Page 11 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

“Sorry. Just—just need a second.”

“You’re okay,” Brother Meadows assures me. His hand is on my back. “Just try not to worry too much about where they’re from. All that matters is that they work. You’ve been sleeping better than you have in ages—that’s what you said a second ago, remember?”

“Yeah,” I say, still feeling a little lightheaded, but it seems to be getting better. “I’ve been sleeping really well.”

“Good boy,” he praises. The words are ridiculous, but my head feels too fuzzy to mention it. Brother Meadows says a few more words that I can’t hear, and I give an answer that I can’t remember giving.

What the heck is going on?

I close my eyes and blink, but when I open them, Brother Meadows and I are standing at the door. I don’t remember walking there. “And remember,” he says, but he doesn’t say anything after that. His lips move, but nothing comes out.

“I won’t say anything to him,” I agree, but I don’t know what I’m agreeing to. It’s like his words ran through me, but they didn’t register, and I’m responding by instinct. I don’t think it matters, though. Because with the sun shining through the open door, its light warms my cheeks, making me smile. All is well. I feel at peace, because Jesus loves me. This I know.

Across the street, Darren is still raking leaves. He’s wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts that rest halfway up his thighs. I sure love my best friend. He’s such a sweet guy; but then, he always has been. He never cried or acted up during service as a kid. He would march to the front of the church, sit down beside me, and remain absolutely silent for the next three hours. Our church once had over three hundred members. Those numbers may have faltered, but Darren never has. I remember us at our prime, side by side. Him fumbling through his teenage years as I studied the scripture. How he came back to town only once whenhe was in college, and how he’d done that for me. He heard my dad died, and he was by my side in less than two hours, holding my hand, telling me it was all going to be okay. Then he left me again, and his loss outweighed the loss of my father tenfold. I missed him.

God, I missed him.

But then my best friend came home to me.

My body moves on its own, forgetting about Brother Meadows or my open front door, leaving it open and letting the air conditioning out. I rush across the street without looking either way, my eyes glued to Darren’s shorts. They’re just so small and tight.

“Hey, bud,” I say, clapping a hand against his sweaty back. “The yard is looking good.”

“The yard’s not the only thing,” he says, but I don’t have the foggiest what that means, so I ignore the comment.

“Listen, I was hoping we could head to church. I want to film the introduction video to our YouTube channel. We’re going to save so many souls, Darren. You should be proud of yourself.”

A pained look crosses his face, but he quickly replaces it with a smile.

“I’m betraying my community, and I’m doing it for you.” The words echo through my head, but his lips aren’t moving. I don’t know if he’s ever even said those words, but there’s an urge to console him, and it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever felt, because all I can see is a mental image of his sobbing face. His hands gripping my shoulders like he’s trying to pour his heart into me by force. Telling me he’s given up everything, and he would do it again. Just for me. While I don’t remember the conversation at all, it feels like a lived experience. Like it’s a demon we’ve been battling for months. I just wish I could remember those battles.

“You’re not betraying anyone, Darren. You’re leading them into the light.” I don’t know what’s happening to me today, but these flashes and swirls of misplaced memories are really doing a number on me. I can barely think straight. It’s like my thoughts are scattered, littered throughout my mind, refusing to find their way home. His mouth falls open in surprise and his cheeks burn red. I know it can’t be from the weather, because it’s maybe seventy degrees, tops. “What’s wrong, bud?”

“I didn’t say I was betraying anyone.”

“You didn’t have to,” I lie, not wanting him to know I’ve been having head trouble today. “It’s written all over your face.” I smile warmly at him and nod. “What we’re doing is for the greater good.”

“I know,” he agrees, his cheeks red. “It’s just hard to reconcile my faith with what I believed when I was at college.” He gives me an insistent look. “Do you ever wonder if this is wrong? What if God made me this way for a reason? What if it’s okay to be gay?”

My eyes widen, because that’s blasphemous. “You can’t say things like that,” I hiss, pointing at the sky. “He hears everything. I don’t ever want to hear that propaganda again. Do you hear me? I won’t stand for it.”

His jaw clenches. “I’m the one who’s giving up their identity here. Not you. So, you’ll have to freaking excuse me if I wonder aloud whether or not I’m purposefully tormenting myself with conversion therapy.” He takes a step forward, letting the rake fall down. “You’re not the one going through this, so a little empathy would go a long way.”

A growl crawls up my throat as visions of my father andherflood my memories. I close my eyes, trying to blink away the memory, but all I can see is her soft form resting on my lap as she . . . “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I know everything about you. I’ve known you since I was five. You act like this is easy, but it isn’t. It hurts giving up a part ofmyself. Having to push down this little part of me so no one else will ever see it. I’m giving up everything here. Not you.”

“Yes, me,” I bark, my cheeks burning. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to overcome this burden? I’ve been doing it a hell of a lot longer than you have, so don’t you dare tell me—” I suck in a sharp breath when I realize what I’ve just admitted, and I know my eyes must be as big as the moon itself. I slowly shake my head and take a stumbling step back. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His jaw trembles, and the sight of it feels like someone’s stabbed a knife into my heart. “You’re gay? I mean, you’ve always known? It’s not some new revelation?” He brings his voice to a whisper, adding, “I thought it was just the pills,” but I don’t know what the heck that means. I don’t care what it means, because I can barely breathe.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I haven’t identified as gay in over twenty years. I’ve built a life with an unfulfilled wife, and I did it for a purpose. For the greatest purpose. “I’ve been delivered,” I say, my voice as strong as I can make it. “I have overcome. So, I know exactly what you’re going through. The difference between you and me is I didn’t sit around moping about it. I took action.” I take another step back. “I think you need to take today to decide if this is even something that you want, because it sure as heck doesn’t sound like it.”

My stomach is in knots when I turn and walk across the street. I feel his eyes burning holes in my back. The second the front door closes behind me, I fall into a heap as the memories replay in my head like the world’s worst movie.

My dad barging into my room at midnight, dragging me out of bed. Us pulling up toherhouse. The red negligee. Her hands roaming everywhere, even when I begged her to stop. Even as I cried out for Dad to stop it from happening while he waited in the living room. The shame. It hasn’t faded with time. It’s festered. It’s grown into a massive mass inside my chest thatweighs me down like an anchor, and no matter what I do, I can’t break the chains locking it in place.

I pleaded with God that night, but He must have been busy. He provided me no comfort, and He didn’t soothe my soul. I begged for Him to make it stop, but He didn’t, which made me think God was allowing it to happen. Worse, it made me think Hewantedit to happen. He wouldn’t even make my erection go down. It stood at attention even as my heart felt like it was caving in, thanks to the erectile medication Dad forced me to take beforehand. When it was done, I begged God for something else. A permanent end to all my suffering. I tried to find that relief myself, but I was too much of a coward—too weak—to see it through. Some days, I wish I’d been stronger.

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