So I miss most of the confessions of Earl, a kid who looks like the alcoholic he says he used to be. He’s made an attempt to clean up, but his hair obviously doesn’t want to look combed, and his clothes don’t seem to fit right. He’s skinny—scrawny, really—and even though he’s probably only about a year older than me, his skin looks faded. Kind of gray. I try to follow his story, but—I mean, holy shit…what is this thing in my pocket?
It’s all I can do to flip through my Bible in some attempt to look like I’m following along as the meeting goes on from here, trying not to think about Nate’s deposit. Something I can’t touch, something I must pretend isn’t there. Whatever it is, Nate has taken a huge chance. All I have to do is take it out now and start reading it, and someone will see and ask what is it and where did I get it, and…and it will be all over for brother Nate. Whatever it is. No matter how innocent. Because it was given in secret. But since he did it in secret, how innocent can it be? What can it be?
And by not taking it out now and letting all that happen, I’m by default in collusion with Nate. Breaking another rule, right on the heels of having been forgiven for another.
Then it occurs to me that Nate never did say he forgave me. Was that intentional?
Jesus Fucking Christ, but I’m confused. This gets worse every day. Thirty-nine more now? May as well be lashes. At least that would be quicker.
Chapter 7
Watch! Stand firm in the faith! Be courageous! Be strong! Let all that you do be done in love.
—Corinthians 16:13
So the meeting ends, and I’m torn between rushing to get someplace alone so I can read this thing—though where that might be, I haven’t figured out—and asking Charles what’s going on with him.
Truth be told, I’m a little afraid of this thing in my pocket. I turn to Charles. “Are you going back to the room?” It feels weird to speak to him, but I’m sure I’ll get over that.
He shakes his head, touches my shoulder with one hand, and turns away.
“Whoa! Wait. Where are you going?”
He looks exhausted, and stopping to answer my questions is a strain. “The chapel.”
“You on some kind of fast or something?”
He opens his mouth once or twice, finally says, “I’ll see you in the room later,” and leaves. I suppose I could tackle him, but I’m not sure I want to focus Harnett’s attention on him. Not until I know what’s going on. So all I can do is watch.
And as I watch, I feel a slight touch on my upper arm. It’s Nate. He says nothing, just nods, walks past me, and follows Charles. Quietly. From a distance.
To the rescue again. I guess I’ll have to trust him.
I’m standing there considering my options in terms of being alone to read when Harnett’s voice sounds in one ear.
“Taylor, that was quite an example you set tonight.”
I can’t read her face. I’m sure she banks on that with everyone. “I wasn’t trying to set an example. What kind of example did I set?”
She doesn’t answer my question. “How long did you work on that?”
I blink. Who cares? “I dunno, most of Contemplation, I’d guess.” I want to ask why she wants to know, but I’m not anxious to continue the conversation. She may start to smell the burning fabric of my hip pocket, which feels hotter by the second.
“And the idea? Where did that come from?”
“The idea? For what?”
“For using scripture like that to make your points.”
What’s she looking for? All I can give her is the truth. “It’s not my idea. You do it all the time. My minister does it. Everyone does it.”
“We’ve never had a resident do it during an Apology.”
“Oh. I’m sorry; I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to.”
She just nods. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning. See you in my office at ten.” And she turns to speak with someone else.
Leland is standing by the door, eyes on me. I head his way, but Hank is in front of me suddenly.
“I, uh, that was really great. The way you did that. It was great.”
A man of few words, Hank, so he needs to repeat some of them. He holds out his hand for me to shake it, so I do. Then Silent Sheldon’s replaces his, and he just smiles and nods. He’s not out of SafeZone yet; probably tomorrow.
Before I can move toward Leland again, Dawn is upon me.
“You do not hide your flame under any bushel, do you, brother? Come here.” She wraps me in this big hug and sways side to side a few times. I can’t help grinning, though in the back of my head something is saying, “You don’t really know what she means. Which flame? Be careful.” She lets go, slaps my back, and leaves.
There are a few more hands to shake, sometimes accompanied by someone saying, “Welcome home from SafeZone” or something along those lines. I don’t hear from Marie, which suits me just fine.
By the time I can escape, Leland isn’t there any more. I go out into the hallway and look up and down, but I don’t see his head among the others.
I sort of want to go to the chapel and see how Nate and Charles are getting along, but that seems like an intrusion. Plus there won’t be any good light, and I want to read this thing.
Wait! There’s no one in my room!
Trying not to be too obvious, I head that way, nearly limping from the burning weight on one side of my ass. When I get there I practically throw the Bible onto my desk and start to shut the door before I remember I’m not supposed to do that. And doing it would not only break a rule, but it would also mean someone would be very likely to open it and coach me. I’ve had quite enough coaching for a while.
First I step behind the open door, where no one can see me, and I reach into my pocket. It seems to be a folded piece of paper, standard white eight-by-eleven or whatever. I open it to see that it’s a photocopy of a newspaper page with one article title circled in green. My eyes go quickly to the other green marks at the bottom of the page, where it says,
Ty—
The world will catch on. You’ll be okay, boy. And I’ll be here. KOTL
—W
I have to grab the back of Charles’s chair for support. Will! This is from Will! My Will! Holy mother of God, how—where—and then I remember Nate walking over to the fence at break and ending up with something in his hand.
I’m nearly screaming in frustration. Was Will right there? Fifty fucking feet from me, and I didn’t see him?
Christ!
I pull the chair out and sit, panting, close to weeping. I’ve crumpled the paper in my hand without knowing it, and as I sit there gasping I flatten it out on the desktop. I stare again at the green. Will’s signature color. I smile, but it wobbles, and just for a minute there I do cry. A tear falls onto the paper and just misses where Will wrote my name. I blot it quickly; I don’t want any smudges on this.
But—what can I do with it? Where can I keep it?
Well, first I need to read it. There’s no telling how quickly Nate might talk Charles into coming back to the room, so I can’t stay at this desk. It occurs to me to take my Bible to the library, this paper folded inside, but I don’t know what this thing is yet, so I don’t know what my reaction will be. I could go to the bathroom, but there will be guys there showering and talking and wandering around.
I decide the best thing is to sit at my own desk, as far from the door as possible to keep my face from being in full view of anyone walking by, fold the paper in half the way the article falls on the page, tuck it into my Bible, and pretend to be reading that.
It works pretty well. The light’s not great this way, but it works. And here’s what the article, from the Springfield Crier says.
Local Boy Takes Own Life
By Alek Baxter
In an apparent suicide, Ray Johnston, son of Spencer and Jeanette Johnston of Springfield, was found a week ago hanging from a balcony in the chapel of a Christian program designed to address troubled youth located in Warren.
&nb
sp; The program, called Straight to God, uses scripture, prayer, and peer encouragement to help modify the behavior of teens who have been on drugs, who have abused alcohol, who have exhibited entrenched delinquency, or who are homosexual.
Residents in the program are strictly monitored in terms of bathroom time, clothing and appearance, and interaction with other residents. Their time is allocated among assigned activities such as meals, work assignments, and prayer meetings.
Like other residents, Ray, who asserted that he was homosexual, was allowed to write home to his parents once a week. According to Spencer Johnston, the first two letters were encouraging.
“Ray seemed like he was really into it,” said Mr. Johnston. “He said he was beginning to understand why he was there. He thanked us.
“But he didn’t write again,” continued Mr. Johnston. “And we got worried.”
Toward the end of Ray’s fourth week in the program, the Johnstons received the news that their son had hanged himself. According to Straight to God’s director, Dr. Emmett Strickland, Ray had been caught kissing another boy and had been put into a disciplinary status known as SafeZone, during which Ray was not allowed to speak, and he was forbidden to sit or stand near the other boy.
Strickland told the Johnstons that two days after Ray was put into SafeZone, he hanged himself.
The Straight to God center is affiliated with the First Century Christian Church, organized under its own nonprofit charter. According to its founder, Reverend Mathew Mattingly, the center was established by the church specifically to “provide Christian teens with clear direction regarding behavior that the First Century Christian Church believes is essential in order to be worthy of God’s grace.”
During a brief interview, Dr. Strickland explained how important it is in the philosophy of Straight to God for program residents to “learn a new way of being” and to “allow the purity offered by the program to give them a new definition of themselves.”
When asked whether the measures might be too intense, for Ray is not the first resident to commit suicide, Strickland said, “Better a boy like Ray should take his own life than return to his gay lifestyle. Homosexuality leads to death of the spirit. If he dies before he commits himself to that pit, God may still take his soul. I pray for Ray’s soul every day.”
Since Straight to God opened its doors twelve years ago, eleven residents have committed suicide while in the program, and eight known others have done so within six months of leaving. Most of these children were struggling with homosexuality.
When asked if Straight to God had ever been investigated, given the seemingly high incidence of suicides, Strickland said, “There have been questions, but no charges have ever been brought against us.
“Teenagers have the highest suicide rate of any demographic in the nation. As you can imagine, homosexual teenagers are even more unstable. Straight to God can’t be held accountable for a fact of life,” Strickland added.
Insane. The man is insane. He must be. Where in God’s own Bible does it say that suicide is a good way to save yourself from anything? It doesn’t! I don’t even have to browse through the concordance to know that!
Hatred. I struggle with hatred. It’s harder when you have specific objects for it. Like Strickland. Like Marie. Thank God my folks would be unlikely to see this newspaper. But how had Will found it? I fold the paper into the middle of my Bible and set the Book on my desk. Then I fold my arms over it and put my head down.
I can’t say how long I’ve sat like that before I hear footsteps coming into the room. I look up; it’s Charles. His eyes are puffy and red, his face blotchy. Just like me on my first night here. Just like me after spending time in that chapel. What is it about the chapel?
He sort of nods at me and falls onto his bed.
“Taylor.” I jump at the voice from the door. It’s Nate. “Why don’t you come with me and we can give Charles some privacy?”
It seems unlikely that I’ll get anything out of Charles tonight about what’s going on with him, so Nate’s idea is a good one on two counts—privacy for Charles, and I can also ask about Will. I stand quickly and nearly push my Bible onto the floor, grabbing it just in time. The article is in there! I stare at it. Should I leave it here? Why would Charles or anyone look in my Bible? Nate solves this problem, too.
“Why don’t you bring that? Perhaps we can do some scripture study.”
Not exactly what I have I mind, but it’ll do for an excuse. I pick up the Book. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace we can talk.”
We take the most circuitous route, and I’m trying to guess our destination. Library? Nope. Prayer Meeting rooms? Nope. Someone’s room?
Sort of. We stop by Sean’s room. He’s at his desk, and as I gaze around it’s obvious this is his room. Alone. I want to ask why there’s no roommate, but Nate doesn’t give me time.
“Hey, brother,” he says to Sean. “Less than an hour?”
Sean digs in a drawer, coming up with a key. “That’s about all you’ve got till lights-out, anyway.” He looks at me and nods, almost like he’d expected to see me.
The key opens the door to the laundry room. Makes sense Sean would have it; but why do we? Nate locks the door again behind us, and something about the way he’s going about things gives me the feeling we need to be quiet. The room is fairly dark, but a couple of overhead lights are on. We work our way to the far corner, behind a bank of washing machines. Then he sits on the floor, so I do, too.
“Do you know why I’ve brought you here?” he asks.
“To talk?”
He grins. “To talk very quietly about things we wouldn’t want just anyone to overhear. Do you trust me?”
“Do you trust me?”
He laughs, and has to clamp a hand over his mouth. “I like you, Taylor. Yes, or I wouldn’t have given you that paper, and I certainly wouldn’t have brought you here. Now. Do you trust me?”
“I guess I could get you into a lot more trouble right now than you could get me into, so I suppose I do.”
“As you say, right now. That’s key. If we go on much longer with our conversation, we’ll both be in the thick of it. I’m already there, of course, but you probably have more to lose.”
This seems odd. So I ask, “Why do I have more to lose?”
“I’m here voluntarily, and I’m on my way to college next year. I’m eighteen. My guess is that you don’t have the same kind of flexibility.”
I shrug; I don’t have a clue where all this is going, so I want to tread carefully.
He says, “You read the article?” Nod; I may be out of SafeZone, but nodding is quieter. “Got any questions?”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Will.”
I close my eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was right there. Eyes back on Nate, scouring his face for any sign of anything, I ask, “This afternoon?”
“Yes.”
I’m amazed to feel anger, but that’s what it is. “How the f—How the heck do you know him?”
“Will started hanging around the place several days before you got here. I was on yard detail one day—they needed an extra for something. I usually work in the laundry room. Anyway, I saw him that day, but he didn’t talk to anyone. The next day I was back in the laundry room, and I was at the fence on break when I saw him. He was looking right at me, but he wasn’t close enough to talk. We sort of nodded at each other.
“But the next day I saw him again, and the day after that he was waiting for me. He said he needed to get a note to someone.”
“Who did he know—”
“No one yet. He was feeling me out. He convinced me it was just to encourage someone he cared for, and I did my best to convince him he could trust me. We couldn’t talk much, obviously. He came back the next two days but didn’t speak to me. Then the next day he gave me your name and said you weren’t here yet.”
“Why did he do all that?” I’m really asking myself, but Nate answers.
“I’m guessing he figured that if I thought he was interested in someone who was here already, and if I couldn’t be trusted, then within a couple of days there’d be someone waiting to confront him. That didn’t happen.”
“Why not?” In other words, Nate, convince me that Will and I can both trust you.
Nate takes a deep breath and thinks for a few seconds. “Let’s finish this part first. The day he gave me your name, I asked if he was gay. He said yes and so were you, and I told him I’d look out for you. I told him it would be better if you didn’t know we’d talked. For your sake. He said he wasn’t allowed to talk to you anyway, because you were grounded. Then I suggested he look in that newspaper from Springfield for the article, and I told him I’m the one who contacted the reporter. To help him understand I’m on his side. And yours.”
Okay, now I’m speechless. Nate gave them that story? All I can think of to say is, “Are you gay?”
He shakes his head. “No. I came here my first time because of drugs and petty theft.”
“So, why…”
“It’s wrong. What they’re doing here is wrong. Guys like you and Ray and Leland and a few others I could mention—”
“Charles?”
“I never out someone. Ask him, if you want to know. Anyway, you and a few others I could mention should not be here. This Program helped me in so many ways, I don’t know how to tell you. And it’s helped lots of others, too. But you shouldn’t be here. Ray would probably still be alive if he hadn’t been sent here, and so would lots of others. Do you think you can pray away this part of who you are?”
“I don’t think I can, and I don’t think I should. God made me this way, and he didn’t do it to fuel programs like this one.”
Nate laughs again. “Okay, now let me finish about Will. He wants you to know that if you have any doubts, any trouble, any real grief, while you’re in here, you should just think of him and remember that he’ll be there for you. Whatever happens in here, he’s out there waiting.”
Thinking Straight Page 15
