last time he’d been here was in the teens’ class. Now he’d be in with the adults.
Damn. Feeling old at twenty-two.
Some of his earlier panic returned upon exiting the car, but he was soon caught up being welcomed back by more people than he recalled ever knowing. His
mother swept him along, reintroducing former friends’ parents who, in turn, insisted on telling all about their children and where they were now.
By the time he made it into the building both his head and his heart pounded. The first strains from an ancient piano caused a hush to descend on the
congregation, allowing a reprieve from all the attention.
After an hour of Sunday school, he found himself sitting next to his mother on the back pew of the church, trying to ignore the stares from their fellow
church-goers. He checked his watch. Wasn’t it time for service to start? Maybe then folks would face the preacher and stop worrying about him so
much.
However, the sermon caused more problems. The new preacher was indeed charismatic and well-spoken. Too bad this morning’s topic was on the evils
of homosexuality. Why today? Did the preacher know something? Could he look at Michael and tell? Had everyone known all along, even before he did?
He’d always known that things with Ruth Ann weren’t exactly how his friends had described their experiences, but at the time
he’d just thought, as she had, that he was “cold” when it came to the physical aspects of a relationship. Michael liked
women; hell, he liked Ruthie, but females just didn’t do much for him sexually. Ruthie accepting their breakup with minimal questions had been a
relief.
Then there were the dreams. Repeated nocturnal visits from a faceless lover—a male lover. Michael’s dream self was never cold when his
lover took him to new heights, leaving him sweaty, shaking, and needing to change the sheets. The dreams had started in his teens and intensified as he
grew older and gained a better working knowledge of the mechanics of sex. They’d horrified him at first, but he’d later dismissed his
fears as just his overactive imagination twisting things.
His bigoted stepfather had called him a fag on a normal basis, considering it to be the worst possible insult. Those scathing comments saw to it that
Michael kept his thoughts to himself, not even discussing them with his mom or sister, whom he could normally tell anything. The secrets and misgivings
remained his own. He told himself he wasn’t gay and that he wanted the women he slept with even though those experiences never failed to
disappoint. Later, the mysterious dream lover always appeared, never leaving Michael wanting.
Then came the defining moment, the night before returning home, when he’d turned a corner from which there was no going back. The first time
he’d held a man, had one in his bed, he knew what had been missing in all those past experiences and what he wanted. There’d be hell to
pay to get it.
Five minutes before services ended his mother took his hand and pressed two small pills into his palm. “Take this and don’t
argue,” she hissed, while everyone else sang the closing hymn. He took a quick peek at his nearest neighbors, confused that time had passed
without his noticing. Slipping the pills into his mouth, he choked them down dry, whispering, “Thanks.” Trust Mom to know when he
needed them.
She was right. Leaving the building was much easier than arriving, the meds he normally avoided working fast to take the edge off his frayed nerves. With
Mom running interference he managed to make it to the car without being stopped by curious well-wishers. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when they pulled
out of the parking lot and onto the county road that led to his grandparents’ house. Alone with Mom. The perfect opportunity to speak his mind
without distractions. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mom, can we talk?”
“Sure, baby, you know you can talk to me
Damn. Feeling old at twenty-two.
Some of his earlier panic returned upon exiting the car, but he was soon caught up being welcomed back by more people than he recalled ever knowing. His
mother swept him along, reintroducing former friends’ parents who, in turn, insisted on telling all about their children and where they were now.
By the time he made it into the building both his head and his heart pounded. The first strains from an ancient piano caused a hush to descend on the
congregation, allowing a reprieve from all the attention.
After an hour of Sunday school, he found himself sitting next to his mother on the back pew of the church, trying to ignore the stares from their fellow
church-goers. He checked his watch. Wasn’t it time for service to start? Maybe then folks would face the preacher and stop worrying about him so
much.
However, the sermon caused more problems. The new preacher was indeed charismatic and well-spoken. Too bad this morning’s topic was on the evils
of homosexuality. Why today? Did the preacher know something? Could he look at Michael and tell? Had everyone known all along, even before he did?
He’d always known that things with Ruth Ann weren’t exactly how his friends had described their experiences, but at the time
he’d just thought, as she had, that he was “cold” when it came to the physical aspects of a relationship. Michael liked
women; hell, he liked Ruthie, but females just didn’t do much for him sexually. Ruthie accepting their breakup with minimal questions had been a
relief.
Then there were the dreams. Repeated nocturnal visits from a faceless lover—a male lover. Michael’s dream self was never cold when his
lover took him to new heights, leaving him sweaty, shaking, and needing to change the sheets. The dreams had started in his teens and intensified as he
grew older and gained a better working knowledge of the mechanics of sex. They’d horrified him at first, but he’d later dismissed his
fears as just his overactive imagination twisting things.
His bigoted stepfather had called him a fag on a normal basis, considering it to be the worst possible insult. Those scathing comments saw to it that
Michael kept his thoughts to himself, not even discussing them with his mom or sister, whom he could normally tell anything. The secrets and misgivings
remained his own. He told himself he wasn’t gay and that he wanted the women he slept with even though those experiences never failed to
disappoint. Later, the mysterious dream lover always appeared, never leaving Michael wanting.
Then came the defining moment, the night before returning home, when he’d turned a corner from which there was no going back. The first time
he’d held a man, had one in his bed, he knew what had been missing in all those past experiences and what he wanted. There’d be hell to
pay to get it.
Five minutes before services ended his mother took his hand and pressed two small pills into his palm. “Take this and don’t
argue,” she hissed, while everyone else sang the closing hymn. He took a quick peek at his nearest neighbors, confused that time had passed
without his noticing. Slipping the pills into his mouth, he choked them down dry, whispering, “Thanks.” Trust Mom to know when he
needed them.
She was right. Leaving the building was much easier than arriving, the meds he normally avoided working fast to take the edge off his frayed nerves. With
Mom running interference he managed to make it to the car without being stopped by curious well-wishers. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when they pulled
out of the parking lot and onto the county road that led to his grandparents’ house. Alone with Mom. The perfect opportunity to speak his mind
without distractions. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mom, can we talk?”
“Sure, baby, you know you can talk to me
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