as I moved forward. I didn’t want him to touch me. But he grabbed my neck, squeezed it until it almost hurt, and then stroked the back of my head once.
“Come, Taylor. Come and shed your sin.”
Christ.
He made me kneel beside where he’d been earlier, and then he knelt as well. I didn’t look at him, and I don’t think he looked at me. Nothing happened for maybe five minutes. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I figured I was supposed to pray.
I prayed, all right. Jesus, I begged, get me through this. Don’t let them turn me into a Charles. Don’t let me forget Will. Don’t let me forget who I am.
Please.
Finally Reverend Bartle spoke. “Tell me about it, Taylor. Tell me why you’re here.”
I looked at him, but he was facing forward, eyes closed. What the hell did he want me to say? I’m here because it was either this for the summer or military school in the fall. I’m here because my parents can’t handle that I’m gay. I’m here because they think God can make me “normal” again. Like I’d ever been anyone other than who I am. Like God would create abomination in the first place.
All I said was, “I don’t know.”
Maybe thirty seconds of silence passed, in which I assumed I was supposed to be growing more and more anxious. I wanted to make him wrong about that, but I failed.
Then he said, “I think you do know. I think you’re very well aware of how ungodly your feelings and actions have become, how you’ve allowed your baser needs to overrule your true spirit.” He paused again, but I didn’t say anything. So he said, “Tell me about them.”
“About what?”
“Tell me about how you’ve given in to your ungodly feelings to satisfy your baser needs. Tell me what you’ve done.” His voice was calm, no impatience in it.
Okay, I could have gone one of two ways here. I could have just told him about some of the things Will and I have done, the ways we’ve come to know each other, the way he makes me feel when he’s holding me, teasing my hair, kissing my neck. I could have described those “baser” needs, how the energy would move through me like lightning bolts seeking the ground of Will’s body, and how it felt afterward like heaven and hell had met and clashed and canceled each other out so that we floated in a sea of total calm. I could have said that I love Will so much that it seems like a window into the love God offers, as though I could follow this path to the source of all Love.
I could have. But I didn’t. I took the other road. I took rebellion. It may have been a mistake. Guess I’ll never know. But at least I didn’t give Will to him.
“I haven’t done anything ungodly.”
“You and I both know that’s not true, Taylor. We’re in God’s house. Don’t dishonor it by lying. Do you love God, Taylor?”
“Yes.” That was true; I do love God. I even love Jesus. He wasn’t the one who called my love for Will a sin.
“Then tell the truth.”
“I did. It is the truth.”
His voice grew so loud so suddenly, I jumped. “For their women changed the natural function into that which is against nature. Likewise also the men, leaving the natural function of the woman, burned in their lust toward one another, men doing what is inappropriate with men, and receiving in themselves the due penalty of their error.”
Then, quietly, “Do you recognize that text, Taylor?”
“It’s from Romans.”
“That’s right. Do you know what it’s saying?”
“It’s talking about lust. Not love. And it’s not Jesus speaking.”
I should have known better. I should never have tried to fight back, to counter his approach. Should never have revealed my own thinking. He went into this rant, quoting chapter and verse from all over the Bible, stopping in between to paint these horrid pictures of all kinds of sex as evil. Especially sex between men. It was like he knew everything I’d ever felt for Will, every tingle, every touch, every longing. Like he knew how it felt when Will’s fingers caressed the inside of my thigh. Like he knew what went through my mind when I wanted to be with Will and couldn’t. And he made it sound like everything that had ever been between us, between Will and me, made Satan laugh. Made Jesus cry.
I didn’t argue with him. For one thing, he wasn’t giving me time to say anything. For another, pretty soon I was in tears anyway and couldn’t exactly debate the issue.
He kept me in there for almost three hours. It was torture. And it got worse when he dragged my parents into it, using scripture to show how much pain I was putting them through. Especially my mother. I can’t remember everything, but I think I managed not to actually say that what Will and I have is sinful. But I can’t be sure that I didn’t say yes or something else that sounded like a confession to Reverend Bartle. All I do know is that I was sobbing like a baby, lying on the floor in fetal position, holding onto my ribs, and feeling like my chest was going to burst open.
I guess he must have thought I’d confessed my sins, or maybe he figured I’d die if he kept at me any longer. That’s what I thought.
He pulled me up from where I lay sobbing and walked me out of the chapel, an arm around my shoulders. As we walked he said, “The pain you’re feeling is the tearing out of sin. The ripping out of evil. It’s good pain, Taylor.”
I tried to shake my head, but since every part of me was shaking I’m not sure he noticed.
“I’ll walk you to your room now. I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner, but it’s my guess you don’t feel much like eating.”
By the time we stopped at the doorway to the room I would share with Charles, I’d stopped crying, but I was in some kind of emotional haze. Reverend Bartle let go of me and flipped on the light. I kind of slumped against the door frame and watched from some far-off place as he picked something up from the desk on the left. It looked like a yellow piece of paper, but when he peeled off a rectangle about two inches by three, I saw it was from a sheet of labels. He pressed the piece in his hand against the left side of my chest and held it there.
“You’re in SafeZone now, Taylor. This yellow warning will let the other residents and staff know that you can’t speak to them, so you need to wear one of these until you’re out of SafeZone or else you might violate this part of your residency. That would have serious consequences.” Now the hand dropped. “Your staff leader, Mrs. Harnett, will let you know when you can stop wearing these. Then you may speak again.”
He set the sheet back down on the desk and looked around the room.
“Is this your luggage beside the bed over there? Just nod or shake your head.”
I nodded. It was mine. Full of clothing that Mom had had to buy especially for this incarceration, complete with name tags that read T. ADAMS. Not much of my own stuff met the standards of this place.
“And here’s the map Charles left for you.” He leaned over to the other side of the desk and picked it up. “Did he show you what room your Prayer Meeting would be in this evening?”
Nod.
“Good. Now, you might want to take a few minutes to collect yourself before you go there.”
A few minutes? How about a few days? How about a few years?
“God loves you, Taylor. God wants you to learn how to love him. We’ll show you how.”
Before I knew what was happening he moved forward and took me into his arms. We stood there like that, him totally wrapped around me, my arms hanging limp. And he just held me.
I don’t know why, and I don’t even know if I had a choice, but I reached around and hugged him back. I wanted to cry again. This was the man who had torn me apart,