Titanic Summer

by Russell J. Sanders

  It was the twenty-first century, but the old lady’s viewpoint was pretty progressive for Mom’s church. Yeah, they didn’t want to ever give the impression they were racist in any way, but there certainly were no black people in this meeting. And at services, African Americans and Hispanics were few and far between. I secretly applauded her for making her point about race.

  “Yeah, yeah, well, I’m just saying—” The yahoo didn’t want to let go of the race card he was playing.

  But Mom, of all people, cut him off, thank God.

  “Let’s get back to the issue at hand, please. HERO has to be stopped. We cannot let predatory men into our girls’ rooms. Our children and your wives deserve to use the restroom without fear.”

  “You tell ’em, dear,” the older lady chimed in. “We have to stay focused on what’s important and not get sidetracked. This ordinance grants rights to all of those gay people. If HERO is passed, these homosexuals can cry they’ve been discriminated against, and we will have no recourse. The law will be on their side, whether what they claim is true or not. And most of the time, it’s not true. They just want to stir up trouble. It’s our job to stop them. And the abomination of that bathroom clause should be our rallying cry.”

  A roar arose from the group. They were fired up about this. I watched Mom as the old lady spoke and as the crowd cheered her. There was no satisfaction on Mom’s face. There was almost horror.

  “Thanks to a bunch of judges in their sissy black robes,” another person shouted, “we already have to accept them getting married”—he spoke that word like it was a curse—“and a whole bunch of other things. Let’s not make it any easier for them to push their agenda on us. Do you want to live next to two men raising children?”

  I flashed on my two dads. That’s who they were talking about. And I couldn’t see them being anything but good neighbors.

  “True, true!” another person added. “And what about polygamy? Those judges have opened the floodgates. Before you know it, we’ll all be required to have three or four wives.”

  Now, he’d drunk the Kool-Aid, I thought.

  But I was listening. And watching my mom. Would this be the one time she split from the views of the masses here at her beloved church?

  “I’m more worried about the economy. They say their getting married is already a tax advantage for them. With this HERO thing, we’ll be spending precious city money defending these perverts and their so-called rights.”

  Reverend Stillmore stepped forward. He had kind of faded into the background when all the shouting started.

  “What I’m most worried about,” he said, “is God. Homosexuals are Godless people. We all know that. If we allow them to desecrate the holy sanctity of marriage, the next thing you know, they’ll be spreading their antichurch ways to their precious children. It’s bad enough that a few of the homosexuals have adopted innocents or hired surrogates. What blasphemy they practice. How many more of these heathens will corrupt the children if they think they are equal to us, the God-fearing, Holy Word–sanctioned families? HERO only perpetuates this notion; makes them think their rights are equal to ours.”

  And instantly, I knew he had Mom back. If kids were involved in the argument, she was always for protecting them. Even if her concerns were misplaced.

  But something was welling up in me. I was no longer so sure her concerns, their concerns, were misplaced.

  “Right on, Reverend! We’ve got to stop this thing. It’s time to quit talking and act. We come to these meetings week after week and do nothing except debate the same issues and be content with a few phone calls. Let’s do something. I say, do something.”

  I could feel the blood rising in the room. A spark started that erupted into a blaze. It was like in church when folks felt the spirit move, and they just had to rush to the altar to confess or rededicate themselves to Christ. This wasn’t a service, but the spirit was definitely moving among these folks tonight. And I felt it too.

  I slid forward, something pulling me. The air around me was charged, and an inferno welled up inside me.

  I felt the flames. The white heat engulfed me. Why was this happening to me? I was being yanked into the frenzy. Feelings of hatred flooded me, and I wanted to lash out, just like the others in this room. We, together, must stop HERO! If gays got rights, they would spread their ways, draw us all into their abominable practices—draw me into it all. I would be revealed to the world. I could not, would not let that happen.

  A giant monster of a guy rose up, punching the heavens. He breathed fire as he spoke.

  “I say we march! Walk right up to the steps of city hall, where the queer lovers are having a rally on Monday. We need to be there! Make a lot of noise! Let the mayor know that we won’t stand for her Godless ways. Let her know that there are spirit-filled Christians from Houston that care about our society. March! March! March!”

  “March, march, march, march….”

  The shouts echoed in the room, shaking the rafters.

  The crowd became a machine, rising to crush anything that got in its way.

  “March, march, march, march, march, march. march….”

  My mother stood, not contributing anything more. What was up with that?

  In the car, we were halfway home before she spoke. “They are certainly fired up.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?” I shouted, feeling the fire. Her demeanor and the way she said that just didn’t jibe.

  “Baby, you know I will follow Reverend Stillmore wherever he leads me, usually. But all this vitriol they’re spouting against gays. I’m not totally with that.”

  My jaw dropped, but I didn’t say anything.

  She continued, “I truly believe that HERO will lead to molestation of children. That’s why I’m against it. I’m not sure we need a law that protects gay people, but if that was all it was about, I’d back away. I just don’t want it to be legal for men to go into women’s bathrooms. It’s about the children, really.”

  There was a tremble in her voice. My mother could be the kindest, most gentle caring person I’d ever met.

  “I suppose if we can defeat HERO, then I’ll have my wish. The children will be protected. So that march is important. But if this were nothing but a gay witch hunt, I’d be opposing the church and Reverend Stillmore.”

  I looked at her. I was incredulous. Then what she said next almost made me wreck the car.

  “You know, ten years ago, when your father left, I was filled with anger and hatred. But I’ve changed. I’ve prayed, and I’ve searched my soul. I’ve accepted a lot. I’m not against gays now. The man I love is gay.”

  What? She’d often told me she loved my dad, but I thought that was in the Christian way. That statement she just made was more in an “I wish he hadn’t left me, but I understand why” way.

  But then, the totally unexpected happened. “And my precious son is gay.”

  I braked suddenly, pulled to the curb, and turned off the engine. I was in total shock. I sat, hunched over, feeling like my whole world had caved in—even worse than it had in Halifax.

  Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “A mother knows. It doesn’t matter one whit to me. You’re no different than you always were. But then again, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

  I looked at her. The love from her eyes glowed brightly in the dark car.

  She pulled me to her and hugged me. “You’re still my little Jakie, and that will never change, no matter who you choose as a partner in life. Love is all there is.”

  I pulled away and almost inaudibly said, “Thanks, Mom.”

  “And don’t think I’m going to out you to the world. I know your school’s policy, and I know how much you value your basketball team. I will not take that away from you. My acceptance took a long, long time. If it had been instant when your dad told me about himself, I probably would have found you a school not so rigid on the subject. Your dad and I chose your school together, when you were only five years old. They
weren’t as vocal back then about their stance on gay issues, and I guess neither your dad nor I read the handbook before enrolling you. I apologize for being so trusting in that respect. We just wanted a school with good values, and your school seemed like a great choice at the time. Your dad never tried to get me to change your school. I guess he felt guilty enough about leaving me. And by the time I evolved, you’d already been there for years, made friends, seemed happy, and started playing basketball. And I know how much that means to you.

  “When I realized you were gay, I read up on it. Knowing about your dad, I was in shock that both of you were gay. But I read.” She chuckled. “Like I read my Bible.”

  I bet Reverend Stillmore would be happy to hear that!

  “And you know, baby, I found out a lot. I know that it’s not uncommon for both a father and son to be gay. I know that if I’d had other children, they may or may not have been gay. I know it’s something that’s born in you, and you can’t change. And I know that coming out is personal. It’s your secret to tell.” So that’s where all that “it was for your Dad to tell you” stuff came from. “Only you can decide when you want to tell the world. It’s my job, like it’s always been, to simply love you.”

  I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t process. But I felt the truth, the love, in what she was saying.

  Chapter 17

  A NEAR-SCALDING shower usually keeps me from thinking and from feeling. But I tossed and turned all night long, thinking about Mom’s revelations. I was still too keyed up in the shower for anything to stop my brain from going a mile a minute. My mother not only knew I was gay, but she didn’t care. She loved me anyway. Is that the way it works for everyone? I don’t think so. I’ve read too many tales of kids getting kicked out of their house, shunned for life. My mom was the best mom in the entire universe.

  Oh, how I wished Dad was like her. If she figured it out, why couldn’t he? Why did he dwell on my girlfriend this, my girlfriend that? He was clueless and ignorant.

  No, Mom was the one who really loved me. She didn’t have any secrets. And now I could go to her with my problems. I still was going to stay in the closet where school was concerned, but Mom understood that. I could be open with her. And that was a weight off my shoulders.

  I didn’t need Dad. I didn’t need his secrets, his lies. I didn’t need his Paulie. I didn’t need his wedding.

  I was still on the fence about the transgender bathroom deal, but if Mom wanted me to work with her to get HERO defeated, then I was going to work right alongside her. After all, she had me at “you’re still my little Jakie.”

  A pounding on the front door startled me as I stepped out of the shower.

  Clutching my towel around me, I peered toward the little window in the front door. A face was smashed up against the glass.

  “Holler!”

  What else could have added to my newfound happiness? A visit from a ball of laughs. A beautiful ball of laughs.

  Finn bounded through the door as soon as I opened it.

  “Mornin’, Podnuh. You said to give you a holler.” He laughed. Then he pointed to the towel. “Caught you at a bad time, huh?”

  “Not really, Podnuh. Ya got ya horse all hitched up to the rail outside? Don’t want no runaways,” I drawled. Then I narrowed my eyes at him. “You keep talking like that, and you’re dead at Lamar High School. I can predict that right now.”

  “Don’t you fret about that, ya hear?”

  There was no stopping him.

  And, frankly, I loved every minute of it. His fake cowboy was a total hoot. I looked at him and thought that he just might be the one for me—if he was gay. What a liberating thing, to be able to think that way and not feel guilty. I wanted this feeling to last.

  “Let me get my clothes on, okay?”

  Finn’s gaze swept my body from head to toe. I clasped the towel to me tighter. Why, I don’t know. I was reasonably sure Finn wasn’t gay, despite my fantasy not two minutes before. I retreated to my room to get dressed.

  “So, what’s up?” I called to the living room.

  “Thought we could do some shopping. You game? I need some Texas duds. Don’t want to stick out in these Utah threads, know whut I mean?”

  His clothes didn’t look any different from what Houston kids wear, I thought, coming back into the room. But he made me laugh, and laughter is a good thing for someone who hadn’t had a really good laugh in a long, long time. So I pointed toward the door.

  My eyes bugged out at the cherry red Mustang convertible in Finn’s parking spot outside.

  “Wow, man. Nice ride.”

  “Grandma.”

  “Grandma?”

  As I buckled in, Finn said, “Yeah, Grandma, my mom’s mom, settled some cash on me after the move. She said, ‘Now, Finny baby, I know how hard it’s going to be for you starting over again. You’ll need new clothes, some pocket money, and furthermore, I won’t have that clunker you’re driving break down on some Houston freeway. Perverts lurk in big cities, waiting for boys to have car trouble.’ So she took me out and bought me this sweet ride.”

  “Lucky you. She had it shipped all the way to Houston?” I asked.

  “Shipped? Like they don’t sell Mustangs here? Nah, Dude. Didn’t I tell you? I know I told you Mom was from Houston, but maybe you didn’t make the connection with Grandma. She lives here in H-town. Like I said, she took me to the dealership. She had to be right there with me while I picked the perfect one.”

  “What a keeper your grandma is. Does she adopt stray boys? I could use me a grandma like that.”

  “Yeah, well, my dad was pretty hot when he saw the car. He’s always been against taking money from Grandma. Mom’s not much better on that subject, either. But this time Mom sided with me and smoothed it over. I got to keep the car—and the money. Hoo-ray for Mom.”

  He backed out. “Okay—first things first, I need to look like a real cowpoke, dude. Where can you make that happen?”

  “Just hang a right at the entrance to the complex. I’ll guide you from there.”

  It was a beautiful day. Early August can be deadly here—the local tourism board tried out the slogan Houston’s Hot, but too many people pointed out tourists would never associate hot with trendy, especially once they stepped off a plane in summer. But today the sun felt good as we sped off with the top down.

  Ten minutes later, we pulled into Cavender’s Boot City.

  Finn jumped from the car and motioned for me to hurry up.

  “Time’s a’wasting. We got megashopping to do.”

  He went straight for the boots when we got in the door.

  “Man oh man, I’m going to be a true Texan before we get out of here, Pod.”

  I liked his enthusiasm. I realized, smiling at Finn, that a guy friend was as important to me as a lover. As much as I didn’t want to think about Dad, I flashed on his advice about my needing friends.

  Five thousand try-ons later, Finn settled on a pair of black ostrich ropers—Justins. The tag said $359. Finn didn’t even blink. He just asked the clerk to hold them for him at the register.

  “Now, jeans… jeans, jeans, jeans.” He looked around. “Where are the Wranglers?”

  “Look, Finn, if you want to fit in, you’ll go with Levi’s. Nobody wears Wranglers,” I advised.

  “You’re wearing Wranglers.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “And, like I said, if you want to fit in….”

  “If Wranglers are good enough for you, they’re good enough for me. I don’t want to fit in too much, know whut I mean? Got to keep an air of mystery to me.”

  So he tried on some Wrangler boot cuts. He looked amazing in them, hot as hell. I told him that. Well, not as enthusiastically as I was thinking it. I just told him they were perfect. He got eight pairs. I tried to tell him that was excessive and that there was a dress code at Lamar, so he would be stocking up on Lamar-approved duds also, but Finn was having none of it. Said he needed clothes for when he wasn’t in school and just hanging out.
I guess he figured he’d make instant friends, and if I knew him, he was right.

  “Shirts?” he asked.

  “Unless you’re a Lamar farmer, we’ll have to go elsewhere for those.”

  “Farmer?”

  “Believe it or not, Lamar High School, right in the middle of the city’s richest neighborhood, has an FFA chapter—Future Farmers of America.”

  “I’m more of a debate-team kind of guy.”

  That made sense. He could talk your arm off.

  “Then you’re in luck. Lamar has a great debate coach, and her team is one of the best.”

  He took the jeans to the register, retrieved his boots, and paid.

  As we got back in the car, he said, “Where’s the best place to hang on the feed bag around here?”

  Now I may have just eaten at Chuy’s the night before, but that didn’t stop me from saying, “You’re in luck! Best Tex-Mex in the world.”

  “Tex-Mex, huh? You mean like fajitas and shit? I like those. I got ’em when we went to Chili’s in Salt Lake all the time.”

  “Oh, Finn, my man, are you in for a culture shock. Believe me, everything at Chuy’s, fajitas included, is better than Chili’s.”

  Finn, after taking one bite, agreed with me. I’ve never seen anyone eat like that. He out-ate me, and that’s never happened before.

  He wiped his mouth a final time, stifled a burp, then gave me an apologetic glance. Then he laughed his head off. I don’t know how anyone that stunning-looking could be so goofy, all at the same time. Finally, he said, “Now, where do we go for those shirts I need?”

  “The Galleria—just down the road. Three levels, three sections. Used to be four, but they wiped out the fourth recently to start rebuilding. Like we really needed a bigger, classier, newer section. Already more shopping than anyone has a right to.”

  We had no sooner stepped through the door of Chuy’s into the sunshine before he let out a giant belch. “Ahhh. That felt good,” Finn declared. And I’m sure the folks sitting in the patio right next to us loved hearing his eruption.