Between These Walls

by John Herrick

  “Yeah.”

  “The stuff you’d expect to happen. It started last week, but for the most part, I figure it’s kids having fun. The tree in my front yard got TP’d. Some prank calls. Random whispers when I walk by. This morning, I found a note taped to my front door telling me how abominable I am.” Jesse shrugged. “It’s all harmless stuff, people enjoying themselves at someone else’s expense. After all, they’re in great shape these days.”

  “Makes you feel like shit, though.”

  Hunter hated to acknowledge it. “I shouldn’t let it, but it does.”

  Jesse took a bite of his burger. “Everyone’s got shortcomings. Some people may not realize they have them, but they do. Look at me: My minister dad would be thrilled with my choice of words a minute ago, huh? But one step at a time.”

  Jesse smirked, and Hunter couldn’t help but return the gesture. He was grateful for Jesse’s genuine air.

  “How have other Christians treated you?” asked Jesse.

  “I’ve avoided church and Bible study until today. But generally, they avoid me when I see them around the grocery store or wherever. A few people have made a point of expressing kindness. I haven’t gotten much by way of text messages or emails, though—most people went silent. Maybe they need time. Maybe they don’t know how to respond or are afraid to get too close to me,” Hunter said. “I want to give people the benefit of the doubt, but I’d be kidding myself if I believed there wasn’t gossip going around. I’ve seen it in action before, even inside the church walls, when other people dealt with stupid, minor things. My deal is much bigger—and much more fun to talk about.”

  Jesse gave him a tentative look as he chewed a french fry, then said, “Look, man, I’ve been places myself. I’d be a liar if I said I understood firsthand what you’re dealing with, but I’m here for you. Even if things go south and you have nobody else, you have me, so that’s at least one other person on your side.” He paused, then added, “And just so you know, this isn’t me being a preacher’s son. My dad didn’t have a chat with me and ask me to talk to you. This is me being your friend. I’ve been through enough shit—whoops, there I go again—enough stuff of my own, and I know how alone it can make you feel.”

  Hunter froze at Jesse’s understanding. Then he noticed Jesse hadn’t sat catty-cornered from him to maintain his personal space, or for fear he would give Hunter any clues of interest to misinterpret. He had sat across from him as though nothing had changed. Hunter felt a chain break loose in his heart: He could trust the friend who sat across from him.

  “I keep thinking how disappointed in me God must be,” Hunter said.

  “I don’t think it caught God by surprise.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The way I see it, God already knows everything,” Jesse said. “He knows what will happen in the future, right?”

  “Yeah …”

  “If He knows what’s coming in the future, then He knew this was coming. Apparently, He loved you enough to create you anyway.”

  Hunter had never considered God from that perspective. Sure, he understood God is all-knowing. He believed God had a plan mapped out for his life. But Hunter had only considered God’s omniscience in terms of His overarching plans, large-scale events around the world, or chaos that might erupt in individuals’ lives. He had never considered that God knew in advance where Hunter would fall short. Peace arose in Hunter’s soul as he pictured God’s love in light of Jesse’s perspective.

  Hunter caught sight of two young parents in the parking lot, leading their toddler to their car. He watched the parents wriggle the toddler into the carseat before returning his attention to Jesse.

  “This doesn’t make sense to me,” said Hunter. “I’m not a bad person. I love Jesus from deep down in my heart. All I wanted was for somebody to love me, and for me to love that person back. I don’t want to be different. I didn’t want to hide anything; I felt like I had to. And I’m afraid I’ll tarnish God’s name, that people will lose respect for Jesus or Christians because of something I didn’t even want in my life,” Hunter explained with a pang in his gut. “That’s what I wish I could say to everyone: ‘Don’t stop pursuing God because of me.’ That’s what always scared me more than anything else: the possibility that my feelings could hurt someone else’s faith.”

  “Maybe you’re being too tough on yourself,” Jesse said.

  “It worries me, that’s all. I don’t want to cause anyone harm.”

  “But maybe God already had this figured out,” Jesse said. “If God already knows everything, and if He already knew this was coming—that you’d deal with whatever feelings you have inside, and that your situation would get found out by other people—then don’t you think God also factored it into His whole plan? Don’t you think God knew our struggles and shortcomings, and knew how He would cover those circumstances? Don’t you think He already had a strategy for how He would work it out for you and everyone else, including how to guard other people’s faith?”

  Hunter didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent, but Jesse’s words settled into his heart.

  “I’ve learned God isn’t like people,” Jesse said. “He doesn’t abandon you when life gets you down.”

  Jesse’s remark sent through Hunter a wave of intensity. A surge of hope.

  “He’s still here,” Hunter said. “You’re right, I can feel Him working on my heart, especially when I feel alone.”

  Jesse shrugged, then finished the last of his french fries.

  “Maybe we worry too much about letting God down,” Jesse said. “Maybe we try to walk on air across the Grand Canyons of our lives, when all the while, God has a big safety net stretched out under us.”

  Hunter considered Jesse’s words.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER 39

  By the middle of March, Hunter felt more balanced than when his secret came to light two months earlier. Though he felt awkward at the weekly Bible study meetings and now spoke less at them, he continued to attend. While Ellen and Gabe had stuck by his side, along with Jesse Barlow, others had kept their distance. But his life had returned to routine—not its former routine, but a routine, nonetheless. The pranks on him had proven short-lived. He still heard occasional, derogatory remarks from individuals around town he’d never met, but who recognized him from years past.

  Hunter branched out beyond the microwave-powered meals of bachelorhood and began cooking from scratch. He believed the influx of fresh meats and vegetables had made him feel more vibrant in recent weeks.

  From the produce section at the grocery store, he selected a vivid, purple eggplant, the sight of which made his mouth water, and added it to his cart. He’d come across an intriguing recipe online and was eager to attempt it tonight.

  A gallon of milk from the dairy aisle would complete his shopping. Listening to the rhythmic click of wheels along the floor tiles, he pushed his cart past a range of vegetables, past their fusion of yellow, green and orange.

  “You’re Hunter Carlisle, aren’t you?”

  Hunter turned to find a middle-aged woman with platinum-colored hair wrapped in a small ponytail. He didn’t recognize her, but perhaps they had met at one point in years past.

  “Yes ma’am. Have we met?”

  “I’m Mindy Rodham. You played baseball with my son Garrett when you were teenagers.”

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Rodham.”

  “I remember him mentioning you’re a Christian. You were in Youth Vision together.”

  “Sure, I remember him. He was a good guy.”

  “I saw you from the apple section over there,” she said with a glance behind her. “I wondered whether I should say something, but I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Say something about …”

  Mindy Rodham peered to her left. Reassured no one was within earshot, she lowered her voice to a mutter, as though she still didn’t want anyone to hear. One side of her mouth remained still, while she spoke through the corne
r of the other side.

  “Didn’t you think before doing what you did?”

  “What I did?”

  “With that—whoever he is. Your relationship with that other man. I don’t understand how you can call yourself a Christian and do something so disgusting. Don’t you realize you’re making all Christians look bad? And for what? For a good time with—with him?”

  “Mrs. Rodham, I didn’t intend—”

  “It’s horrible, and there’s no excuse for behavior like that. I hope you get down on your knees and repent and beg God for mercy on your soul. You’d better find a way to get that trash out of your life, because that behavior does not please God.” With a final glance around her, she gave her cart a push forward and parted with the words, “A Christian. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Stunned at first, Hunter couldn’t move a muscle. In the last month, two other individuals had taken the initiative to unleash their anger upon him in moments he didn’t expect. But frequency didn’t ease the rope burns their words produced on the surface of his heart. Each time it happened, he tried to let the person know he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. He wanted to explain that his feelings emanated from the loneliness he felt inside. If only they could see the sincerity of his faith and the genuine concern he harbored. But these individuals were not like Jesse Barlow, who listened. These individuals either cut him off as he tried to explain, or didn’t seem to hear what he said, as though they had already decided in advance what they would believe about him. In the Bible, Hunter read that Christians are to walk in love, not bite and devour others. Yet Hunter marveled that he felt less loved now than he’d felt while his secret was intact.

  At the same time, Hunter had to admit, he wondered what the years might hold ahead. How might the future look for him? He had tried to find happiness with the opposite sex, but no female had made him feel as content as he felt with Gabe. What if, for the remainder of his life, he could only find happiness in a homosexual relationship? Or suppose he dove into a serious relationship with Gabe and it didn’t work out? Would he pursue another same-sex relationship? Or would he ever find fulfillment?

  Hunter also bore safety concerns regarding the risk of disease, such as HIV. He knew Gabe hadn’t had a sexually-active past, but what about any future relationships? He wondered if he could trust any future partners to tell him the truth about their past, or if they would even know whether their past partners were infected. What if a partner had caught a virus that didn’t show up until years later, after they had lost touch? Could Hunter catch a horrible disease and seal his own early death?

  But worst of all, Hunter wondered if a homosexual relationship would put distance between God and him. Hunter couldn’t imagine life—or eternity, for that matter—apart from God. That notion tormented him most.

  On his way toward the dairy section, with his mind focused elsewhere, somebody darted out of the cereal aisle and stopped short of a collision with Hunter’s cart.

  “Hunter! Sorry about that, man. I’m kinda in a rush here.” Randy Gresh, one of the guys with whom Hunter had played basketball on Saturday mornings. They hadn’t played since the winter weather arrived, before Hunter’s incident.

  “I haven’t seen you in forever,” Hunter said. “Where have you been hiding out?”

  “Here and there. We need to get our Saturdays up and running again in a few weeks. Spring is almost here.”

  “Will do.”

  “Listen, man, I heard what happened and just want you to know we’re still friends, no matter what.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “It sucks the way people started preaching against you, like you’re the worst thing that ever happened. You’d think church people would be nicer to each other.”

  “Preaching against me?”

  “Yeah, a buddy of mine goes to that church just before you enter Stow. You know, that tiny little church on the side road with the stained-glass window of a shepherd and sheep? Been there forever. It’s the one you always notice when you drive past.”

  “I’ve seen the church. Never been there, though. What about it?”

  “My buddy rarely goes, but he had relatives in town and his parents twisted his arm into showing up at church last Sunday for the family’s sake. He told me the minister there suddenly decided to preach a month-long sermon series on homosexuality and that all gay people are going to hell or whatever. My buddy says the preacher didn’t mention you by name, just talked about ‘some individuals in our community,’” Randy said, curling his fingers into quotation marks.

  A second comment to render Hunter speechless, both in a single trip to the grocery store.

  “I used to serve that preacher years ago—remember when I worked at Beckindale’s restaurant? Yeah, he used to come in there a lot. I’ll never forget him. Real mean guy. Didn’t tip well, either. He actually counted out pocket change to get it right at 15 percent if I was lucky. Then he’d wish me his blessings or whatnot, I don’t remember. After getting screwed on my tip, I was never in the mood to hear anything the guy said. At least he never mentioned Jesus at the restaurant, right? How embarrassing would that be for him: ‘Hey, get Jesus and become a cheap-ass like me.’ But anyway, that’s the preacher I’m talking about. I’m not a church guy, but at least Jesse Barlow’s dad seems like the real deal, you know what I mean?”

  But Hunter’s mind had halted at the words preaching against you.

  CHAPTER 40

  “I haven’t been here in a week,” Ellen said as she shut her car door. “I finally got a breather between jobs.”

  Hunter climbed out from the passenger side of the car and stopped short. Ellen stood still, her eyes fixated on her home in progress. She appeared dumbfounded.

  “What’s the matter?” Hunter asked.

  “I didn’t realize they’d already started putting up the walls,” said Ellen in a manner that seemed like a passing thought, as though she stood there alone.

  Hunter peered ahead. It looked like a typical house under construction to him, no different from any other such house he had driven past during his life.

  “It’s just the framework,” he offered, at a loss for something more adequate. “The walls aren’t up yet.”

  “Won’t be long, though.”

  Hunter followed Ellen to her new house, where beams of wood now stood in a clear pattern. As far as he could tell, the builders had completed the framework for the two-story home. Upon closer inspection, the wood looked clean and flawless, its color a few shades darker than ivory.

  When they reached the space where the front door would reside, Ellen stopped. She touched the framework. Standing beside her, careful not to pick up a splinter, Hunter ran his palm along a wooden beam that, by his guess, would outline a window.

  “Come on in,” she said with a wave. Although she still seemed a tad distracted by something—whatever it was—she had, for the most part, recovered. “I’ll give you the grand tour of the first floor.”

  Hunter sauntered behind her, beneath the threshold and into the foyer. He took a deep breath and tried to detect the scent of lumber, but the cool air had chilled his nose and masked the aroma. The construction process fascinated him, the way a house began with a basement, followed by a simple wooden frame. Without the walls, he could see through every room unhindered, all the way to the forest behind the house. As a kid, he would have paid cash for this type of X-ray vision. At the same time, the depth of framework, layer after layer as he peered toward the rear of the home, resembled an optical illusion, one designed to skew his perception of where one room ended and another began.

  “That’s the dining room on your left, and the living room on your right. We’re walking through the foyer now.” Ellen took cautious steps ahead. She swept her finger back and forth across a series of steps that stretched above their heads. “This is the main stairway. There’s another stairway in the kitchen.”

  Ellen turned to her right and crept down another narrow corridor. The m
ain hallway, Hunter deduced. When they reached one end of the house, Ellen pointed to a room on their right.

  “This will be a guest bedroom,” she said.

  Although he could see right through the framework into the room, Hunter found humor in the fact that, out of habit, he poked his head through its doorway anyway.

  “And here,” said Ellen as she ran her finger along a threshold so tight, at first Hunter didn’t realize it lined an open space, “is a linen closet.”

  The closet sat before them at the end of the hallway, at an angle perpendicular to the guest bedroom. It reached as high as where the ceiling would sit. Judging from its threshold, the closet would require a door of full-size height but half the regular width, the same size as the linen closet at Hunter’s home.

  Ellen stared at the closet. She smirked while examining it, as if she knew something this linen closet didn’t. Rubbing her thumb along one side of the doorway, Ellen slinked inside the closet and turned around to face Hunter.

  The closet was so narrow, when she pressed her hands against the sides of its framework, her arms remained bent at the elbows. Her body filled most of the empty space. In fact, with her body inside, the closet left only enough room for her hands to reach an inch or two away from her body. Once the builders finished the walls and shut the door, Hunter imagined, a person might suffocate inside that linen closet.

  Ellen stared at the horizontal beams above her. Hunter watched her and couldn’t help but grin. As cramped as she was, she looked like a little girl trying to squeeze herself into a dollhouse. A modern Alice in Wonderland, too gargantuan for her own surroundings.

  “Have you ever noticed how life does this to you?” said Ellen.

  “Life?”

  “Life tries to fit you into a box,” Ellen continued, as if she hadn’t noticed Hunter’s reply. One by one, she gazed at the wooden beams that surrounded her. Scrutinized them. “It builds walls like these. And you want to shout, cry out, release all the shit that stacks up around you and smothers you. But you can’t say anything, because not even you yourself can figure out what’s wrong. You just know something isn’t right.”