Page 48 of Gay for Pray
Then again, I always had Mom by my side.
We might have been poor, but we loved each other. We supported each other. No matter what happens to me in life, I know she’ll always be there for me. From what I know, it’s been exactly the opposite for Theo. He has money and comfort, but not a drop of love. Not unconditional love, in any case. His parents’ approval comes with strings attached, strings that bar him from doing something as simple as a homework assignment if they don’t approve of it.
“It’s just a stupid project,” he says.
Any pity evaporates.
“It’s not just a project,” I snap, struggling to keep my voice down. “You know this isn’t about the fucking project.”
“I can’t change it,” he says miserably.
But he could. He could change it. He could at least try. If I mattered to him at all, he could say or dosomethinginstead of nothing.
That’s the truth though, isn’t it? I don’t mean anything to him. I’m not worth the risk. I’m just his college experiment, a mistake he’ll forget when he moves on to his “real” life dictated by his father.
“You’re really going to go on obeying?” I say. “You’re really going to contort yourself for people who don’t love you the way you are? You’ll never be enough of what they want. You’ll always be trying to twist yourself into something they deem acceptable. Is that really how you want to live?”
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up at me, but I see his throat working. I’ve hit a nerve, said aloud something he’s buried deep inside. I should leave it at that, but I can’t resist a parting shot as hurt claws its way through me.
“You told me no one’s ever loved you the way you are,” I say, “but maybe you’ve never let them.”
I step away before he can respond, not that he’d even bother trying. As I storm down the hall and away from Professor Demsky’s office, all that chases after me is silence.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Theodore
SITTING IN THE STUDY room on the second floor of the library feels wrong. My shoulders itch. My mind drifts. I struggle to focus on the philosophy project I’m supposed to be finishing up.
Jude should be here with me.
His absence grates against my skin, an itch I can’t scratch, can’t dig out, can’t banish with coursework and studying. The moment Jude stormed away from me outside Professor Demsky’s office was the last moment I saw him. He skipped our next philosophy class, as well as choir practice, and he certainly hasn’t texted or called. He’s a ghost, a dream fragmenting as wakefulness banishes the warm comfort of fantasy.
The loss is a talon in my chest tearing me open again and again. Every time the wound attempts to heal, something rips it back open, like Prometheus suffering for gifting humanity fire. Except I haven’t done anything for anyone. Not for myself, and certainly not for Jude. I gave him only trouble and pain and hardship, and the ache in my chest is no better than I deserve.
A cursor blinks within an empty document. I’ve been here for an hour and haven’t managed a single word. I scan my outline—ouroutline, the one I made with Jude—but the words wash over me, no more substantial than the stale air conditioning filtering through the library. I used to be so good at this. Studying and praying and singing in the choir was everything to me before Jude appeared and opened up whole other realms of possibilityin my life. Now, I can’t even manage a simple introduction to my paper.
Professor Demsky did indeed reduce the requirements for both myself and Jude. Our papers and presentations will be half the length of everyone else’s, but it’s a hollow victory. We’ll be giving more or less the same presentation twice, turning in two versions of the same paper. Because we did this together. We truly collaborated on this project. The end products will reflect that no matter how my father meddles in order to tear us apart.
The thought of my family needles at me, and I jerk into motion. I’m clearly not getting anything done today, so I shut my laptop and pack it and my books away. I don’t know what good it’ll do me to head back to my dorm, but it won’t be any worse than sitting here accomplishing nothing but self-pity. Maybe I’ll leave the library and just start walking, moving my body until I’m too exhausted to think about anything at all.
The idea is tempting, even when I shoulder a backpack heavy with my computer as well as my books and study materials. A.S.S. Uni’s campus is massive. I could probably wander for hours without retracing my steps.
Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t run forever. I can’t exhaust myself every single day for the rest of the semester. And what happens next semester when I have yet another class with Jude? What happens if he returns to the choir some day? He’s part of my life in ways I can’t escape, and not just because of his physical presence. The things we did together linger with me still, like the fading taste of a favorite candy. He’s stuck between my teeth and in my bones, impossible to dislodge no matter how life tries to push him away.
It’s not like I helped. He was right when he confronted me in the hall. I am a coward. I could have said something, could have tried standing up to my dad. Then again, what if it cost me my education? Is this thing with Jude really worth my bachelor’sdegree? I don’t even know what it is. I don’t have words for what we’re doing, and I dare not think about what it could be, what a future with him might look like. That’s territory I can’t fathom, even if my father wasn’t in the way.
No, I simply have to keep going. I have to put my head down and focus on getting my degree so I can go to seminary school like my father and everyone else expects and wants. That’s the only possible path for me. A future with Jude is a fairy tale, something enticing and magical, but ultimately absurd. I have to focus on the things that are real.
I adjust my backpack with fresh resolve and head out of the library, but I let my steps wander instead of going back to my dorm by the most efficient path. I have the rest of the afternoon to myself, no classes or practice to worry about, so I can meander as much as I like.
The movement quickly helps settle me, endorphins flooding in to take the edge off my anxieties. It doesn’t make my problems any less real, but it does convince me that this will pass some day. I’ll move on. I’ll do the things I’m supposed to and forget about what happened the first half of my sophomore year. Lots of people do stupid things when they’re young. I’m no different, as much as my father might hold me to a higher standard. Some day, this will be a story I laugh about, no matter how daunting it feels in the moment.
I very nearly feel better when my phone buzzes. My heart skips, mind immediately flitting to the possibility that Jude is reaching out, but then it buzzes again. I doubt he’d call, which means this can only be…
“Hey, Dad,” I say when I answer.
“Theodore.” His tone is stern, as though even with all his meddling, I’ve still messed up somehow. “I heard you had a meeting with that philosophy professor of yours.”
