Page 49 of Gay for Pray
Anger flashes through me, shocking in its immediacy andheat. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this mad at my father. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this mad atanyone. But when he casually mentions hearing about that meeting with Professor Demsky, it opens up a deep well of resentment. How does he know? The meeting only happened the other day, and I certainly didn’t tell him about it. How is he managing to track every single thing I think or do or say?
“Are you keeping tabs on me?”
Silence greets my question. I’ve never spoken so harshly to my father before. I doubt anyone has. He’s not the sort of man you snap at, but my blood is boiling, and I fail to moderate my tone.
“Theodore.”
He pronounces my name like a warning, but I don’t care.
“No,” I say, “I’m serious. Are you keeping tabs on me or not?”
“I’m keeping tabs on your immortal soul, Theodore. I’m not just your father, I’m also a deacon. I care about you. When I hear of you going astray, it’s my duty to intervene.”
Every word only stokes the anger boiling inside me. I’m a kettle about to shriek, and I grit my teeth to keep from doing exactly that. It’s one thing for him to talk to my professors while he was on campus for the choir performance. Weird, sure, but not completely unheard of if you have an overly concerned parent. But he’s somehow continued watching me after derailing my project with Jude.
“I spoke with your professor,” he says, “and she explained that the situation has been resolved.”
The passive voice rankles me. The situation has simply “been resolved,” brushed away, magicked out of existence. And by “the situation” he means, of course, Jude. Like he’s dust my father can sweep under a rug and forget about.
“Nothing is resolved,” I say. “Do you know how hard we were working on that project?”
“We?”
I can all but hear my father’s eyebrow rising in his tone, but I don’t back down.
“We were nearly finished,” I say, “and we were doing a good job. I might get a lower grade because of this.”
My father clicks his tongue. “Come on, Theodore. I’m sure that isn’t true. You’re an excellent student. You’ll get a better mark with that—”
I shout before he can finish, not caring about the other students beginning to stare at me. “Don’t. He’s just a classmate, Dad, and we were working on our project the same way everyone else was. There was no reason to do this.”
“Thereason,” Dad says, “is because that boy is a bad influence on you, and I care about more than just your grades. What has gotten into you?”
My anger deflates a tick at his incredulous tone. I sound like I’m defending Jude; I sound like I care about him. It’s dangerous for both of us if my father ever thinks that’s the case.
“I’m just…” I splutter, “just frustrated. We worked really hard, and now I have all this extra work to do. I have to start my paper all over.”
My father sighs, but seems to accept the excuse. “I understand. You’re working hard, but please try to understand why I had to do this. It’s for your own sake.”
I grind my teeth, mashing my initial response between my molars. “I understand,” I grit out.
“Listen, when the semester is over, there’s this big Bible conference I’m thinking of attending. I’ll bring you along. Then you’ll understand why this is all worth it. Trust me, Theodore. I’m your father.”
In the past, that promise would have genuinely lifted my spirits, but today it’s no more substantial than a soap bubble. I agree regardless, mostly in the hopes that I can escape thisconversation. The talk turns to my mother and my sister, and I suffer through catching up with my father, trying the whole time not to sound as angry as I feel. By the time he lets me hang up, I slouch against the red brick of the closest building, catching my breath in the cool shade while the emotions I bottled up throughout the call plug up my throat like a cork plugging up a shaken bottle of pop. I don’t know how much more pressure I can take before I explore.
As my breathing calms, I blink and find angry tears clinging to the corners of my eyes. I scrub at them before they can fall, putting myself together, stuffing even more frustration into that shaken up bottle. I have to make it to the end of this semester somehow, but if my father keeps interfering, if I keep having to see Jude, if my secret keeps punching its way into my real life, I don’t know how I’ll manage.
I search vainly for salvation, and find the campus church off to my right. Of course this is where my wandering feet led me. Where else would I possibly go when trapped in my head, my heart aching?
I don’t pause to question it, simply head for the church. It’ll be empty, but in the middle of the day they leave the doors unlocked so people can come and worship if they like. This is exactly how Jude and I got in that first time we…
I try to shake off the memory, but it clings to me like a spiderweb as I pass into the cool shade of the church. The space echoes around me, huge and cavernous, the stained glass throwing shards of color across the empty pews.
I don’t feel deserving of salvation, but I’ve never needed prayer more than I need it now. I slip into a pew, folding my hands between my legs and staring up at the enormous image of Jesus at the back of the church. With an exhale, I confess everything in my heart to him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jude
