badge so I had no job. I had your mom take you boys with her to your grandmother’s house about a half hour away in Pennsylvania.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember when we stayed for a few weeks at Grandmom’s. I just thought you were busy with your job and it was kind of like a summer vacation.”
“The KKK tried to burn our house down, but I stopped the fire before it got out of hand. There were many days during the police investigation and trial when I just wanted to escape Rising Sun and never return. Luckily, I was befriended by my parish minister who kept telling me to have faith, to keep praying and it would all be ok in the long run. And he was right.”
“What happened next?”
“The white boys got their day in court, the girl testified, a jury found the boys guilty of attempted rape, and they got six months of jail time.”
“What about the black boy? What happened to him?”
Rory’s dad shook his head. “He was hanged late one night in a barn before the trial took place. No one was ever arrested for it.”
“So what did you do after that?”
“I stayed in Rising Sun long enough to testify at the trial and sentencing, then I packed up our belongings, sold the house, and we moved closer to DC in Bethesda, which at the time was just a sleepy little suburb. It had a big Jewish population and was much more tolerant of minorities since the Jews had also been victimized by the KKK and were sympathetic to blacks. I eventually got a job with the Maryland State Police, then the FBI, and the rest is history.”
The Runaway Prophet Page 20
