There Goes Sunday School Read online

  Okay, Big Guy. You wanna know why You get such a bad rap these days? Just take a look at Your representation. Honestly, he’s the worst.

  “I pray God grants us the strength as a nation to cast out these sinful lifestyles and turn to Him for forgiveness. I pray, one day, my grandchildren might be saved from the dangers of queers and sodomites stalking the streets under the guise of our neighbors and preying on the young and innocent.”

  Got it. So, I’m a predator now. Thanks for clearing that up, Pastor. I would never have known. I’ll be sure to go out and get a creepy van full of candy after service lets out. Maybe one that plays a fun song to draw the little ones in? Hey, little Timmy, want a lollipop?

  My legs are bouncing with nervous energy.

  “You gotta pee?” Tanner asks.

  I just shake my head.

  “Church, we must be ever-mindful in these trying times that we do not let our children be dragged into a world of depravity.”

  The resounding “Amen” from the congregation makes me squirm in my seat. It’s already a little too late for me I suppose. I’m depraved.

  “Let us take a lesson from the heathens of Sodom and Gomorrah.” The pastor continues, arms flopping back and forth with what I can only imagine is supposed to be passionate conviction. It looks more like a stroke.

  “For God did see it fit to wipe them from the face of the Earth. Lest we forget the sins that condemned them. Most of all, the sin of homosexuality.”

  Actually, a lot of scholars think it was rape. But, hey, what do they know?

  God, I’m not saying the Bible is wrong. But we’re really dumb down here, so I get the feeling we may have misinterpreted a few things….

  “Let us begin in verse one….”

  I can’t bear to listen to any more, so I tune out, staring at the chair in front of me. The patterned material begins to blur as I block everything out.

  God still loves me. God still loves me. God still loves me.

  I repeat that. It helps me retain my sanity in this place.

  Before long, Myers begins to wrap up his ranting.

  “Keep this in the forefront of your mind as you leave today.” He blots his receding hairline once more with his handkerchief. “We must pray for God’s mercy on this nation of ours that is speeding toward Sodom and hurtling toward Gomorrah. May those who labor under the yoke of their sinful nature have the strength and courage to denounce their same-sex attraction. And those who turn their back on God in pursuit of sins of the flesh, may they burn in the fires of Hell for all eternity. Amen.”

  My ears are burning as Rosy takes her place in the center of the stage, bow drawn across strings in preparation.

  A serene smile graces her face. How can someone smile after that?

  Service continues as if the leader of our congregation hadn’t just personally damned me to eternal suffering.

  The elders of the church move along the aisles, passing trays of stale, tasteless crackers and watered down grape juice. I take these in my hand like I do every week, mindlessly partaking in the symbolic gesture.

  Pastor Myers words are fluttering around my head, twisting my insides. Oh man, I’m going to be sick.

  This is the hate I’ve listened to every week for the last sixteen years, and no matter what I do, I can’t shake the feeling Pastor Myers is right. There’s something wrong with me. Wrong with the way I am. I’m an abomination in the sight of God.

  Tears fill my eyes as Rosy ends her song and the choir takes the stage for the final hymn. I blot my face on my sleeve as the congregation stands and move past Jackie as I walk down the aisle and head for the door. The room is suddenly suffocating.

  Hold it together, Mike. It’s nothing you haven’t heard before.

  But, for some reason, those hate-filled words surround me as I walk. With every step, more tears fall. I don’t make eye contact with those in the hall. Instead, I keep pressing forward until I can’t go any farther. I open the door on my left, diving into the safety of the darkness within.

  My nose burns with the scent of chemicals, but that’s the last thing on my mind. A dirty bucket sits neglected in the corner. I flip it over, lowering myself onto it. I’m sobbing now, I realize, arms wrapping round my chest. It feels like I’m going to fall apart.

  God still loves me. God still loves me. God still loves me.

  No amount of prayer can drown out the shame swelling inside me. This certainly isn’t the first time I’ve felt this weight, but I’ve never had to fight this hard to keep my head above the waves of guilt. And above the noise, one question rises.

  How can God love me?

  “Can he say queers?” Jackie asks, collapsing onto the plush black leather of Tanner’s couch.

  “He can say whatever he wants,” Tanner calls, grabbing a couple of Mountain Dews from the refrigerator in the kitchen.

  I remain silent. No way can I talk about it right now. It took almost half an hour to calm down enough I could leave the custodial closet. My eyes feel puffy, but no one has said anything about them. I hover over Jackie, too worked up to sit down.

  This is starting to be a problem. I’ve never had to leave in the middle of service before. I mean, sure, I have had to hold those emotions inside at times and ended up exploding as soon as I closed the bedroom door. But this reaction? I don’t like it.

  It’s dangerous. It’ll give me away.

  “Are you okay?” Jackie asks, eyebrow cocked. “You look like they just cancelled Once Upon a Time.”

  “I’m fine,” I snap.

  She recoils. “And don’t joke about that. They’d never cancel OUAT. It’s literally the perfect show.”

  “When you think about it,” Tanner continues as he moves into the living room, oblivious to the change in topic. He hands me the cold can, and it opens with a hiss. “A pastor is really just the leader of a cult. He has near ultimate authority inside the walls of the church. He can say whatever he wants.”

  “Shit,” Jackie breathes, letting my reaction slide as she opens her own can. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

  “Scary, isn’t it?” Tanner chuckles, plopping on the opposite end of the sofa.

  “But why does he have to hate on the gays?” Jackie angles herself toward him. “What did they ever do to him? Oh my God, do you think he was molested by his uncle? That would explain so much.”

  “That is terrifying,” Tanner muses, “and has a high possibility of being true. I would be comfortable making a sizable wager. Do you think it was an uncle or maybe his dad? I mean, I met the guy once, and he had these eyes—”

  “He has a point,” I chime in, to my own surprise. “I mean, the scriptures do make it pretty clear it’s a sin.”

  “Y-eah,” Tanner says slowly, “and so is polyester. And eating shellfish. And sitting somewhere a woman on her period sat. And eating meat with cheese. Plus, the whole masturbation thing. Which I’m pretty sure means all men everywhere are going straight to Hell. Don’t pass go, and don’t collect two hundred dollars.”

  We all laugh, but his response doesn’t ease the knot in my stomach. I have heard endless arguments about homosexuality, whether in support or opposition. So many voices screaming to be heard and so little definite truth.

  “I trust science more than I do scripture.” Tanner leans back, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses. “I mean there are so many studies out there about how homosexuality is a natural progression of evolution. There’s a reason it’s been recorded throughout history.”

  “That argument doesn’t mean shit.” Jackie slurps her soda. “Most of the members of our church would sooner burn you at the stake than believe in evolution.”

  “Well, if that doesn’t do the trick, I can always tell them I read Harry Potter. That’ll definitely get a lynch mob up and running.”

  “Can we change the subject?” I ask abruptly. I’m going to puke if we keep on about this.

  “Aw, what’s the matter Mike?” Tanner teases, “Is your parents’ h
omophobia finally rubbing off on you?” He rises from his seat, swatting at my shoulder. “You always look so uncomfortable when we talk about the gays. I think you must—”

  “I said drop it!”

  Tanner furrows his brow.

  “I-I mean,” I stammer, in attempts to recover. “It doesn’t have anything to do with us, so why talk about it?”

  Jackie sets her drink on the coffee table, standing as well. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use a fag.”

  “A what?” I turn to her, but she’s shaking her pack of smokes.

  “Don’t waste your time,” says Tanner, looking back at her. “I have some new shit waiting upstairs.”

  “Sweet.” Jackie stows her vice. “I was hoping you’d say that. I have period cramps like a bitch.”

  Tanner turns to me. “You up for it, Mike?”

  “Y-yeah. Of course.”

  “Sweet.” He grins.

  My defenses are slipping. I can feel it happening, like a dam threatening to burst. Here are my best friends, the two people I love more than anything in the world. Why can’t I just tell them? What’s the worst that could happen?

  But reality quickly set back in, and I push down all the words I want to say. I’m not ready for them to know. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

  We follow Tanner up the winding stairs to his bedroom, which is pristine—as always. His house always makes me feel like such a slob.

  “Make yourselves at home,” Tanner tells us, heading for the closet. He rummages around the top shelf for the shoebox he hides his stash in.

  Jackie sits on the edge of his bed, which of course is tucked tighter than a soldier’s.

  Who the hell makes their bed every day? I thought that only happened on sitcoms.

  I settle in on the carpet by her dangling feet.

  “Hey, where did you go after communion?” she asks me, knocking a foot against my shoulder.

  “Bathroom,” I lie. Another lie. I have a story about a clogged toilet ready if she pushes the subject.

  She doesn’t. “Oh, okay.”

  “All right, boys and girls.” Tanner is back, the slender stick in one hand and a lighter in the other. “Today’s selection is called Trainwreck, and I have no idea why. Ready to find out?”

  Jackie and I nod as Tanner lights the end of the brown paper, drawing in a deep breath. The strong aroma washes over me, loosening the knot in my stomach by a fraction.

  He passes it to me next, exhaling a stream of smoke with a few coughs. “Whoa,” he blinks the water from his eyes. “That’s…pungent.”

  I take a drag, holding the smoke in my mouth until it cools before breathing it in. My lungs burn as I pass it on to Jackie. I can’t stop the cough, and wisps of smoke escape my nose and lips.

  “Amateurs.” Jackie laughs, taking a hit. She holds it like a champ, her mouth opening slowly to allow the smoke to drift up into her nose. She doesn’t even flinch.

  The joint makes its way around a few more times, and soon, the anxious feeling in my stomach is nothing but a memory.

  Our afternoon marches on as we relive the best highlights from camp then proceed to eat everything in Tanner’s refrigerator.

  The first day of school is here, and I give myself a final once-over in the mirror. My navy blazer is buttoned over the dull, striped tie, and everything is ironed to perfection. Running my fingers through my hair, everything looks in place.

  Perfect. I’m ready for another day of a flawless façade. Looking my best always helps me remember the role I play on a daily basis.

  “Let’s get a move on, Mikey!” Dad calls from the stairs.

  Mom had to be at the hospital early this morning, so I guess he’s going to drop Rosy and me off.

  I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I traverse the staircase. Dad has his briefcase in hand, and his own suit and tie are in perfect arrangement. Like father like son, except I can’t believe Dad has ever had to be anyone other than himself. There’s no one more comfortable in their skin than him. He talks on his cell phone as Rosy stands by the door, foot tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor.

  “You’re going to make me late for my first day of high school.” She seethes. Her skirt is pleated, and her face is made up like she’s headed for a night on the town. She looks much older than she actually is.

  “You’re not missing much,” I tell her, shuffling into the kitchen. I grab an apple from the bowl on the counter, peeling off the sticker before sinking my teeth in with a satisfying crunch. Grabbing my metal tumbler, I fill it halfway with coffee from the pot, and then finish it with more cream than should be allowed.

  “All right, kiddos,” Dad calls. “Vamanos. Out the door.”

  I catch the door right before it shuts, locking it behind me. Rosy is already crawling into the back of Dad’s Audi coup, and I fold myself into the front seat. Why he drives such a small car, I have no idea.

  “You guys got everything you need?” he asks, backing out of the driveway.

  “It’s a bit late for that,” Rosy says, typing away on her phone.

  Who is she talking to this early in the morning?

  “Right you are, Rosemary.” Dad laughs, flipping on the radio.

  He listens to the oldies station, but anything’s better than Mom’s presets. I’ll take Eric Clapton over Bill Gaither any day.

  Traffic is its usual ridiculousness on the way to school. I’m counting the days until my birthday, when I can finally get my driver’s license. Stupid Joshua’s law has kept me off the road for a year because I failed Driver’s Ed.

  Parallel parking is a bitch.

  We pull into the crowded parking lot, and nerves hit me all a sudden.

  God, please let me have a good first day. Or at least give me one attractive teacher. I know You can make that happen.

  “Okay, mi vida.” Dad stops by the curb. “You two have an excellent first day.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, already climbing out of the car. I don’t wait for Rosy, just let my feet carry me along the familiar path. Once I’m sure Dad’s pulled away, my course changes, ducking around the building to where the dumpster pad sits.

  Jackie’s already waiting for me there, a lit cigarette in one hand and her phone in the other. “About time you showed up,” she says without looking.

  “Where’s Tanner?” I ask, stepping around the puddle of grease in front of the putrid smelling green dumpster.

  “He said something about a computer lab project.” Jackie’s words escape through the cloud of smoke.

  “Sounds like something he’d say,” I mutter, leaning against the brick wall, surrounding the two slimy containers. “Hey, what happens if someone tells your mom you’re out here?”

  “She’ll probably murder me,” Jackie answers, finally looking up from her phone. “Toss my carcass right in the dumpster I’d imagine.”

  Jackie’s mom, Melissa, is an English teacher here at Stronghold. Her faculty discount is the only reason she can afford to send Jackie. Private, Christian-based education costs a pretty penny, though I can’t tell you why. Half of our graduating class got kicked out of public school.

  “That or she’d crucify me,” Jackie continues. “You know, demonstrate it for her classes. That’ll give her the edge she’s looking for. Really bring the story to life.”

  “Can I put the crown of thorns on your head?” I joke.

  “Of course, you can, Mike.” She drags the butt across the brick wall before tossing it on the ground. Pulling out her trusty bottle of perfume, she takes a whore bath. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Retreating a few steps back, I cough through the haze of sickeningly sweet air. “I can’t tell what smells worse. You or the trash.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Jackie slugs my shoulder as she passes.

  “Get that out of your system,” I warn her, walking a few paces ahead to avoid the tailwind of Deep Amber. “I don’t want you disgracing your mother with that
mouth.”

  “Too late for that.”

  I push open the side doors, stepping into the cool hall. Stronghold isn’t exactly the world’s most advanced school, but you wouldn’t think that after seeing the tuition bill. Our principal, Principal Peters—or Double P as we like to call him behind his back—runs a tight ship. No hemlines are out of place, and everyone is held to a ridiculous standard. Unless your parents are on the board. Then you can do whatever the fuck you want.

  Politics ruin everything.

  Jackie and I part ways, our class schedule differing for most of the day. I’ll see her again at lunch.

  I head for New Testament studies, not particularly excited.

  Guys pass me left and right, none of them paying me any mind. For how terrible they are for self-expression, at least these uniforms look great on most the boys here. The trick is to not let my gaze linger too long. Nothing is as awkward as when a straight guy catches you staring.

  But come on, who doesn’t love a tailored suit?

  I have to wonder if any of them are like me? If the studies are true, then statistically, there has to be another gay boy here somewhere. Does he wrestle with these same feelings of guilt and loneliness? Maybe they’re as good as I am at hiding it. Maybe they don’t give into temptation as easily as I do. Maybe they’re red headed with a nice pair of glasses and a cute smile….

  Okay, reign it in Mike. You’re drooling.

  The classroom is almost full as I walk in, and Dr. Redford is perched at his desk. He’s a stern looking man in his mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a gut that protrudes farther than his toes. Looking down on us it’s almost like he’s King Solomon himself, full of pomp and God-granted wisdom. The vests he wears are stretched so tightly across his stomach, I’m always afraid of losing an eye when the buttons decide to give out.

  “Mr. Hernandez,” he addresses me as I take an empty seat on the second row. He checks off his list of names.

  “Good morning, sir,” I respond, pulling out my textbook before hanging my bag on the back of my chair.

  A few more students file in, and Dr. Redford greets them one at a time, working his way down the clipboard. His frameless glasses blend in so well with his pale face, I almost can’t see them.