Page 51 of Worthy

Okay…Maybe I had no idea how I wanted it to happen, but accidentally fooling around through a hole in a bathroom stall then watching him storm off definitely wasn’t a top contender.

For years, I’ve felt awful about how I left things with Tate. How I selfishly and immaturely ended our friendship, abruptly, after a stupid, drunken mistake that cost us years of closeness. This could be a sign that I need to make things right.

A rather aggressive way of doing so, but whatever.

Could God be giving me this opportunity? Would God even do such a thing…?

Or is this more like a temptation I’m meant to overcome?

Should I just turn around and go home, back to my wife, to the life I’ve been building for years; a stoic carpenter, constructing the walls around myself to keep the memories out?

My chest tightens, and I blink hard. Thishasto mean something. And regardless of all the rest of the bullshit, I need to do the right thing and apologize to my friend, whom I wronged.

Stalking toward the door, I slink in between the mass of bodies dancing and celebrating, exiting the club into a wall of even hotter, even stickier air. June in ABQ is the summer you’d expect. Sun beating down, sizzling everything. And the sheer crowdedness of the streets during the city’s annual Pride parade celebration isn’t helping to cool things off at all.

What itisdoing, however, is burying me in the midst of experiences I’ve never actively sought out before, formyself.

I’ve had gay friends all my life, and it’s never something I gave a second though to. I interact with people based on who they are inside, not their sexuality, skin color, or factors like that. And it’s this sort of perpetual love and acceptance that makes me one of the more celebrated, and sometimes controversial, pastors in our area.

Yes, that’s right. I’m a man of God…

Who just had his dick inside the mouth of another man.

Putting the blurriness of my current state aside, I trudge around the corner, face flinging all around in search of Tate. I’m not sure if he’s going to another bar, or if he’s going to Kennan’s party, but I suppose the safest bet would just be to go straight to Ken’s house and wait for him to potentially show up, rather than searching the streets like a manic weirdo.

While I’m walking, my mind begins to wander, dazzled by where I am. I didn’t necessarily come here to invite people to our church, though I think maybe next year I should. Churches and religion as a whole get a bad rep within the queer community, and honestly I don’t blame them. A majority of hate for LGBTQ+ people seems to stem from confused heretics and Bible thumpers. Truthfully, it couldn’t be more misguided.

I’ve been spiritual all my life, and I’ve never once found that Godhates queers. In fact, He doesn’t hate anyone, not even sinners. Of course, there’s a lot ofman and womanjargon in the Bible, but that’s just because it was written by straight men, a very long time ago. Humanity has always been made to grow, adapt, evolve. To assume that Godhates gay peoplejust because of a few wayward words in the Bible seems beyond ridiculous. But unfortunately, a lot of people do interpret it that way, which is why I’ve made a point to correct that way of thinking in my church.

I became a Pastor at the South Valley Pentecostal Church four years ago, following in my father’s footsteps. I grew up in the church, but my parents raised my sisters and me openly spiritual. We’ve always believed more in having faith than the strict rigidity of other organized religions. Still, when I took over as the pastor at South Valley, I chose to bring on some subtle changes.

For the most part, our congregation has been welcoming of the modern inclusions. Some haven’t, but all I can do is respect their choices and pray for their minds to open up a little.

But regardless of how many gay and lesbian couples we have in our church—so far, only two—the rules of any faith in God are still always pretty strict on one thing specifically… Adultery.

And based on what happened a few minutes ago, my internal guilt-o-meter is moving into the red.

Shelving those musings for now, I continue up the sidewalk in the direction of Kennan’s house, past all the lively people, emblazoning all the important things Pride represents, like love, freedom, equality, Stonewall… how far we’ve come versus how far we still need to go.

Ken didn’t go to Arizona State with the rest of us, but our mutual friend, Lou, did, and Lou is the one who invited me today. He invites me every year, I’m assuming because he just invites everyone on his friends list, or at least everyone from our old circle. I haven’t seen most of these guys since college. Some of them stayed in Arizona after school, some moved to other places. And then some of us moved to New Mexico. Like me, Lou… and Tate, apparently. But to be fair, Tate is from here.

And me? Well, I moved here because I met and fell in love with a girl from ABQ my senior year of college. Desiree.

We moved to South Valley and got married a year after graduation, and since then we’ve built a life together. A life that very muchappearsperfect…

My spiraling comes to a quick halt when I spot Tate, coming out of a bar across the street. My stomach twists, and I pick up my pace, rushing to try and catch up with him. But then two guys exit the bar behind him, sticking close, like they’re all together. Tate is talking to them over his shoulder while walking, as if he’s leading them somewhere…

In the direction of Kennan’s party, it would appear.

Slowing down, I continue to walk in the same direction while watching them. The guys look kind of familiar, but I can’t quite place where I might have seen them. They’re not people from our old circle of friends…

One of them looks to be about our age—mid-thirties—with light hair like mine. Tall, and built. And the other guy appears slightly younger, with dark hair. He’s holding the hand of the light-haired guy, leaning into his side and smiling, while the older blonde scowls at Tate. Even from afar, I can tell he’s not thrilled to be in Tate’s presence, but still, he’s following him.I wonder why.

I walk behind them for another block, around a corner, and sure enough, they head right inside the address that I have for Kennan’s house. Pulling in a deep breath, I follow them, keeping enough of a distance, because I’m not sure how this will shake out and I’m highly nervous.

I don’t know how Tate will react to me following him to the party, especially now that he’s apparently brought friends. I can only hope they’re not his…datesor something.

The thing about being alive in the twenty-first century is that whether or not someone remains in your life doesn’t prevent you from keeping tabs on them. Social media allows us to stay up to date on what people are doing, even if you haven’t spoken with them in years. Which is exactly why I know the basics of what Tate’s been up to since college.

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