by Alex Sanchez
Chapter 30
IN SPITE OF MY DOUBTS, I WANTED TO BELIEVE ERIC. I TOLD HIM L'D SEE WHEN I COULD GO TO THE EX-GAY MEETING AND WE EXCHANGED CELL NUMBERS. I
STILL HOPED THAT I COULD CHANGE. AND YET, WHEN I LEFT THE CHURCH THAT
AFTERNOON, I FOUND MYSELF DRIVING TO MANUEL'S.He was folding laundry in the wash room, wearing a pair of old torn-up jeans and a T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. It was the first time I'd seen his arms fully bare, and even though he wasn't "Hot Hunk" buff, each time he folded a piece of laundry, my gaze wandered to his naked biceps."What?" He gave me an impish smile, like he knew I was checking him out."Nothing," I felt my face turn red. To calm down, I grabbed a pair of socks and folded them. "So, um, I met with the guy this afternoon--you know--
the ex-gay?""Oh, yeah?" Manuel asked casually. "How'd it go?""Um, okay. He seems nice.""That's good," Manuel said, and continued folding laundry. His calm response threw me. I'd expected one our usual151arguments. Had he given up? Wasn't he interested anymore?When we finished folding, Manuel grabbed the basket full of clothes, and led me to his bedroom. As I watched him put his stuff away, I noticed a rip in back of his jeans. Like a little window, it revealed his thigh, sleek and smooth."Want something to eat?" Manuel asked."Sure." I nodded, anxious to shift my attention.We wandered to the kitchen, and Manuel brought out a pack of popcorn. "So . . ." He tossed the bag into the microwave. "The guy seems happy now?""Um ..." I listened to the corn pop in the oven and recalled how Eric hadn't really sounded very happy. But he'd said he was. "Yeah. Mostly.""Hmm." Manuel gave me a sidelong glance. When the oven timer chimed, he pulled the popcorn out. "You don't sound very convinced."I frowned, knowing I wasn't very convinced. We carried the steaming hot popcorn back to Manuel's room."Well," I insisted, "he said his desire is ninety-nine percent gone. He said homosexuality is like alcoholism.""Oh, really?" Manuel plopped down on the carpet, setting the popcorn bag in front of him. "I don't get that. Does it mean everyone who drinks alcohol is an alcoholic?""Um, no." I sat down facing him."Then, is everyone gay some sort of addict?""No.""Then I don't get how being gay is like being an alcoholic."Actually, I didn't either. It suddenly struck me that maybe Manuel and I were arguing less because I was agreeing with him more, even if I didn't want to.While we munched popcorn, I tried not to stare at his tan,152sinewy arms. Every time I reached into the bag and our fingers bumped, I recalled pressing against him in the movie theater. Now, I was feeling confused again. Did I want to change or didn't I?"If somebody is unhappy being gay," Manuel proceeded, "they can try to get involved with the opposite sex, or just not have sex at all. But why judge and try to 'save' others rather than just accept that everyone is different? Even if sexual orientation were a choice, aren't we a country where we're supposed to be free to pursue our happiness, whether we'rehetero-, homo-, bi-, trans-, or even a-sexual? To use your friend's alcohol analogy, being antigay is like Prohibition, when a small group of busybodies thought no one should be allowed to drink."I had learned about Prohibition in American history. Old Mr.
Oglethorpe had told us, "That was the only time when our nation's constitution was amended to curtail people's rights rather than expand them."Now, I recalled our government class discussion about a proposed amendment to ban same-sex marriage. Wasn't that trying to curtail people's rights, too?"You know that Prohibition failed," Manuel continued, "don't you? It had to be repealed. So, maybe alcoholism isn't a good analogy to being gay.""Okay," I gave in. "What is a good analogy?"Manuel immediately replied, "Being straight!'I should have predicted that."But what if it's just a phase?" I insisted. "Eric said a lot of teens have same-sex attraction but they grow out of it.""If they'll grow out of it," Manuel said matter-of-factly, "then why do they need ex-gay conversion?"I considered that, with no idea what to answer."In my ideal world," Manuel pressed on, "a world without153homophobia, kids could explore their crushes with either gender and figure out who they are without being told their feelings are wrong or sinful."As he described that ideal world, I had an image of little kids pecking kisses with either gender and not getting called names because of it."But gay relationships don't last," I argued."Oh, really?" Manuel said.
"Did you know that the first San Francisco gay marriage was between two women who'd been together for fifty-one years? Hel-lo! Half of all straight marriages end in divorce. Like that's a stellar track record? But are churches just as outraged at promiscuity and adultery in heteros? No, because that doesn't draw in crowds, and more importantly people don't donate money to combat it. Slap the gays around, though, and watch the money pour in ..."As Manuel spoke, he seemed a lot more sure of himself than Eric had been. And even though I didn't accept everything Manuel said, I admired the strength of his spiritual conviction. I wished I could be that certain.As I listened to him, I found myself staring at his mouth and wondering: What would it feel like to kiss him? That may have been a very weird thought to have while chomping popcorn and discussing religion. But there was something that kept pulling me toward Manuel, no matter when or where or what we were doing. I wanted him in a way I'd never wanted anyone; in a way I couldn't understand or stop."Did Jesus ever say," Manuel continued, '"I have come so that you can live life in a box?' Or did he say, 'I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly'?" Manuel stopped abruptly and gave me a curious look. "Hey, are you listening?"154I realized I had zoned out. "Yeah, I'm listening." I wiped the salt and butter from my fingers. In the past, I would have been set to leave by this point, feeling too confused and agitated to stay any longer. But tonight, in spite of my confusion, I didn't want to go. I wanted to be with Manuel. So, I merely said, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. Can we drop it?""Sure." Manuel nodded. "Okay."We played a couple of video games after that and I forgot about my talk with ex-gay Eric. Sitting side by side with Manuel, every once in a while my arm pressed against his and made it hard for me to concentrate. He totally clobbered my on-screen player, winning every game, but I didn't care. I felt more happy and confused than ever.155
Chapter 31
HAVING MET WITH ERIC, I STOPPED CARRYING AROUND THE EX-GAY BROCHURE
AND PUT IT AT THE BOTTOM OF MY SOCK DRAWER. AND WHEN PASTOR ASKED
ME AT CHURCH ABOUT THE MEETING, I MERELY MUMBLED, "UM, IT WENT FINE."
I HAD TOO MANY OTHER THINGS TO THINK ABOUT -- SCHOOL, CHOIR PRACTICE
FOR OUR BIG UPCOMING CHRISTMAS PERFORMANCE, ANGIE, MANUEL . . .I was
hurrying down the crowded school hallway between classes when Cliff tugged at my arm. "Hey!
You coming to Bible Club today?"Aaron Esposito had told me about the scheduled meeting, but after the last two runaway Bible studies, I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to go--especially with Cliff bearing down on me."Um, I'm not really up for a Bible study. Besides, I've got choir practice.""It's not a Bible study," Cliff said, his lip curling into a crooked smile. "It's a club admin meeting. I think you'll want to be there."Club admin meeting? What did that mean?At lunchtime, when I set my tray down at our table, Dakota156informed me, "Cliff and Elizabeth heard we're starting a GSA.""So ..." Angie stopped eating her cheese ravioli. "They're trying to block it.""Even though they can't," Dakota argued."You're coming to the Bible Club meeting," Angie said, "aren't you?""You've got to come," Dakota agreed."Um . . ." Why hadn't Cliff been more forthright with me about the meeting? It aggravated me, and I still didn't want to go. "We've got choir practice, remember?""I know." Angie nodded. "But this is important. Even if we just go for a little while. Please?"I really didn't want to go, but her brown eyes begged me. "All right. But just for a while."During afternoon classes a sense of dread nagged at me. Would the Bible meeting get into a shouting match again? Or might it be even worse?After the final bell I slowly jostled through the hall toward the meeting. From the classroom came a commotion of voices, laughter, and grunts--not the sounds of our usual Bible studies. I leaned guardedly into the doorway and peered inside.Almost the entire football team had packed the room (no doubt persuaded by Cliff), along
with other students. Altogether, there were about thirty people, a record for our little Bible Club.Angie, Dakota, and Aaron Esposito huddled together, sitting up straight and defiant, although their faces seemed a little tense and pale. Who could blame them?
As I walked over and sat beside Angie, Cliffs leveled gaze tracked me."Let's get started," he told the group, and asked Elizabeth, "Will you lead us in prayer?""Certainly." She closed her eyes and I did too. "Heavenly157Father," she began, but the football players kept yakking and cutting up.
Elizabeth paused, and I looked up to see her eyes narrow into icy slits. "Excuse me" she roared at the boys. "We're praying!""Yeah, guys," Cliff backed her up. "Shut it!"One guy punched a teammate. Others snickered. Then they all got quiet, more or less."Heavenly Father," Elizabeth began again, "guide us this afternoon as we prepare to fight for your glory and righteousness, so that we can share your hope and salvation with all who need it. In Jesus' name, amen.""Amen!"
The football team cheered and clapped. Did they think this was a pep rally?"Thanks," Cliff told Elizabeth, and announced to the group, "As you've all heard, a club on our school campus is being formed for homosexuals."The football players burst into boos and hisses, banged on their desks, and stomped their feet. I shifted uneasily in my chair, but Angie and Dakota merely rolled their eyes."As Christians," Cliff continued, "it's our duty to speak out against sin ..."As he spoke, Elizabeth passed around anti-homosexuality tracts with titles like Sin City of Sodom and Triumph Over Homosexuality, along with No Longer Gay, the ex-gay title I had buried at the bottom of my sock drawer.A battle of feelings collided inside me, making me want to disappear.Dakota spoke up, interrupting Cliff: "Why are you doing this?""You used to read the Bible," Elizabeth retorted. "You know being gay is wrong."With the football team stacked against us, it didn't seem too158bright to get into a debate about that, but a clear response rang inside my head: Maybe being gay isn't wrong or right. Maybe it just is.In the midst of the commotion, Angie said, "Just as this Bible Club has a right to exist, so does any other school group, including a gay--and straight--
alliance."Cliff scowled at our little opposition team, his eyes on fire. "You'd better turn or burn."His teammates jumped on that, turning it into a chant: "Turn or burn! Turn or burn!" Soon they were pounding their fists and stomping their feet.In the past, threats of eternal hellfire would have rattled me. Now, instead, I mostly just wanted to get the heck away from this crazy meeting."I'm going to choir practice," I told Angie, and walked out.159
Chapter 32
THAT DAY WAS MY WORST CHOIR PRACTICE EVER. EVEN THOUGH I KNEW THE
HYMNS BY HEART, I KEPT BLANKING ON THE WORDS WHILE MY MIND
GALLOPED BACK TO THE BIBLE MEETING GONE BERSERK. WHAT WAS MAKING
CLIFF AND ELIZABETH SO CRAZY AGAINST GAY PEOPLE? WHY WERE THEY
WHIPPING UP THE FOOTBALL TEAM? SHOULD I OPEN UP TO THEM ABOUT MY
OWN STRUGGLE? BUT HOW COULD I, WHEN I HADN'T EVEN OPENED UP TO
ANGIE?As the week went on, I became determined to tell her something about what was going on inside me. I had no idea what to say, but I knew I couldn't keep on this way. It wasn't fair to her, and I was feeling worse and worse about myself.On Saturday night I helped her with the usual evening feeding of the critters. Then we once again went to dinner at the Chinese place.
While we ate our stir-fried spinach and tofu Buddhist Delight, we talked about Elizabeth, Cliff, and the bonkers Bible meeting. Angie told me, "Dakota is writing an article about Manuel and the GSA for the school paper."160I recalled that Dakota had originally proposed interviewing Manuel the first time she'd met him. Now that seemed like eons ago. "But the GSA hasn't been approved yet," I pointed out."So?" Angie gave an unconcerned shrug. Meanwhile, my conscience nagged me more than ever. When we broke open our fortune cookies, mine seemed eerily on target for the situation: Everybody does better with the truth. But Angie's didn't exactly seem to apply: If you're angry, count to ten. If you're really angry, count to a hundred.After dinner we went, as usual, to the movie--a formulaic action pic in which practically everything and everybody got blasted away by the hero. I didn't get how destroying everything made him a hero.
In any case, I didn't pay much attention to the film. While Angie held my hand, I pondered what to tell her--and how?After the movie we drove to her house and parked outside. It was a clear, cold night, with the moon nearly full.Angie leaned across the seat and rested her head on my chest, her breath warm on my Adam's apple. She slipped her fingers beneath my wristband, playfully tugging on it.I recalled the previous time, when without warning she'd taken my hand and pressed it onto her breast. Was she thinking the same thing?I leaned over and pressed my lips to hers. Next thing I knew, the buttery-sweet taste of popcorn was reminding me of Manuel, at his house, and wanting to kiss him. Even though I hadn't kissed him, I had wanted to, and I felt I was betraying Angie--if not in the flesh, at least in my heart.I had to say something to her about what was going on. But what? I didn't want to hurt her feelings.Jesus, I prayed. Please help me.As though in answer to my prayer, ex-gay Eric popped into my mind--and what he had said about
"taking a break" from his girl161friend. Could I propose the same thing to Angie? It seemed a lot easier than trying to explain everything going on inside me. But would she understand? Or would she get angry?When she pulled away from our kiss, I leaned back in the seat and took hold of her hand. "Um, I've been thinking ..." My voice trembled as I spoke. "Maybe we should, um... take a break?"Angie peered across the seat. She didn't show surprise, but when she spoke, she sounded kind of upset. "You mean from dating?""Um, yeah. You know, maybe just for a while."One corner of Angie's mouth turned down, sadlike. "Can you tell me what's going on?"The truth practically jabbed at my throat, wanting to come out, but I wouldn't let it. "No . . ." My voice rose guiltily. "I mean, I want to, but I can't.""Why not?" She pulled her hand away from mine. "Why can't you tell me?"I shook my head silently, wishing I could tell her. Maybe I should take back my suggestion of a break. But my throat felt too tight to speak.She glared at me, her brow furrowed with frustration, and took about ten deep breaths. Then she asked me, "Are you sure?"I nodded, biting my lip so hard I could almost taste the blood."You can be so stubborn!" She swatted my shoulder with a light pat. "Well, whatever is going on, can we at least pray?"She reached out for my hand. I took hold of it, thanking God that at least Angie hadn't stormed out of the car, or broken down in sobs, or said she hated me."Dear Jesus . . ." Her voice became soft and low. "You know what Paul is going through. You understand what's in his heart. Please guide and help him . . . and remind him that you love him, no matter what."162As she prayed, I felt my throat choking up. It almost seemed as if she already knew what I couldn't tell her. Little tears welled up in my eyes, but I fought them back. It wouldn't take much for me to pour everything out to her. Yet as much as I wanted to, I wasn't ready for that."In your name, Lord," Angie concluded. "Amen.""Amen," I echoed, squeezing her hand and quickly letting go.
"Thanks.""Sure," she said, reaching for the door handle. I started to get out to walk her, like I always did, but she stopped me."No, that's okay. Good night."My heart wrenched as I watched her stride up the sidewalk by herself. She went inside and turned off the porch light. Then I drove home, staring through misty eyes at the road ahead.163
Chapter 33
AT CHURCH THE NEXT MORNING ANGIE SMILED AND SAID HI, BUT HER EYES
SEEMED MORE SAD THAN FRIENDLY. SHE DIDN'T CALL OR IM ME THE REST OF
THE DAY, LIKE SHE USUALLY DID. I PULLED MY CELL OUT OF MY POCKET, THEN
PUT IT BACK AGAIN, WANTING TO TAKE BACK WHAT I HAD TOLD HER, THOUGH I
KNEW THAT WOULDN'T BE RIGHT.During school on Monday we still talked and sat together at lunch, but the distance between us stretched like some uncross-able canyon.On Tuesday Dakota's school newspaper interview with Manuel, which Angie had mentioned, was supposed to appear. But Mr. Arbuthnot found out about the article and canned it.At lunchtime Dakota slammed her tray down onto our t
able, her freckled face redder and angrier than ever. "He says it's 'inappropriate' and 'too controversial' for a school paper.""That's censorship!" Angie exclaimed, almost equally angry.I was curious to know what the article had said, but also felt a little relieved. Wouldn't it only create more trouble for Manuel?164Meanwhile, across the cafeteria Cliff and Elizabeth handed out their antigay tracts unimpeded. Apparently, that wasn't inappropriate and controversial.Dakota stabbed a fork into her meat loaf, and Angie suggested,
"Maybe you should publish your article as a tract."I laughed, but Dakota didn't. Instead, her mouth turned up into a thoughtful smile. "Maybe you're right."The following day Dakota asked Angie, me, and everyone we knew to help pass out tracts with a simple but effective message: Read the article BANNED from the school paper!Below that was the URL for a website she had created.By the time Mr. Arbuthnot got the news, it was too late. According to Dakota the site had already counted over a thousand unique visitors."That's probably more than would have read it in the paper!" Dakota giggled proudly.One of those thousand readers was me, on my home computer after school. The article was titled "Hoping to Help Others."When Manuel Cordero, a seventeen-year-old senior, transferred from Dallas to Longhorn High this September, he came with a mission."By being openly gay, I hope to help people become more accepting, both of themselves and others," says the Mexican-American teen with a winning smile.But so far Manuel's efforts have been fraught with hardship. While diversity is supposed to be celebrated in America, teens know that real life can be a different story. Since arriving at Longhorn, Manuel has been called names, tripped, and knocked down, and has had his locker vandalized. Although he's reported the harassment to the school administration, nothing has been done.One way that Manuel hopes to help others is by starting a gay-straight165alliance. "In more than three thousand schools across America," Manuel proudly explains, "straight and gay students are joining forces to promote tolerance and fight homophobic prejudice." The organizers of the club are still awaiting approval from the Longhorn H.S. administration.Manuel explains his philosophy this way: "Every person is different in some way. That's what makes us each special. I want to urge other gay and bi students to come out. Even if it's just to one friend, letting out that huge secret is such a freeing feeling. Like Jesus said in John's Gospel, 'The truth shall make you free."'It was no wonder Mr. Arbuthnot had banned the article. His administration came off seeming pretty lame, whereas Manuel sounded like a hero.I closed the web page and tried to do some homework, but my mind kept drifting back to the article. I didn't hear Pa come home. When he tapped on my doorway, I jumped."Can you go shopping with me, mijo? I need your help to buy a new shirt." Pa often asked me to shop with him, telling me, "You know how to pick stuff out better than I do.""Sure," I now agreed, even though I had homework to do.As we wandered around the (s)mall, I continued thinking about the newspaper article. How would Pa react if I told him my secret? I didn't want to hurt him--or set him to drinking again.At the store where Pa and I looked at shirts, a mom was buying clothes for her son. She pulled a shirt from the stacks and held it against his chest. "This one looks nice on you." As I watched them, it struck me that with Pa, our parent/child roles were often reversed--not just in terms of shopping, but with lots of things: cooking, cleaning, worrying ... Ever since Ma's death, so many times I was the one who took care of him. Was my not coming out just one more example? Why should I have to hide in order for him to stay sober?166"Here!" I shoved a shirt at Pa. "Get this one!"He reeled back, startled by my gruffness."Sorry." I turned away, annoyed at myself for snapping at him. "I've got homework to do. I'll wait for you in the truck, okay?"But I didn't get much work done that night. Manuel's interview kept haunting me. What would it be like to feel free, to not be hiding from anyone?
