Between These Walls (40 page)

“Anger?”

“Anger ... resentment ... disappointment at the knowledge his son will never turn out the way he’d hoped.” Once again, Hunter heard the rumble of his father’s footsteps as they descended the stairs to the basement. “He walked out of the room, said he couldn’t deal with it right now. He told me I’m his kid and he didn’t raise a faggot.”

Gabe grimaced. “Hunter—”

Hunter focused on the freeway ahead of him, the hypnotic blur of the lane markers as he sped along. “It’s no big deal, right? That doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he said it, but he’s disappointed with his own life. Why should I expect anything more from him?”

“He’s your father, Hunter.”

“And this is how my dad handles things. It’s who he is. Maybe I should’ve let them hear it through the grapevine. That way, I would’ve gotten a phone call from them and we could’ve discussed it without looking at each other.”

“You did the right thing.”

“Maybe so.”

They stared at the freeway and listened to the undulation of the tires as they spun. Hunter passed a moving van, the roar of its engine diminishing to a whine as it retreated in Hunter’s rearview mirror. Sara Bareilles’s “I Choose You” played on the radio.

“Do you plan to tell your mom?” asked Hunter.

“I already did. You and I both had an eventful Friday night.”

“How did she handle it?”

“It sounds like she took it better than your parents did. Lots of questions, but she didn’t seem angry at me. No harsh words. I could see the disappointment in her eyes, though.” He gazed out the passenger window. “That said, I couldn’t help but think she saw this coming, like she sensed something was wrong, the way mothers can pick up on things. I think she was waiting for me to say it. She’ll look to God to comfort her.” Gabe peered at Hunter. “Did your mom cry too?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the hardest part of the conversation,” Gabe said, “watching your mom cry and knowing you were the one who busted her heart.”

Hunter understood too well.

“How’d things end up with you and Kara on Thursday night?”

“Not good. A big fight, as you saw. We haven’t spoken since and probably never will.”

“You know, it’ll be a matter of days before a lot of people hear about this. The world has a way of shrinking when news buzzes.”

Hunter nodded.

Gabe leaned back in his seat. He tilted his head against the headrest and stared at the dome light above him.

“So where do we go from here?” asked Gabe.

Hunter felt his jaw grow rigid. He increased his foot’s pressure upon the gas pedal. As the car accelerated, the lane markers blurred faster, combining into solid gashes of white.

Hunter shook his head.

“I wish I knew.”

CHAPTER 38

On a Sunday morning two weeks later, Hunter sauntered across the parking lot beneath an ice-rink sky. He hadn’t seen the sunshine in three weeks. A normal January condition for where he lived, and one to which he’d never grown accustomed.

Word had begun to spread around the area. While leaving the house that morning, he had found a hate note taped to his front door. On Friday night, someone—a group of teenagers, he assumed—had TP’d the tree in his front lawn.

Hunter had skipped church and Bible study meetings in the last two weeks since his secret had gotten blown. As ridiculous as avoidance had struck him, he couldn’t bring himself to face the people. At a minimum, he knew one friend of Kara’s was a member of his church, so he was confident people his age had heard about him. No doubt, word had spread. The only question was how far. Yet he knew a return to church was inevitable.

Besides, he had yearned for the worship time. As close as he felt to God during his times of personal prayer and worship, he grew invigorated worshipping God in the midst of other believers. To Hunter, it felt like drinking water from a fountain of life. So, this morning, he’d forced himself to return and trust God to take care of the rest. He would do this, he determined. Even if he had to do it humiliated.

Hunter had timed it so he would arrive a few minutes after the worship service started. By that time, the auditorium lights would have dimmed. He hoped people would be too preoccupied with the songs to notice him. Plus, a thousand people attended each church service from several communities, too large for Hunter to know each individual on a personal basis. That meant, by his estimation, plenty would attend who
hadn’t
heard about him.

Still, he couldn’t help but look for responses as he entered the church auditorium. The doors muffled the music inside the room, but when he opened one door, the audible blast hit him at full volume. At first, he stood at the rear of the room. An usher, positioned on the other side of the door, smiled at him with a nod. Hunter nodded in return and pretended he felt normal.

At the front of the room, an array of overhead lights lit the platform on which the worship band played a joyful, upbeat song. The rest of the room was dim, yet illuminated enough for Hunter to see faces. His eyes darted in every direction on a search for reactions, particularly from people his age, to determine whether he was safe. Was it childish to think that way? After all, would people spend their lives focused on
him?

Maybe so. From the corner of his eye, Hunter caught sight of a few young adults, male and female, huddled together along a wall toward the far side of the auditorium. He recognized one guy from his Bible study meetings. The guy had started attending the meetings a few months ago and Hunter didn’t know him well. In fact, Hunter didn’t know any other individuals in the huddle.

The individuals in the huddle appeared to have engaged in conversation before the church service started and hadn’t settled into seats yet. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, given the massive number of people in the room and the loud music that drowned out any lingering chatter. These church services began with an informal ambiance.

But the individuals in the huddle kept glancing at him. They chatted, then appeared to stop as one or two eyed him before turning back to the group, the way people do when they want to get a clear visual of the gossip subject—
There he is!
That’s the guy!
Did you hear what happened?
—but are too polite, or scared, to make it obvious by a physical gesture. None of the individuals walked up to him. Finally, Hunter turned his head and looked at them directly. They averted their gazes. Now he
knew
he was their subject of conversation. Either they gossiped about him, or they were afraid of what he—or others—would think if they were seen
talking
to the pathetic pariah. Hunter wondered which was more childish: his concerns about what others thought or their seeming pleasure in his humiliation.

Hunter felt the clap of a hand upon his shoulder: Jesse Barlow, Pastor Chuck’s son, Hunter’s friend from Bible study and Saturday morning basketball.

Jesse sidled up beside him, a calculated grin on his face.

“Come on,” Jesse said with a gesture of his thumb, “you’re sitting with me today.”

Until now, Hunter hadn’t realized how alone he’d felt the last two weeks. He had planned to walk in unnoticed, but a friend’s company proved a welcome relief.

Jesse led him to a seat in the middle of the auditorium, where they blended into a sea of people. Knowing Jesse, he’d intended his invitation as a deliberate, bold gesture in case anyone had a problem with his friend Hunter. But the people who surrounded them continued to sing and lift their hands in worship. Most had their eyes closed. When Hunter realized these people
weren’t
focused on him, he shed his coat and started to relax. He wished he hadn’t stayed away on recent Sundays. He shut his eyes and shut out the world around him.

Within a few minutes, the band transitioned to a slow, reverent song of worship. The lights dimmed further: an atmosphere of intimacy. For Hunter, the moment belonged to God and him.

First he listened to the lyrics, which spoke of God’s rescue, of His love and undeserved forgiveness, all of which Hunter had experienced firsthand at various junctures in his life.

As he pondered the lyrics, gratitude overwhelmed him. A broken Hunter lifted his hands toward heaven. He didn’t feel as though he deserved to lift his hands to God. Then again, thought Hunter, he
never had
deserved it. That was the whole reason he had given his heart to Christ in the first place—because of what Christ had done on his behalf. Hunter had found pure love in Christ, pure acceptance, and He had never expected Hunter to earn it. Hunter had received it as a free gift. The notion fascinated him: a huge, eternal God who cared about a speck like Hunter. Now Hunter soaked in God’s presence—the way he had for years, both at church and during his private encounters with God—and joy filled his soul. Joy from the Lord.

But soon a shift occurred. Hunter’s thoughts drifted again toward his struggles, and the conflict that tugged him, back and forth, between his faith and his desires. The knowledge crept into his mind like a thief trying to steal his intimate moment with God.

At a loss on how to reconcile his circumstances in light of his faith, Hunter grew disappointed in himself. He wondered if he had made Jesus look terrible. After all, people knew he was a Christian. Those same people had also heard some Christians—though Hunter was not among them—speak harsh, angry words about the
hint
of same-sex attraction. Would they consider Hunter a fraud? Would they consider
Jesus
a fraud because of him? Would they conclude Hunter had kept quiet so he could appear religious? The truth was, he never would have harbored the secret if he had felt like he could confide in someone. The hurtful words spoken by other Christians had helped drive him into himself. Hunter wondered at the irony. And now, the thought that others might reject Jesus because of Hunter tore at his soul.

He wondered how God could love someone with Hunter’s shortcomings and regrets. How could Hunter, surrounded by people in this moment, feel so isolated, as if God were his only true friend?

Hunter was sick of weeping, tired of the tears. He had wept more in the last few months that in the last few years put together. Yet here they came again, filling his eyes and spilling out as he lost himself in the beauty of the worship song. At least his were honest tears, he figured.

Then he remembered he
wasn’t
alone. Hunter opened his eyes and glanced to his left, where Jesse stood beside him. Hunter remembered the teardrops on his cheeks and pretended to scratch his face as he wiped them away. Yeah, right. Who was he fooling?

Jesse turned his head toward Hunter. In Jesse’s countenance, Hunter found an air of compassion, like someone who had stood in Hunter’s position before. Then again, Jesse had. Although Jesse hadn’t experienced the particular challenges Hunter faced, Jesse, by his own admission, had spent years falling short of God’s perfection and had found a fresh dose of God’s forgiveness. Maybe Jesse understood the pariah factor after all.

Awkward with the knowledge another guy had seen him weep, Hunter scratched his face again to ensure the tears were gone.

“It’s okay,” Jesse said as he leaned toward him. “You do what you need to do right now. Let God love on you for a while.”

That acceptance, the assurance from someone who had faced struggles of his own and come forth—scarred but safe—ministered to Hunter’s heart. Hunter closed his eyes and resumed worshipping God.

Just God and Hunter.

A glimmer of freedom emerged.

* * *

“So, how have people treated you?” Jesse asked. “I haven’t seen you at Bible study to ask.”

After church, Hunter and Jesse had grabbed burgers at a fast-food restaurant in nearby Twinsburg. The simplicity of the environment, funny as it seemed to Hunter, was one less thing with which he needed to concern himself.

He swallowed a bite of his burger and said, “You mean since—well, since I got found out?”

“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.”