The Cross in the Closet (8 page)

I never could have anticipated the social complexities within the gay community of Nashville. It is rich in people from all different walks of life. There is no one set of beliefs or opinions, no one particular political party to which every one ascribes, and no particular religion, for that matter. There is no hierarchy, and there does not need to be. Everyone seems to be at peace with one another. I am unaccustomed to such place of coexistence.

My life is changing as the season changes, and as winter slowly becomes spring and the weather outside begins drawing people from their homes, so does Nashville’s humble gay district change. During the winter months, the community seemed only to come out at night; but now, only making my way to Church Street as the sun finally sets, I feel like an outsider. The quaint strip of businesses come alive, and I see families with two dads or moms, enjoying each others’ company for story time at the bookstore or concerts at the café. For this reason I began applying for jobs in the neighborhood over the past few weeks.

It is just another Thursday when my phone rings. The number is not one I recognize. To my surprise, it is the manager of Revive Café. Revive is perhaps the coolest java spot in the city, and the idyllic bohemian décor meshes nicely with the flare that gays seem to bring to everything they touch. If I get the job, I will finally be able to work and spend full-time hours in the community. It would be my own rainbow-colored avatar experience—and a much more casual opportunity to finally ask the questions I have not been able to ask at the bars.
Revive Café:
Virgin Drinks, Hot Treats, and Happy Endings
. The sign on the front window says it all.

Applying at Revive was not as easy as I had anticipated. While filling out the application, the realization struck me that something as simple as applying for a job had somehow become more difficult than ever before. Sure, my name, address, and phone number were all the same. My social security number had not changed, and my work experience looked pretty damned good on paper. But it was not until I reached the education history that I started wondering if I would be found out. Could I really put down
Pioneer Christian Academy
for my high school, and even more nerve-wracking, admit I attended Liberty University? Can you imagine the irony, applying at a gay café in the heart of the gay district, knowing that my college was founded by the man responsible for the Moral Majority?

It took me a full minute to write
Liberty University
on the application, and without thinking I drew an arrow from the name of the college to the margin of the paper and wrote:
PLEASE DON’T HOLD THIS AGAINST ME.
I walked out of the bookstore thinking I would never possibly get the job.

I answer the phone, still crossing my fingers.

“Is this Tim?”

“Yes.”

And then there is a moment of silence, followed by the sound of paper shuffling.

“I just wanted to say that I won’t hold it against you!” the man says, laughing. “This is Brent from Revive Café. I have your application and wanted to see if you’d come in for an interview this afternoon.”

“I would love to!” I say, utterly shocked.

“Four o’clock work for you?”

“Of course!”

“Great. See you at four.”

I press end and smile. Finally, my past is doing something to help my project.

I arrive fifteen minutes early and sit on the couch next to the front entrance. There are only a handful of people drinking coffee and reading, and I feel nervous. A minute or two passes and Brent makes his way over to me. “Tim?” he asks. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll grab your paperwork and we can go to the patio.”

A few months ago, the mere thought of working in a café frequented by a predominantly gay and lesbian clientele would have left me nauseated. Now I feel excited, hopeful, and the anticipation of working here has reinvigorated me. Besides, the Christian friends and community I spent years building seem to have forgotten about me. So many people have disappeared from my life that it is almost as though they never existed. Fair-weather friends? No, just people firmly stuck in their bubbles, I think.

On the other hand, the people I am meeting now seem to accept me more than anyone ever has. Perhaps that is because the gay men I spend so much time with don’t judge me by my piety but let my actions speak for themselves. If I make them laugh, they like me for my sense of humor. If I am kind, they like that I am sensitive. Those are earned actions. It is nice not to be judged for my gauged ears, or for the fact that I didn’t read as much of the Bible as a fellow parishioner. It is nice not to be judged by how well I can present a righteous façade. Shawn said it would happen. He said I would lose friends but not to lose heart because I would meet a host of new ones—and he said I would feel a certain level of authenticity that I hadn’t before. Once again his counsel has proven correct. I hope I get the job, so we can go out and celebrate. After all, that is what boyfriends do.

“Ready? Would you like a latte while we interview?”

“Of course!”

Brent grabs a large mug and thirty seconds later, after pouring the shots and steaming the milk, he hands me my first free latte.

“I could get used to this.”

“It is definitely a perk.”

We walk outside to the patio and sit at the table closest to the door. The sun is shining, but it is still relatively cool outside. It is perfect weather for an interview. “First, I wanted to say that I loved your application. After reading sixty or so of them, I saw yours and it woke me up.”

“Thank you. I was worried you would read my education history and I’d be blacklisted.” I take a sip of the latte, and the creamy liquid tastes smooth.

“So, Tim, what is your story?” Brent asks.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you here all day…” I try to think about how I can possibly answer. “I was raised in a very conservative church and went to very conservative churches. I just came out in January, and I thought it would be healthy for me to be around the community I was always taught to hate—to be around my people.”

“That sounds like a really good idea. How is your family handling everything?” he asks solemnly.

“Okay, I guess. They haven’t shunned me or cut me off, but my mom and dad keep asking if I will consider therapy. My brother and his wife have been really cool, so far.”

“That’s good to hear. You would be amazed at how bad some families react,” he says, looking down at the application.

“So I’ve heard.”

“What makes you want to work at Revive? Why did you apply to be a barista?”

“I just want to be around people. I have always loved coffee, so I thought making coffee might be just as enjoyable.”

The interview seems to flow smoothly for another half hour or so, and in the process I feel a strong kinship with Brent. We spend more time cracking jokes and laughing about the people walking by than simply asking and answering questions. As we wrap up the interview, I know I will feel terrible if I do not get the job. I feel called to this place.

“Tim, you have a great personality and sense of humor. I think you would be perfect for the job, but I still have a few other people to interview. Give me a day or two, and I will call you and let you know if you have the job.” He touches my shoulder reassuringly and we walk back inside.

I walk over to the counter and set the empty mug down in the dirty dish tub. A group of four men are sitting nearby around a small table, playing cards. “Brent!”

“Yes, Kenny?”

“You’d better hire this one. He’s hunky!”

I blush.

“You might get your way if you stop yelling across the room at me!” Brent says with a laugh. “Those are the Bears. They meet here pretty regularly.”

“What is a Bear?” I ask.

“Wow…Tim, you have a lot to learn, and you had better learn fast, because you are going to be target number one for them.” Brent laughs, but I still don’t get it. I will have to look it up online when I get home.

“Talk to you soon. Thank you for giving me an interview. It means a lot,” I say. Brent winks at me and I walk out the door. If I get this job, not only will I be able to talk with people over coffee, I will actually be the one making the coffee! I can barely contain myself.

The next night I am standing on Josh’s porch, smoking cloves and telling him all about the interview. It is hard to speak in complete sentences, and Josh seems happy for me. He laughs when I tell him what the guys were saying as I left.

“Like I’ve always said, you’ve got
bottom
tattooed on your forehead!” He laughs.

I ignore his teasing and take another drag on my clove cigarette. My phone rings. The name
Revive Café
pops up on the caller ID, and I take a deep breath and answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Tim. It’s Brent. Just wanted to let you know that you got the job and you can start tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“I think you’ll be a perfect fit here, and I am looking forward to working with you.”

“Me, too!” I can barely contain my excitement.

“Come by at noon to fill out paperwork, and you’ll be working from 3:00 p.m. to close.”

“Perfect!” I say. Josh is smiling and pats my back.

“See you then.” He hangs up the phone, and I scream.

“Damn, are you sure you aren’t really gay?” Josh says, laughing at my reaction. Once again I ignore his friendly teasing.

I drive home and get ready for bed, grateful for the good news I have received. But the excitement is short lived. I look across the room and see the Pharisee sitting at my desk, tapping a pencil on the cover of an old theology textbook from Liberty.

Congratulations. You get to work at a café that’s attached to a sex shop.

It’s attached to a bookstore.

And a sex shop.

So what?

Make coffee for perverted people all you want. It won’t change anything. There is no goodness in people that don’t know and follow Christ. You know this!

I don’t believe that anymore.

Yes, you do. You’re just caught up in the emotions of this whole thing. Eventually the Spirit and your conscience will win out. At least I pray they will.

I’m getting sick of you telling me what is and isn’t true. I’m finally seeing things as they are—and no, I don’t have all the answers, but I’m on the right track.

Homosexuality is unnatural. You might think you love your new friends, but you are forgetting that these “good people” will be going to hell. You should be warning them of the consequences of their sin, not serving them coffee.

Maybe just serving them coffee is all the Lord requires of me. Maybe loving them and listening to them and asking them about their lives, maybe that’s what Jesus would do.

Next to a sex shop?

Have you read the gospels?I roll over in my bed and try to close my eyes. Whenever good things happen, I always end up arguing the merits of it all. It is exhausting. I close my eyes and think back to the last time I worked with an openly gay man, and I am overcome with grief.

The last time I worked with an openly gay co-worker, I was sixteen and working at a neighborhood fast-food restaurant. The gay man was my manager. His name was Todd, and from day one, I did not like him. Not only did I not like him, I felt a subconscious pull to make his life miserable. His voice was nasally and much higher than I believed a grown man’s voice should be, and he a handlebar mustache straight out of an ‘80s porn flick. Todd was a prime target for my teenage aggression.

One of my best friends had gotten me the job, and though he disliked Todd for different reasons—he was agnostic and an anarchist who waged a war of passive aggression against any authority in his life—we both found a common enemy in our manager. So we concocted a plan. We decided to wait for the moment Todd did anything that could be construed as sexual harassment, and then we would blackmail him in exchange for “job security.” My opportunity came one night while doing dishes. The sink was located in a very narrow hallway, and Todd, attempting to squeeze passed me, inadvertently brushed my backside with his crotch. I immediately accused him of thrusting, which he had not done, and because I was a minor he knew he had no defense. He could lose his job.

What started with these gross lies against an innocent man’s character became bullying on par with any you might read about in a newspaper. Together my friend and I made our poor manager’s life a living hell. We urinated on the door handles of Todd’s car and vandalized it with eggs and cellophane, we purposely messed up his orders to make him look bad in front of customers, we incited others against him every shift we worked…We did everything we could to add stress to his job.

One afternoon as I was ringing people up on the register, I saw Todd out of the corner of my eye. He was cleaning a counter with disinfectant and restocking condiments for the dinner rush. I saw him and I felt my blood begin to boil. Why did he
choose
to be gay? Why would anyone
want
to be a sissy? I didn’t just dislike him because my Bible said he was abominable; I didn’t like him because he was different. I was the wannabe jock, and he was the queer, middle-aged fast-food manager. I grabbed the microphone that we used to call for backup when we were busy, and I pressed the button. The speakers shrilled the abrasive whistle of old technology, and I took a breath.

“Paging the faggot!” I said into the microphone. “
PAGING THE FAGGOT
!”

Other teenagers in the crowded dining area burst into laughter, and I saw Todd’s face shift with emotion. He ran for the microphone and sent me outside on break with a wild look in his eyes. His lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears.

Eventually my antics lost their appeal and I became bored. I left the restaurant and began a new job working for a hat store in the mall. Six months later, my friend and fellow bully came to visit me at work. I greeted him with a smile, but the look on his face was somber.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.