Page 12 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

After it was said and done, I pushed all those old feelings—the biggest, brightest part of me—down into a ball and placed it in the farthest corner of my heart, never letting its light peek past the surface. Some days it’s excruciating, others, it’s a dull ache that can occasionally be ignored. Today is neither. Today is absolutely unbearable, because my sweet boy knows my darkest secret.

At the time, it felt like I was losing part of myself. Like I was ripping my soul in half, discarding the bad, keeping the good. It’s been twenty-four years, and the shame is still there, settled in the pit of my stomach. I try not to think about it much. I thought about it a lot less before Darren came home. For four years I was free from any-and-everything homosexual. The dull-ache days seemed endless, and everything didn’t always seem so pointless. Then he marched into town like a one-man Pride parade, muddling my vision. Making me think about parts of myself I’ve kept hidden for decades. Making me question the path.

I was born wrong, but I’ve made myself right again. Darren can do the same. I can save him, he just has to let me try. I won’tuse the tactics my father used to convert me, because I want my best friend to have a total transformation, whereas with me, there are days where I wonder why I even try. A few minutes ago, I told Darren my dirty little secret, and I told him I overcame my burden, but it’s not true. I haven’t changed, I’ve simply adapted. I’ve kept myself hidden to keep myself safe. And that’s enough, I think. God, please let it be enough, because if it isn’t, what’s the point?

There’s a knock on my door, and it startles me, making me jolt.

“Miles,” my Dare-bear says on the other side of the door. “Talk to me.”

The doorknob rattles as he unlocks it. I don’t know how he’s gotten a key to my house or what makes him feel like he can use it when he pleases. I slide away from the door so it doesn’t hit me when it opens, and then Darren is standing over me, staring at me with so much pity in his eyes, I almost can’t stand it. He kneels in front of me and cups my cheek. It’s such a simple act, but it’s one that sends a shiver down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’ve been delivered, and you can be too. I believe in you, but I need you to believe in yourself, and in the process. I need you to believe in me, little man.”

“I do believe in you,” he says, staring at the hand still caressing my cheek. “More than anyone.” His brown eyes burn into mine like he’s trying to look into my soul. “So, I’m going to get dressed, and we’re going to go to church. If we’re going to turn you into a superstar televangelist, we should start now.” He removes his hand from my cheek and wipes a stray tear from his eye.

“Darren,” I say, but I don’t have any words to follow it up with. What I’m feeling inside isn’t excitement or dreams of grandeur. I’m staring at my best friend shedding tears over me, and it fillsme with this irrational urge to pull him in for a hug and tell him it’s okay. That it’s always going to be okay, because he’s got me on his side.

“I’m okay. I want this. Just give me a few minutes to get changed.” He plasters a phony grin on his face before adding, “Straight is great.”

I swallow, catching a whiff of him. He smells a little musky with sweat, but there’s an underlying sweet note to it. He smells like vanilla and cotton candy. He smells like home.

“Straight is great,” I agree.

chapter five

It’s been over an hour and my heart still feels like it’s breaking.

Miles is gay. No. Not just gay. He’s one of them. An “ex-gay.” I’ve always held out hope that he might be a late-bloomingbisexual, but knowing he’s just like me makes my blood boil, because this clearly came about because of his stupid fucking father. The man was a goddamn menace, and the world is a better place now that he’s gone. The day they buried the jerk I pissed on his grave, now I kind of want to sneak out of Miles’ office, walk to his father’s grave behind the chapel, and piss on it again.

Father Daddy has been unnaturally quiet since we left for church earlier. He’s lost in his head, and it kills me that this is happening so early in the day. I won’t have a chance to properly console him until he takes his sleeping pill. When the world fades away, I can wrap myself around him like a blanket, letting him rest in my warmth. It’s not even ten in the morning yet, so that means he’s going to have to sit and stew in his feelings for hours.

I’m lying to him about my goal for this conversion project, but my intention is clear to me. I love Miles Brooks. Maybe not in the way he thinks I love him, but it’s love, nonetheless. It still flutters around my heart like fireflies, practically making me glow in his presence. If I can just get him to see that everything I’m doing is to get him to a better, happier life, away from the confines of evangelism, maybe there’s hope that we could wind up together in the end. A fool’s dream, I’m sure, but I dream it with all my heart anyway.

Miles places the camera on its stand and smiles at me. “Just follow my lead, buddy.”

I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”

He sits beside me and squeezes my hand. “I hope you don’t look at me differently, now that you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. That I’m . . .” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “That I used to be gay.” I swallow thickly, but I can’t swallow down the ache spreading through me when I see his sadface. “I just don’t want to lose whatever respect you have for me now that you know. I don’t think I could stand that.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I reach out and squeeze his hand. “I won’t lose respect for you if you don’t lose respect for me.”

A shy smile crosses his face and he runs his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Alright. No respect lost by either party.” He points at the camera. “Are you ready, buddy?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” And, just as I always do when Miles puts on his Pastor Brooks persona, I watch the man I love come alive. He speaks with conviction and surety. Surety that his new ex-gay conversion techniques are foolproof. Surety that I’m almost on the straight and narrow. Surety that he’s going to spark hope in the hearts of all Americans, bringing about a religious awakening. He’s leading gays to the light. A twinge of shame hits me, and a familiar sense of betrayal wraps around me like restraints, holding me in place. Emotionally, at least.

I’m betraying everything I believe in. Whoever stumbles across the YouTube channel is going to think I’m one of . . .them. An ex-gay. They’re going to think I support conversion therapy. My jaw trembles, and Miles bursts into action, pausing the camera and kneeling in front of me, touching my forehead with his, mumbling how proud of me he is. How proud I should be of myself. That we’re going to save so many souls. That’s what he keeps saying over and over, but I don’t care about souls, I care about equality. I care about the queer community. So, I tell myself a little lie—that the ends will justify the means—and I let go of my resistance, letting it fall, along with my Pride.

Miles gives me a kiss on the forehead, then stands and starts the camera. After explaining his stick-figure therapy method, he asks me to say a few words. They come out like broken glass, slicing at my insides along the way. At the end of my testimony, I tearfully add, “I’m going to be delivered, and so—” My grip tightens around the sofa cushion. “And so can you.”

Miles must know how much I’m hurting, because he quickly ends the recording with his signature, “Straight is great” sign-off line, and turns the camera off. Miles turns to me with a smile stretched wide across his face.

“That was perfect, buddy. You did so well.” Before I can react, his arms are around me, crushing me with a hug. “I’m so proud of you, Darren.” When he pulls away, he cups both my cheeks with his hands. “You’re my shining star.”

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