Between These Walls

by John Herrick

  Some group members were married, others were single. Hunter had known a couple of them since his youth. Though he wasn’t friends with them back then, they had become friends through these Bible study meetings.

  Hunter joined this group upon graduating college and returning to town, and noticed his faith had grown stronger as a result. He learned from the experiences the older men shared. He’d also discovered he could bounce questions about life and faith against other members to gain insight or help him sort through scenarios. The group considered itself open to any discussion. At these Bible study meetings, Hunter had encouraged members through tough seasons, and he had confided about his recent challenges on the job. He felt he could share anything in his life and find support from the other guys.

  Well, almost anything.

  “Did you guys hear about the big event coming up next month?” asked Joe Garza, who sat at Hunter’s left. Hunter foresaw a conversational digression on the horizon. “It’s one of those extreme competitions where they incorporate army-training exercises and an obstacle course. Are you in, Hunter Man?”

  Hunter cringed with regret. That sort of competition piqued his interest. Given his back discomfort, though, such physical exertion at this juncture didn’t strike him as a wise endeavor.

  “Normally I would,” Hunter replied, “but my back’s been giving me trouble lately. Extreme anything wouldn’t be the best idea.”

  “I’ve had back problems ever since an injury in college,” a thirty-something man chimed in. “I feel your pain, man.”

  “Catch me next time you hear of another competition like that, okay?” Hunter added.

  “Will do.” replied Joe, a guy around Hunter’s age with dark, shaggy hair. So dark, in fact, he’d developed a five o’clock shadow by the time he’d turned fourteen. He’d played on the football team in high school, a mid-range talent who’d also acquired an unfortunate reputation for his hairy backside, a quality impossible to hide in the locker room.

  Hunter shifted in his seat as he turned his attention to his own back, which, to his continued surprise, felt much better. Three days since his appointment with Gabe, and he continued to feel at ease. Gabe had proven Ellen correct. Hunter considered setting up another appointment next week to see if his progress would continue.

  Dan brought the meeting to order once again, returning the group’s focus to the topic of marriage and the verses he’d read in Proverbs.

  Hunter’s mind drifted to Gabe. He recounted random details about their encounter: the scent he’d picked up from Gabe’s body wash, the confident touch of Gabe’s fingers as they worked their way along his back and legs. As Hunter recalled the moment Gabe entered the room and the final moment before his departure, he tried, once again, to decipher whether Gabe’s lingering glances had been real or imaginary. And if they were real, did they possess meaning beyond face value, or was that wishful thinking on Hunter’s part?

  Hunter felt a shudder of guilt at the thoughts that coursed through his mind regarding Gabe.

  Shut it down.

  Those verses in Proverbs had left Hunter frustrated. Bible verses regarding marriage and sexual relationships often did. Especially while he sat in the midst of a Bible study meeting or church service, where he might let loose a signal that he struggled with attractions they considered taboo.

  Verses like the ones Dan had read in Proverbs also reminded Hunter of how effortless others found attraction to the opposite sex. It seemed to come to them naturally; meanwhile, he floundered alone, left to tussle and hide. It didn’t strike him as fair.

  Why did he need to be the one to struggle in an off-limits area, the one area he felt he couldn’t discuss with anyone else?

  Sometimes, when Hunter sat in the midst of a group of people, he wondered if he was the only person who struggled that way. Surely someone else understood. Surely he’d crossed paths with another individual who wrestled the same way and Hunter hadn’t known it about him. Or, at least, Hunter hoped so.

  Not that he wished his inner torment on anybody else. He just craved someone who could understand.

  As the group continued its discussion, Hunter looked around and wondered if anyone else in this room faced what he did. Oh, what he would give to find out, but he wouldn’t dare ask! Even if they dealt with the same thing, he knew they would deny it rather than face public embarrassment. That would leave Hunter humiliated with nothing gained. If anything, other guys went overboard in their efforts to quash speculation about their sexuality. Hunter could play that masculine game with the best of them, yet he wondered why they played the game in the first place. It made everything harder for the people who faked it.

  He had considered mentioning the topic of homosexuality in the group, perhaps find a way to weave it into the tapestry of a related conversation, to gauge his peers’ reaction to the topic without the distraction of jokes about it. But that idea led to apprehension. Hunter envisioned the suspicions that might arise from the fact he’d asked the question in the first place. And once those suspicions arose, then what? Even if the other guys engaged in an honest discussion and downplayed their suspicions, what would happen after the meeting ended? What if one member confided Hunter’s question to his wife or friend, and that individual mentioned it to someone else during casual conversation? What if it ignited a rumor about Hunter Carlisle? Christians aren’t perfect. They have weaknesses. Some give in to the temptation to gossip. If that happened, the chatter would spread like wildfire—and Hunter would lose control of his own destiny.

  Any time he considered allowing someone to walk beside him through this inner hell, fear shut him down.

  Fear of becoming the focus of gossip among people he knew. Fear of becoming the butt of jokes among people he’d never met.

  Fear of disappointing his family, his pastor, other Christians he’d encouraged over the years.

  Hunter’s peers had remarked on the value he placed on his relationship with Christ. And Hunter knew that relationship—his faith—was genuine. But they didn’t know the hurts that lurked deep inside. Those hidden facets made him feel like a hypocrite, even though he’d give anything to open up and confess what he’d suppressed since childhood.

  He wanted help but didn’t know to whom he could turn.

  Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  That tug-of-war, which others might consider their exception, was Hunter’s norm.

  No way. He could never confide in anyone.

  In the end, he told himself, despite the challenge of stifling a secret for years on end, at least he still controlled his own destiny. Nothing had erupted. He’d managed to keep it all contained within the dresser drawers of his soul.

  “Okay, I’m just gonna say this,” said a young guy named Ross, who sat across from Hunter. A student at nearby Kent State University, he’d started attending the group a few weeks earlier. “The whole lust thing—I don’t know, it’s a major challenge for guys.”

  Hunter’s ears perked up.

  “I guess it’s okay to admit that here,” continued the college student. “I’ve done okay so far, but a lot of the girls out there—well, they’re just as bad about it as the guys are, you know?”

  Lust for women. On one hand, Hunter admired the guy’s honesty. On the other hand, Hunter wished that were his own admission. The guys could relate to it and provide encouragement. Hunter watched it unfold: the caring words, the you-can-do-it pats on the back.

  “I struggled the same way,” said a middle-aged man with short, graying hair. “My wife and I were college sweethearts, and waiting until marriage for sex—it was difficult to resist the temptation, but in the end, we both found it worth fighting for.”

  “It could be worse,” Joe chimed in with a chuckle. “I mean, at least you’re not gay, right?”

  Hunter seized control of his facial muscles before his eyes could react. He felt his arm and leg muscles tighten as he fought to maintain his composure, the way he did any time a conversation
in his vicinity turned to homosexuality, jokes or otherwise.

  And like always, Hunter waited as each second doubled in length and time ticked slower. In a silent, desperate prayer, he begged God to cause the discussion to wrap up before anyone noticed how uncomfortable he must have appeared. Frustration simmered within.

  Ross’s face warmed to a shade of pink as he emitted a nervous laugh. “Yeah, you’re right about that. No worries there.”

  Joe wouldn’t say those things if he knew what it’s like to deal with it, thought Hunter.

  Focusing on his knees, a self-conscious Hunter didn’t risk eye contact, convinced one glance or blink would betray him. Eyes are the window to the soul, according to what he’d read in the Bible. From his peripheral vision, he tried to glimpse the reactions from other group members, but he couldn’t capture much while keeping his eyes down.

  Though Hunter couldn’t catch his facial expression, he could tell that Jesse Barlow, the preacher’s son who sat beside Hunter at most Bible study meetings, had leaned back in the sofa with his arms crossed. Jesse, who was several years older than Hunter, observed the conversation but didn’t say a word. Jesse had returned to town a few years earlier and Hunter had gotten to know him. Hunter pegged him as a reserved sort who said little but processed much.

  Bible in his lap, Hunter kept his feet planted on the floor, pointed straight ahead. His heart pattered. He crossed his arms, the way he did when he relaxed. As Joe talked, he leaned slightly in Hunter’s direction. Hunter’s back muscles stiffened. He responded to Joe’s physical shift by leaning slightly away to maintain safe distance. He didn’t want to attract Joe’s attention—or anyone else’s—and stumble into this conversation. Especially not because Joe happened to brush against his shoulder at random.

  “What do you think, Hunter?”

  In running through his checklist of damage control and face-saving options, Hunter now realized he had tuned out the whole conversation.

  The question had come from Ross, the college student. From the first time they’d met, Hunter could see the guy looked up to him as a role model, an individual close in age yet established on a career path. Hunter had given him a tip for an intramural softball game and, by that simple gesture, had won the heart of a new buddy.

  Ross’s expression spoke of innocence, of someone caught in the canyon between adolescence and adulthood. Searching for answers, trying to identify the balance between enjoying life and walking in faith.

  “What do I think about …” Hunter tried to buy himself a few extra seconds to think.

  “I mean, you’re single. Not to put you on the spot, but how do you handle it, the no-sex-before-marriage thing?”

  Hunter exhaled, clucked his tongue, tried to remain calm.

  Ross had intended the question as harmless. Sometimes you needed to know somebody else understood, even if it meant dropping your guard and exiting your comfort zone. Hunter met his eyes. The kid truly sought companionship through his struggle. Of all people, Hunter understood that need and found it difficult to turn his back on those who desired his support. Yet while Hunter wasn’t ashamed of his no-sex decision, that didn’t mean he felt comfortable talking about it in public. And now, of course, all eyes were on him. He saw the relief among a couple of the other young guys in the group. No doubt they’d thanked God that Ross hadn’t asked them.

  Hunter pursed his lips as he sought how to phrase an honest answer in a way that would help the kid.

  “I wish I could say it’s easy, but it’s not,” Hunter replied. “I’ve always looked at it as a decision that you stick with. Self-discipline, where you’ve drawn a line for yourself and, in any given moment, you choose not to allow yourself to cross it. That’s how I try to handle it, anyway.”

  Hunter knew the answer was forthright. Granted, his private inclinations made his decision easier to honor, but his response was honest nonetheless. Silently he asked God if He was pleased with the answer he’d given Ross, and Hunter felt at peace that God was indeed fine with it.

  “So when did you become a Christian, Hunter?” asked Ross.

  That question brought Hunter back to life. Of all the milestones he cherished in his life, the day he had become a Christian continued to flood his heart with gratitude. If anybody wanted to know, he was eager to tell them about it. Its simplicity required no secrets, no filter on the words he chose or how he looked.

  “I was sixteen years old,” Hunter replied. “My sophomore year in high school. I didn’t grow up in church, and my family wasn’t religious. We weren’t against religion; it was more like we didn’t give it much thought. Over the years, my friends had invited me to come to church with them here and there. A lot of them were Catholic, so I’d visit Mass, where I’d watch the priest say one thing and the people respond. It was fascinating to see. But more than that, I’d look around and notice some of the older people, the ones you could tell had been around a while. The look in their eyes, the hope they held—as a little kid, I couldn’t identify the why or what behind it, but it made an impression on me. That was all the church exposure I had as a kid, though: visiting church with buddies.”

  “So how’d you end up a Christian?”

  “When I was a freshman in high school, a friend invited me to a Youth Vision meeting. It’s one of those national organizations where they have chapters in all the schools. Our chapter met on Monday nights. You’d start off singing—not just church songs, but also Beach Boys oldies, oddball stuff like that, for fun. Then they’d have a Bible lesson with a lot of humor in it, the kind teenagers didn’t find cheesy, with a message you could relate to. Then they’d have a fun activity afterward.

  “I’d heard about Youth Vision at school—you’d hear people mention it here and there, like ‘I was at Youth Vision last night.’ A friend invited me for months before I decided to come. I had underestimated how popular the program was at my school. There had to be two hundred kids at the meeting when I showed up one Monday night! I ran into people I didn’t even know were involved in it. I knew some of those people were Christians; I had no idea about others since I’d never interacted with them. The kids had a good time, and for an hour or two each week, the boundary lines dropped: the cliques, the popular kids, the artsy kids, the super-smart kids—everyone was along for the same ride. It intrigued me, so week after week, I kept going. Toward the end of each meeting, they asked if anybody wanted to become a Christian. One night, after attending for several months, I raised my hand to respond. I’d seen happiness, a contentment, in those other kids. They had peace, and it struck a chord in me. Wherever it came from, however they’d gotten it, I wanted it. If it was Jesus, then that was what I wanted. So I gave my life to Christ that evening.”

  Ross nodded. Maybe he’d had a similar experience in his life. No one in the group commented on what Hunter had said so far, so Hunter continued.

  “Some people talk about an emotional experience when they give their life to Christ. I can’t say it was that way for me. I simply reached out for what God made available to me. Afterward, step by step, growth took place. That’s the way I’d describe how my faith has played out: a daily walk, step by step. But that first night, I found peace I’d never experienced, the peace you feel when you know any mistakes you’ve made in your life, or ever will make, are covered. I didn’t have all the answers in life—I still don’t—but I know my biggest question is answered.”

  For all the secrets he held, Hunter clung to the knowledge that God loved him in spite of them. His actions might not always please God, but he didn’t believe it peeled away God’s love from his life.

  For all Hunter’s faults, his faith was the one thing he’d never doubted.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hunter felt a bittersweet pang in his gut as he climbed out of his car and sauntered across the parking lot late Monday afternoon.

  Though some discomfort had returned to his back by the weekend, he had noticed a significant reduction in its intensity since his massage appoin
tment with Gabe a week ago. And although their conversation hadn’t delved into great depths, it was the deepest conversation Hunter could recall in months. He felt as though a door had opened, like he had someone anonymous he could talk to, an individual who didn’t know him outside of that context. Someone with whom he needn’t worry about how his words would reflect upon himself. Although it was a massage therapy session, it had felt like the precursor to a “talk therapy” session, too. He appreciated the acceptance he found in Gabe’s compassionate eyes.

  Hunter enumerated those reasons to himself when he made another appointment for today.

  While all of those details were true, another simple truth loomed larger: He looked forward to seeing Gabe again.

  If asked, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone. He refused to admit it to himself, at least verbally. His rationale, all those enumerations, provided the excuse he needed to see Gabe once more.

  Curiosity lured him closer and closer to the building—to Gabe’s clinic—before him. And Hunter yielded to that curiosity.

  He didn’t know why he yielded to it. He questioned whether he should. Perhaps he wanted to see what might unfold—an ulterior motive which triggered the nervousness he felt now. This was his final chance to resist his urge, climb back into his car, and drive away. He could pretend this moment of decision never happened.

  As he walked into the clinic, Hunter determined not to let the somersaults in his stomach betray him. So he constructed another guard around himself, a nonchalant exterior, and prayed that God would prevent Hunter’s tongue from getting tied up during conversation, the way it did when nervousness hit him.

  He noticed the same receptionist who’d greeted him on his previous visit. Would she remember him from last time? He’d told her he wasn’t accustomed to these appointments. Would she wonder why he’d shown up a second time?