The God Box

by Alex Sanchez

  "You'd better watch your back, man." "Lookit!" Manuel emitted an exaggerated sigh. "Would you stop trying to flirt? I told you I'm not interested."Again, laughter, though even less than before. As we left homeroom, I whispered to Manuel, "One day, you're going to get your butt kicked serious.""Won't be the first time. Besides, I didn't start it. I'm just being myself. You want me to hide my light under a bushel?""No, but do you have to shine it in people's faces?"Although a smile pressed onto his lips, he looked me in the eye for a long moment, a little sad. "That's just how I am, amigo. Can't help it. Sometimes I say dumb things."I watched him stride away and shook my head in frustration--at him for the antagonism he was provoking . . . and at myself for caring.Later that week, I was studying with Angie one evening when I noticed a stack of library books on her desk.Angie read more than anybody else I knew, about all sorts of stuff: autobiographies of world leaders, stories about girls and horses or boys and their dogs, romance novels with sappy cover illustrations, explanations of quantum physics and string theory...No doubt she had been influenced by our school librarian, Mrs. Ramirez, who constantly nagged us:

  "Read! Free your minds!" Once, Mrs. R. had lectured me: "When I was in school, my library barely had as many books as you see there." She pointed at a single stack of shelves across the room. "You don't realize how lucky you are. You have so much you can read--about almost anything."In fact I liked to read. But with school, church, and sports, who had the time to check out everything Mrs. R. recommended?56uneasily. One was about teenage sexuality. The other two were novels about gay and lesbian teens."You want to borrow one?" Angie asked, noticing me."No." I swallowed the guilty lump in my throat. "What are you reading them for?""Just curious." She returned her gaze to her computer, and I looked over at the novels again. What stories did they tell? Did they turn out happy or depressing?Angie darted another glance at me. I hunched over my math book, trying to force my mind back to my homework.It seemed as though everywhere I went, my unwanted thoughts followed me--even in my own home. Manuel had begun to call or come over often, either to do homework or just to hang out, often bringing treats.

  He loved to make desserts.When my pa met him, they seemed to get along okay. "You're a good cook," Pa told him. But afterward Pa asked me, "Why does he have an earring in his eyebrow?""Um, I don't know." I shoved my hands into my pockets. "He's from Dallas."Pa pondered that explanation, then shook his head. "It looks marico'n"--the Spanish word for

  "queer."I cringed. What would Pa say if I told him, "Well, Manuel is a maricdn"Pa didn't say anything else about him, but he still looked at Manuel a little curious-like whenever he came over.I wondered how my ma would have reacted to Manuel. Would she have liked him? I still thought about her a lot--every day, during prayers and in between. I tried to remember the happy times we'd shared, but it was hard not to also recall her long suffering in and out of hospitals.During the two years of her illness I had prayed for her57nearly every waking hour, faithfully asking God to heal her in Jesus' name. Over and over I read the Bible passages where Jesus healed the sick, lame, and blind. But Ma never got better, only worse. The day after my twelfth birthday, with Pa and me by her bedside, she died in the hospital.I couldn't understand why God hadn't healed my ma. Hadn't Jesus said, Whatever you ask in my name, I will do it}The adults in my life tried to console me. My pa steadied my shoulder, not saying much, in his usual reserved way.My Sunday school teacher told me, "The Lord has a reason for everything. Now he has a new angel in heaven."And Abuelita explained, "Sometimes, when God doesn't answer our prayers, it doesn't mean he didn't hear us; it just means he has a different plan for us."I knew that those grown-ups were trying to reassure me, but their words only stirred doubts. What if the Lord decided he wanted my pa in heaven too? Where would that leave me? And if God didn't answer our prayers, what was the point? If he was going to do whatever he wanted anyway, how could I trust him?For a twelve-year-old boy, the image of an unresponsive and unpredictable God capable of wreaking such pain wasn't much comfort. There had to be some other explanation.

  Maybe I just hadn't prayed hard enough. Or maybe God had ignored my prayers because of those other thoughts I'd had. Once again I tried to put my feelings away and prayed even harder, recalling the verse in Matthew: Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect..."Maybe that way nothing else bad would happen.

  Chapter 12

  SOMETIMES WHEN MANUEL PHONED TO HANG OUT, I TOLD HIM, "I'M BUSY."

  LOTS OF TIMES I HONESTLY WAS BUSY WITH CHOIR, HONOR SOCIETY, OR

  HANGING OUT WITH ANGIE. AT OTHER TIMES I JUST DIDN'T WANT TO DEAL WITH

  HIM. HE MESSED WITH MY MIND TOO MUCH. One moment I wanted to shake him and say, "Stop being gay! It's wrong." But the next minute I was mesmerized by stories about him and his boyfriend, Bryan. Like how they'd kissed the first time at a movie theater and ended up making out so much that neither could remember how the film ended. Or how they'd slow-danced together at junior prom and their principal nearly had a coronary.As Manuel talked, I caught myself staring at him--at his playful eyes and thick wavy hair. His hair had a good smell that I couldn't quite place--sort of a mix of mint and sage. When I went to the supermarket, I uncapped shampoos, testing to find out what brand he used. When I finally discovered it, I told myself that I was buying it because of the good smell. But from then on, each time I showered I thought of Manuel.59And yet even though I thought about him in secret, I still resisted being his friend. He was opening up something inside me that I didn't want opened up.During the day I avoided him as much as possible. And after school I never let myself be the one to phone him. But I couldn't deny that I was looking forward to his calls and visits.One evening when he didn't phone or show up, I found myself checking my cell every few minutes, hoping for a text message. Of course, I could have phoned him, but I didn't.When dinnertime came, Pa said, "You made a lot of food tonight.""I know," I mumbled. "I thought Manuel might come over."But he never showed up.

  After Pa and I had cleared the supper dishes, I tested my phone's dial tone to make sure it was working. Manuel never called that night. I went to bed angry at him--and myself.The next morning I awoke with fresh resolve to ignore him and stop liking him so much. I arrived at homeroom expecting to find him and Angie joking and talking as usual. But instead, he was staring silently out the window. It was the first time I'd seen him sulk."What's up with him?" I whispered to Angie.Manuel overheard and muttered, "Bryan dumped me."I recalled the photo of the two of them in their tuxes, so happy-looking. Why had they broken up?"He says it's too hard,"

  Manuel mumbled, "to do the LDR thing."I gave Angie a questioning glance, and she explained:

  "Long distance relationship.""I told him that I'd visit him at Thanksgiving," Manuel continued,

  "but he says that's too long to wait. The jerk!" Even though Manuel's tone was angry, his eyes glistened with tears.60I felt sad for him--and disappointed with myself for not having phoned him the night before. What kind of selfish friend was I, not having even considered that something might have happened?That evening when Manuel didn't call, I stared at my phone. Then, for the first time, I phoned him61

  Chapter 13

  OVER THE NEXT SEVERAL AFTERNOONS I LISTENED --SOMETIMES PATIENTLY,

  AT OTHER TIMES UNEASILY--WHILE MANUEL LAY ON MY BEDROOM CARPET,

  STARING UP AT THE CEILING, AND RECOUNTED THE STORY OF HIM AND HIS

  (NOW EX-) BOYFRIEND."The first time I saw Bryan was at his locker. My heart went tumble, literally. I tripped over somebody's books in the hallway like a total klutz. His eyes were this amazing aqua blue color, like oceans in some cruise ship commercial. . . and his smile was bright as the moon. Any time I went near him, I got all goofy and tongue-tied. I thought my heart would explode. But I kept wondering, What if he isn't gay?"Manuel paused, gazing toward me. Was he wondering the same thing about me? Even though I had told him I wasn't, it felt like he was seeing inside me again."So?" I gestured to him to get on with the story. "What did you do?""So

  ...
" Manuel continued, "we started hanging out, till I couldn't stand not knowing anymore. One afternoon he and I were walking home, and I asked, 'Are you ... ?' I was too nervous62to actually say the word 'gay' to him, but he knew what I meant. 'Yep.' He broke into a smile. 'Are you?'"Manuel stared at me as if now asking me the same question. When I didn't answer, he proceeded with his story. "I couldn't stop thinking about him. I was crazy insane certain that I had met my life partner. He was my first real love." Manuel exhaled a weary sigh. "I guess that's why it hurts so much."Manuel wiped his cheek, and I squirmed in my chair. It was the first time since grade school a guy had cried in front of me. A part of me wanted to reach out and hold him. He looked so vulnerable. But what if I got swept into something I couldn't handle?Instead, I tugged nervously at my wristband, wondering how it would feel if Angie and I broke up. Would she feel as hurt as Manuel? Would I? Was I in love with Angie the same way Manuel had been with Bryan? The same way my other friends were crazy in love with their crushes? Could I ever be in love with anyone that way?My thoughts spun in circles. Once again Manuel was confusing me."Want to play a video game?" I asked. "To help take your mind off him?" Without waiting for Manuel's response, I got up and jammed a cartridge into the game box.During the next couple of weeks, Manuel slowly got over his breakup with Bryan. One afternoon he invited me over to his house.Before that, I hadn't felt comfortable going over. I'm not sure why. Maybe it had to do with meeting him on his own turf. Or maybe I was nervous that his family might be as unconventional as he was. But as I got to know them, they turned out to be as normal as any of my other friends'

  families.His dad was dark-skinned, curly-haired, and outgoing. Whenever63he was home, he seemed to be on business calls, sometimes in English, other times in Spanish, but he always stopped to ask how I was. His mom, the college teacher, was usually either grading papers at a cluttered desk in the living room or preparing dinner in the kitchen. His older brother studied chemistry at UT Austin but came home every other weekend. His twelve-year-old sister often had a friend over, and they would whisper and giggle together in her room.Manuel's bedroom was unexpectedly commonplace--as messy as most of my guy friends' rooms, strewn with clothes and video game cartridges. A Bible and glossy magazines lay heaped on the nightstand. Posters lined the walls. I noticed that they were all of openly gay stars: Elton John, k.d. lang, George Michael, Melissa Etheridge...During that first visit, I sat down in his desk chair and scanned a bulletin board jumbled with photos and notes. In the middle was a quote from someone named Lynn Lavner:The Bible contains six admonishments to homosexuals and362 admonishments to heterosexuals. That doesn't mean that God doesn't love heterosexuals. It's just that they need more supervision.Staring at the quote, I whispered, "Does your family know? I mean, about you?""I think so." A sheepish grin wandered across Manuel's face. "When I was in eighth grade, my dad caught me making out--with a boy."I sat up, trying to picture the scene. "What happened?""What could he say?" Manuel shrugged. "He squeezed my shoulder, all fatherly-like, and said, 'You know, mijo, boys don't normally kiss other boys.' Maybe he thought that would stop me. But it actually helped me to figure things out. The next night at dinner I announced, 'I guess I'm gay.'"Manuel's matter-of-factness put me at the edge of my seat. What64would my pa say to something like that? "Then what happened?"Manuel's grin grew wider. "I think Dad had already told my mom, because she said, 'If you are, that's okay.' Then Dad said something like, 'We'll always love you, no matter what.' My brother only said, 'Yeah, I figured you were.' And my sister was like, 'Really? That's cool.' It was all disappointingly undramatic."I didn't get that. "Did you want it to be dramatic?""I guess not." Manuel thought for a moment. "Well, maybe a little dramatic."His honesty could be disarming. Yet there was an aspect of his being gay that I still couldn't accept. One afternoon, between computer games, I asked, "But don't you realize it's a sin?"Manuel gave me a questioning look. "You mean being gay?"I nodded and folded my arms, bracing for an argument. "You understand you're going to hell, don't you?""No," Manuel said, his voice confident. "That doesn't make sense. Ever since I first started going to church nursery school, I was taught that God loves me just as I am, just as my mom and dad love me, no matter what. So . . . why on earth would a good and loving God create ten percent of people with a sex drive oriented toward the same gender, and at the same time condemn them to hell for it?"He raised his eyebrows, waiting for my answer. I stared back, uncertain. I'd always been told that gay people were godless. Obviously, Manuel wasn't.When I failed to respond, he filled in: "The logic of condemning people for how they were born is just... just... backward. It's like when they used to blame lepers or mentally ill people, claiming that God was punishing them. Why should I believe that I'm sick or sinful or going to hell for something I didn't choose and can't change? I don't buy that."It took me a moment to collect my thoughts. "It's not proven that people are born gay."65"Well," Manuel argued, "it's not proven that people are born straight, either, but no one challenges them about it.""But homosexuality is unnatural," I protested."Is it?" Manuel argued.

  "Do you know that homosexual courtship, mating, and parenting are scientifically documented in more than four hundred fifty animal species?""Is that really true?" I asked--even though I could recall times when I'd seen male dogs, or horses, or cattle mount each other."Look it up on the Web," Manuel replied. "What's unnatural is homophobia. Homo sapiens is the only species in all of nature that responds with hate to homosexuality."His comment made me think back to a psychology class where we'd studied how both hate and love were learned behaviors. And I remembered thinking how important it was that Jesus had come to teach us how to love."But what about AIDS?" I asked Manuel. "You don't think AIDS is God's punishment for gay people?""First of all," Manuel answered, "I don't believe in a sadistic God who thinks up ways to punish us. Is that what you believe in?""No. But I think he tries to tell us when we're doing something wrong.""Through cruelty?" Manuel shook his head. "I think that's the wrong image of God, the one that Jesus came to correct. I believe suffering is just a sucky part of life--

  everybody's life. As Jesus said in Matthew: God 'makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain upon the just and the unjust."'Once again Manuel's citing of Scripture confounded me."And as for AIDS," he continued, "it's hurt a lot more straight than gay people, including millions of children. And do you realize lesbians have the lowest HIV rate of any group? If AIDS

  is a punishment from God, then he must love lesbians!" Manuel66grinned for a moment before turning serious again. "To link gay people and AIDS is simply . . ."--he paused as if measuring his words--"... ignorant."I folded my arms more tightly across my chest. Manuel was taking every church view I'd heard against homosexuality and blowing it away--blowing me away.I stared at him a long time, too annoyed to say anything, till at last I grumbled, "I'm going home."And yet, as I wandered through the evening twilight toward my house, I found my annoyance turning into prayer. "Could Manuel possibly be right?" I whispered to Jesus.When I got home, Pa was asleep on the couch, one shoe on and the other fallen off, snoring like he does. I stood there for a while, quietly watching him sleep and thinking about what Manuel had said about coming out to his family.Then I went to make dinner.67

  Chapter 14

  THE NEXT DAY I FOUND MYSELF AT MANUEL'S HOUSE ONCE AGAIN, ARGUING

  IN THE KITCHEN WHILE HELPING HIM MAKE BROWNIES. THE SMELL OF

  CHOCOLATE FILLED THE AIR AS I CHALLENGED HIM: "OKAY, THEN, WHAT

  ABOUT 'LOVE THE SINNER BUT HATE THE SIN?""What about it?" Manuel calmly sliced the brownies. "I mean, think about that. Isn't it like saying, 'I love left-handed people but hate that they're left-handed.' Is that really love? Or is that saying, 'I'm willing to love you as I'd like you to be, not as you are'? Either God's love is unconditional or it's not." Once again Manuel had stumped me."Besides . . ." He handed me a steaming hot brownie. "Did Jesus ever say, 'hate the sin'? Or was his message, love the sinner and forgive sins, for who of you is without sin?""Yeah
,"

  I replied, "but he also said, 'Go, and sin no more.' You think we should just let people do whatever they want and stand by doing nothing?""No." Manuel led me to his bedroom. "If somebody is obviously hurting someone, of course you should stop them.68But if I choose to love another guy, who am I hurting?""When you sin," I recited automatically, and dropped down onto his carpet, "you hurt God, others, and yourself."Manuel shook his head and sat down beside me. "How is love between two people a sin? Love isn't about gender; it's about two souls uniting.

  But okay, let's just suppose it is a sin. Then isn't that between God and the people involved? Who are you to judge? Isn't that the whole point in John's story of the woman taken in adultery? Time and again, Jesus' message was, 'How can you say, "Let me take the speck out of your eye," when there is the log in your own?'"I blew on my brownie to cool it and wondered, Why am I trying to argue with a sinner who obviously has no desire to repent? And yet I found it hard to pull away."You know the most amazing thing about Jesus?" Manuel exclaimed. "It's not that he performed miracles. It's that he was who he was, no matter what. He raged at religious leaders, questioned prophets, and challenged teachers to stop being dishonest hypocrites, knowing he'd get slammed for it. Jesus hung out with outcasts and sinners because they weren't pretending to be anything other than who they were. He had the courage to be himself, every time he encountered anyone--whether it was a leper or a temple leader, a fisherman or a rich young ruler. He was true to who he was--always and everywhere--and that's what he calls us to do. To follow Jesus means that we've got to be real."This gospel according to Manuel was unlike any I'd ever heard. Pastor Jose and my Christian friends often spoke about Jesus being real to us, but I'd never heard them talk about Jesus calling us to be real. But then again, Manuel was nothing like any other Christian I had ever met."Don't you see?" Manuel's voice filled with passion. "Jesus69didn't only command us to love God, one another, and ourselves. He showed us how: by being himself, by being real, whether he was accepting the cheers of the palm-waving crowd or later hanging on the cross, questioning God and forgiving those who jeered him. His message stayed the same: Be true to who you are, knowing the cost. How else can you worship the Creator of all being, the great 'I am,' except by being the person that God created you to be? Have the guts to be real!"I listened quietly, feeling a little shell-shocked."Are you real?" Manuel asked, peering at me with his soul-searching look. "Who are you, really?"I stared at him, no longer knowing. Who was I? Who did God create me to be? Was I truly a born-again Christian straight boy being tempted by the sin of homosexuality? Or was I trying to be somebody I wasn't because I couldn't accept who I really was?Manuel gazed at me patiently, waiting for my response, as my head began to throb."I need to go," I said quietly. Then I stood up with my brownie and gathered my things.When I got home, I decided to go for a long, long run, hoping the exercise would clear my mind.70