Authors: Robin Reardon
“Wow. You didn't give him even a day to catch his breath, did you?”
“Why should I?”
“Well, remember that everything happened real fast. One minute he's got to do things Strickland's way, and even if he doesn't agree you're better off dead, he still thinks of it as sin. The next minute he's got a new boss who wants to reverse that particular philosophy, and he hasn't had more than an hour of her time to talk about it when you smack him upside the head with that hot potato. Sorry for the mixed metaphors or whatever, but you see what I mean?”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“Seems to me he handled himself pretty well under your third degree. You wanna cut him some slack? He'll get there. After all, I'm working on him, too, y'know.” He smacks my shoulder.
And I have to admit, John's pretty good at leading Prayer Meetings. He's got a lot of charisma, and he sure does know his scripture. I'd been thinking Nate might have to help him out a little, but that's not the case at all. Nate tells me John is twenty-three. I wouldn't have guessed before, but now I see it.
Circle's not the same without Jamie, whose folks absconded with him. And this is Peter's last week anyway. I'll sure miss his beautiful eyes. But there's a bonus. Sean joins the circle. And of course Nate isn't going anywhere as long as his mom's still around. But there's a really sober moment on Thursday night as we're all sitting on the laundry room floor.
Nate says, “Brothers and sisters, I can't tell you what being in the circle has meant to me. And I know you all feel the same, or you wouldn't still be taking risks to be here.” He smiles and looks around at everyone. “So it's kind of wonderful and kind of sad that I'm not sure how much longer we'll have a mission. Now that we have new leadership, there's a change in philosophy. Pretty soon, I'm hoping that the official Prayer Meetings will be as accepting as we are. They'll be the sort of place where we'll be able to speak more freely, to express ourselves more honestly. If that happens, the circle will have accomplished its goal.”
He waits to see what everyone will say. Dawn speaks first.
“But Nate, we can't stop! It's the only place people like Jessica and me can be open!”
“I think that's going to change, is what I'm saying. Until it does, there's still a need for this. But wouldn't it be better if everyone could be open, not just the kids in the circle?”
No one can argue with that. Okay, maybe it's good news in a way, but it sure puts a damper on the meeting.
Butâ¦yesâ¦wouldn't it be terrific?
That night I have trouble falling asleep. It's been pretty weird in the room ever since Charles left; I got used to hearing someone else breathing. Plus I miss him. But that's not the problem tonight. Tonight I'm thinking about Kent, about what he'll be like, about why he's coming here. I mean, Mrs. Harnett is the director now, right? And she'd told me outright that she won't be taking kids just because they're gay. So either she can't put that new rule into effect just yet or Kent isn't gay. Or he's gay, but he's got some other problems, too.
Bottom line here is, I'm gonna have a new roommate. I might hate him. He might hate me. He might be some miserable lowlife, or he might be a stuck-up self-righteous bastard, like I thought Charles was, until I got to know him. Whatever he is, both Mrs. Harnett and John said he'd be a challenge. One that John isn't quite convinced I'm up to.
So. Do I stay and accept the challenge, or do I bail, go home, and see what happens? Knowing my dad, he'll be a lot more impressed if I stick it out. Sure, I get credit for being willing to wait and see, but if I whimper on Sunday and beg them to take me home, that credit might get wiped out. And it still might mean Dad points a stern finger at military school.
Let's say I stick it out here, do the full sentence, and don't screw up too badly with Kent. In four more weeks, I'll go home having seen it through. See, the thing is, Dad didn't say to me, “Son, you're going to have to come out the other end of this summer a real man. You're going to have to be straight, not gay anymore, or else it's military school.” He just said I had to go through the program that's
designed
to straighten me out. His assumptionâha, another oneâthat of course it would work is so hidden from him that he didn't think to add that qualification.
So what's he gonna do when he finds out it didn't take? That I'm still gay? I gotta have a plan for that. It won't be enough to say, “Gee, Dad, you never said I had to change.” It won't even be enough to say, “I did my best! I did everything you asked!” Though I will say that if I have to. I did everything he asked and more.
It's the “more” that's got me worried, actually. I
really
don't think there's any way I can get him to see this new vision of Christianity, the one the circle got me to see. It will never be enough for him that it used to be a sin; I don't think he'll ever buy that it isn't anymore. He's too hung up on his own idea of what it is to be a man. That is, a man is like him. It's Strickland's problem all over again.
Could I get Dad to see it anyway? Am I up to that battle? Even if I am, if I'm in military school I won't be able to carry it out. So now I have two reasons to avoid being sent away: being able to see Will, and convincing my dadâand my momâthat I'm not a sinner simply because I'm gay. It's like I have a mission now. Something beyond my own need to be who I am. I want other people to get it, too.
And suddenly I realize that's my plan. If my dad wants to know whether I'm still gay, the answer is yes. But if he tries to send me away, I'll offer him a compromise: I'll come back here next summer. It would actually be tolerable by then, under Mrs. Harnett's new philosophy. Heyâmaybe Will would come, tooâ¦.
Somewhere between teaching my dad a new way to think of Jesus's message and making eyes at Will across Isaiah next summer, I fall asleep.
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There's a message in my mailbox on Friday after lunch saying that Kent Finnigan will be arriving at four. I'm to make myself available starting at four thirty by waiting in my room until I'm called to come and meet him. John sees me reading it.
“Pretty clear, Taylor? You know what you need to do, right?”
There's a sheet of yellow labels and a map for Kent here, too, and I'm looking down at the map. “I think so. Give him an orientation tour, like Charles did for me.”
“And then bring him to the chapel.”
My head snaps toward him.
“The church has found a replacement for Reverend Bartle. He's going to pray with Kent, and Mrs. Harnett will be there. She was involved in the selection, too.”
That's okay, then. “How will I know when I should look for him again?”
“You should go to dinner and go back to your room to wait. I'm sorry there has to be all this waiting, but the process is changing. You okay with this?”
“Sure.” What can I say?
So I'm in my room at five fifteen when Jeffrey, who's still with us, comes to get me. And just like Charles had done, I knock on the frame of the open door that used to be Strickland's.
Mrs. Harnett, who has moved in by now, says, “Taylor. Please come in. Taylor Adams, this is your new roommate, Kent Finnigan. Taylor will show you around, Kent. Make sure you're oriented and understand what's expected. I'll see you again in the chapel shortly.”
I extend my hand, and for a second there, it almost looks like Kent's going to bite it. But I just hold it out: I'm not goin' anyplace, Kent. Eventually he stands, and we shake. He's not a very big kid. Scrawny. Looks to be maybe fifteen. There's a piercing hole in his left earlobe; nothing in it, and there won't be while he's here, that's for sure. Dirty blond hair, buzz cut. They'll make him grow it out a little. For some reason he's wearing a long-sleeved shirt despite the summer heat.
I lead him on the tour. Laundry room, dining hall, Fellowship room, Isaiah and the other prophets. He's silent through the whole trip. Just like I had been. Then we go into the bathroom. He's just as reluctant to do anything in there with me hanging around as I'd been with Charles. I don't really have a clue whether he'll be as long in the chapel as I was, but with his attitude it seems likely. So I give him the same warning Charles gave me.
He nearly growls, but he goes into a booth. I don't know whether he's trying to cover the sounds of his own pissing or if he's decided it's time to take some kind of stand, but he starts talking to me. Maybe it's finally dawned on him that this will be his last chance to talk for a while. SafeZone is still alive and well.
“This is a fucking screwed-up place. I hope you don't fucking expect me to be toeing any fucking line. You guys can't teach me shit here.”
I'm leaning against the wall opposite the stall, arms crossed over my chest. It's kind of refreshing to hear this stream of obscenities, more or less paralleling the stream of piss. But there's an edge to his voice. He's afraid. Plus he's overdoing it.
He's not going to admit that, even to himself. So I chuckle loud enough for him to hear. “I hope you don't think I haven't heard those words before. In fact, I hope you don't think I haven't used them.”
Kent throws the door open and glares at me. “You here because you're a fairy?”
Now why would he ask that question? Even when I'm at home, there's nothing femme about my appearance, my voiceâno giveaways. And in here, where every guy dresses in almost exactly the same boring khaki crap, there's really no way to tell a gay guy unless he's outright swishing.
Mrs. Harnett had refused to say why this kid was coming here. That he'd tell me why if he wanted me to know. I'm thinking he's telling me why. I'm thinking that between the heavy hand with the obscenities, the belligerent attitude, and the fear so close to the surface, I know why he's here. I think he's gay.
Several retorts occur to me. I choose the simplest for Kent. “Yeah. What are you here for?”
“Huh! Not that, and you'd better keep the fuck away from me.” He heads for the door.
I think, “Liar.” But I say, “We always wash our hands here, Kent.” Charles's words coming out of my mouth. Who knew?
In Kent's face I see myself. I see what I must have looked like to Charles less than two weeks ago now. Only I had opted not to flip my middle finger at Charles. Kent shows no such scruples. I ignore it, standing there like patience incarnate. And he goes to the sinks.
He doesn't bother with soap, but as long as he uses water and a paper towel I'm not pushing for more. I watch as he extends his arms. And as he does, I see something showing from under the long sleeves. Something white.
Bandages. On both wrists.
Gotcha. Gay. Gay and suicidal.
I know what I'm going to say to my folks on Sunday night.
And I know that Will, my sexy, marvelous boyfriend, even after four more weeks, will be waiting for me. I have faith in that. It's because of love.
THINKING STRAIGHT
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Robin Reardon
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ABOUT THIS GUIDE
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The suggested questions are intended to enchance your group's reading of Robin Reardon's
Thinking Straight.