365 Days Of Me: January 12 -- Man to Man

He was a youth minister at the Church Of Good Intentions (one of the two churches I grew up in).  He was the kind of guy who you instantly liked, mostly because of his humility and his contagious laugh.  Always good natured, nothing ever seemed to bother him, except for maybe when the kids he was supposed to be guiding started showing signs that their faith was slipping.

According to gossip, he had successfully rehabilitated many youths into the ways of the Church.  He wouldn't beat them over the head with the bible, nor would he point a finger and lecture.  He would simply speak calmly and patiently, until the youth began to understand how things were supposed to be.

He and I never really had much contact with each other.  I was fairly active in the Church, but since I was quiet and kept to myself there was no reason for him to set me down and talk to me.  

Well, until he discovered that I was gay.  Then I suddenly became his top priority. 

At that time, my family didn't know.  The only reason why the Youth Minister even found out was because of an incident that had happened at a church retreat a couple of months before.

I had foolishly assumed that the incident was behind me and I could go on, business as usual, but the Youth Minister had heard about what happened, and immediately went into rehabilitation mode.  I should have seen it coming when he invited me to his house, but my gullibility was even worse than it is now.

It was Sunday, and the Youth Minister brought me to his house after church.  His wife had conveniently gone to run errands so we could talk, "Man To Man" as she put it.  

His living room was dead center between modern and traditional.  There really is no other way to describe it.  For every doily I saw, there was a flash of stainless steel.  I wasn't sure what they had been going for, but it was clear to me, even at that age, that they had failed miserably.

I sat down on a modern looking, black leather love seat, which had a crocheted blanket draped over the back of it, and I wondered what it was the Youth Minister wanted to talk to me about.  

He sat down on the matching chair across from me and folded his hands.  He had a long face, with handsome features, a buzz cut of blond hair, and the kind of green eyes that can be startling if you look into them too deeply.

He smiled and said, "Bill, it seems to me that you have a bit of a problem."

I had no idea what he was talking about, unless he was referring to the bullying at school, or the fact that I had been sent to the principals office that week twice for not paying attention in class.  I wouldn't put it past my mother to try to intervene in this way.  

"Which problem?" I asked, trying not to sound snarky.

I guess he thought I already knew what he was talking about, because he just stared at me for a moment, then sighed as he realized that he was going to have to be the one to spell it out.  I just sat there, looking innocent, not having a clue.

In front of him on the coffee table was the bible that he had with him every time I saw him.  It was your typical bible that looked like it had been rifled through from front to back many times over the years.  The edges of the pages were red, and there was a white ribbon coming out of the top to hold the place.  He picked it up and sighed again.

I thought he was going to open it and start reading from it.  Or praying. But instead, he just held it like a talisman in both hands as he said, "Bill, you are one of the most devout kids I know.  You're what, 15 years old?  16?" 

I told him I had just turned 15 the previous April.

"Tell me," he said, obviously trying to get the conversation to take hold in a particular direction, "Do you love God?"

I frowned, not really understanding what that had to do with anything.

He went on, not waiting for me to respond, "Because the Bill I know would do anything to please God.  Isn't that a vow you took last Summer during Vacation Bible School?"

Actually, everyone took the vow as a group, not me specifically.  And after what had happened at the retreat, my commitment to that vow was really shakey.  

Again, I was silent.  I wanted to know where this was going, because I was getting really nervous.

The Youth Minister sighed a third time, giving on that sense of patience he was famous for around church.  I could tell, however, that he was going in for the kill.

"I heard about what happened at the retreat." he said, his face sympathetic, his voice quiet.  

I froze, suddenly feeling betrayed and trapped.  I hadn't seen that coming and I wasn't prepared to deal with it just then.  I shifted uncomfortably, and he jumped on that signal with zeal.

"Look, back when I was your age, I was one of the most lustful guys around.  I would think about girls all the time and sometimes it got out of control."

That was when I started to panic.  It wasn't my first panic attack, but it was the first one I had with a near stranger and that only made it worse.

On top of that, I was even more confused.  What did his horny teen years have anything to do with what happened to me at the retreat?  This was too much information to process at once, and my brain was freaking out.

I stood up, ready to bolt out of the house and start walking home.  It was Fall, and I suddenly longed for the cool air outside, and a long sidewalk ahead of me where I could walk a steady pace and think.  The memories of the summer were bubbling up again, and I needed to sort them out again.  It was like when someone jumps into a big pile of leaves you spent the entire afternoon putting together.  

"Bill, please sit down.  We really do need to talk about this. This is serious."

I stood there, feeling my hands beginning to shake, and the front door was calling to me.  My brain was screaming at me, and I was on the verge of tears.

He was right, this *was* serious.

"Please, Bill.  I'm your friend and I want to help you." he said, his voice soft in attempt to soothe, but it did no good.  It was like trying to blow down a house made of bricks.

I clenched my fists and said, "I don't want to talk about this."  I meant it too.

He stood up, and for a moment I thought he was going to touch me, which would have been a bad thing to do.  I didn't want to be touched, I didn't want to talk to him, or anybody.  I just wanted *out*.

"Bill, this isn't your fault.  Going all those years without a Dad, and then being cooped up in a cabin with all those other boys.  You're confused, and..." he said.

My jaws clenched.  I was reaching a breaking point, and I said through clenched teeth, "I am *not* confused.  I do *not* want to talk about it.  May I leave, *please*?"

The silence that followed was a vacuum.  I held my breath, feeling that the next one I took would turn into a scream of rage.  I didn't know why I was angry, but I was.  This really only happened when someone pushed me too far.

"Please sit down, Bill." he said, this time with a bit of authority.  

I stormed to the door and walked out.  With the last bit of clear thinking I had, I decided to leave the door open, knowing that any attempts to close it would have resulted in a slam.

---

The sky was grey and the wind cut deep, but it was cleansing to me.  I was still raging hard, but each step I had toward my house brought the rage ticker down slowly, and I could feel the heat leaving me with each caustic gust of cold wind.  

Generally speaking, my life was pretty emotionally chaotic then.  School was a den of torture for me, and I was becoming more and more uncomfortable at Church when I began to piece together who and what I truly was.  And that was before I had gone to the Retreat, which blew everything all to hell.

And now it seemed that my dirty little secret that wasn't really trying to hide was now out in the open, and I had to keep the information from getting to my mother.  It occurred to me that the Youth Minister might be on the phone with her at that moment, spilling everything, but that possibility went right along with how things had been going for months.  I had no control over anything, and everyone seemed to think they knew me better than I did.  

If the Youth Minister wasn't on the phone with my mother, it was possible that he might pull up next to me in his car.  I wasn't sure how I would react to that, since he was the last person I wanted to see in that moment, and if I still couldn't escape his "concern", then I would probably snap completely.

I stopped walking at a corner in the neighborhood and took a deep breath.  My panic attack was subsiding, and I could think a bit clearer now that I was away from that mess.  I had quite a walk ahead of me, but for once, it was very welcome.  

---

By the time I got home, the sky was darkening, and I was getting a bit tense.  The possibility that my mother had been called was still very real in my mind, but I took comfort in knowing that if it came to that, Mom would give me space until it was time to deal with it.  She was good at that when it came to things that weren't urgent, and I didn't think she would consider this an urgent matter.  

The stove catching on fire is the sort of thing she considered urgent.

I opened the front door and the house was full of Dinner Smells.  Tonight, it was the pungent bite of Sauerbraten and if I had to make a guess, Mom would be working on the Dumplings to go with it.  

I was starving, having skipped lunch.  My hunger gave me the bravery to go into the kitchen to face Mom as I pulled off my coat.  

She looked at me and smiled, and I knew somehow that she hadn't received a call from the Youth Minister.

She asked me how things went, and I gave a noncommittal answer.  She knew where I had been, and I let her assume that I had been there the whole time.  

Mom told me that dinner was almost done, and I went to wash my hands in preparation. 

As I was doing so, the phone rang.  I felt a pang rip through my guts, thinking that the call was finally coming.  What was worse, Mom was going to find out that I had walked all the way home, and she was going to ask my why.  I had a feeling that things were about to get very complicated.

I turned off the water and listened, but as I did, I heard Mom laughing, which was a good sign.  Still, it didn't tell me anything.  

I dried my hands on a towel and walked back to the kitchen.  Just as I walked in, Mom put the phone back onto the receiver.

I tried to sound casual when I asked who it was, and I didn't have a clue if I succeeded or not.  If I didn't, Mom didn't let on.

As it turned out, it was my mother's best friend.  That was all she told me, the conversation they had obviously a private one.

Dinner was uneventful, and particularly quiet.  My brother and sister didn't have a lot to say, and the things on my mind were not appropriate dinner conversation.  As soon as I was finished eating, I asked to be excused, and Mom asked if I had homework.  I only had a bit of reading to do, and then I would probably do a lot more reading of my own before drifting off to sleep.

---

I was in bed reading a book from the library, when Mom came into my room to see if I was alright.  She had noticed that I was acting a bit strange, and asked me if I wanted to talk about it.

It was in that moment that I felt better about the entire situation.  No matter what happened, I was going to be alright.  I had nothing to fear as far as my mother was concerned, and at that point in my life she was the only one who I was concerned about.  

I wasn't sure how she was going to react when she found out that I was gay, but I did know that it was inevitable that she would.  I didn't like lying to her, and one day there were going to be questions that I was going to have to answer. 

But as I looked at her, her face an expression of mild concern, I knew that she was going to love me no matter what.  I didn't know how I knew, but I did.

I thought she would leave at that point, but she didn't.  She sat on the edge of the bed, and I closed my book.  We talked about different things, like school and my trips to the library, which were becoming more frequent.  I didn't tell her that school was hell and that the library was my only real refuge, but those were details I didn't think she needed to know at that time.  

If what I suspected was true, there is plenty I would have to explain eventually.

I yawned, and she took that as a cute.  She took the book where it was laying on the bed and put it on the nightstand.  She kissed me on the forehead and left the room.  It was a while before I fell asleep, but when I did, I was at relative peace.

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