A Teeny Tiny Bit Homo Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Seventeen

This is the latest installment in my Accelerated Christian Education fan fiction. To learn more about it or see more chapters, go to the "ACE Gay Porn" page at the top of this blog, or to my Deviant Art page here:
http://feezlfuzzl.deviantart.com/


"So how do know...you know..." Ronny began, trailing off. "Sorry, never mind," he added quickly, fidgeting and playing with his fork.
Pudge quickly shoved a bite of tuna casserole into his mouth so that he wouldn't have to talk. "Um...well..." he said, as he swallowed, glancing nervously at his mother.
"It's okay, Pudge," she said, taking a deep breath. "We should be able to talk about these things. If you're ready."
"Well...when I was about twelve or so, I got this note from a girl. She said, 'I love you.'"
Ronny was staring at him, mouth open, his eyes seeming to be as big as saucers.
"Well, you don't have to look so surprised!" Pudge snapped. "Anyway, I realized that it felt good to be liked, but...well...I just didn't like her, like that."
"So you thought you were gay, because you didn't like her back?" Ronny asked.
"No, that never occurred to me then. Mom told me Christians can't be gay."
Marcy winced. "I'm sorry, Pudge."
Pudge looked down at his plate. "So when I got a bit older, I realized that all of the other guys started liking girls, and I didn't. And later they talked about struggling with lust, and somehow I didn't, and I wondered if I was normal, and then...well, and then I did...struggle with lust..." he said quietly. "But not in the right way."
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Marcy whispered. "That must have been awful, to go through all of that alone. How long have you known?"
"A few days," he shrugged.
"Days?" Ronny asked, confused. "But you said..."
"I only...I only realized it, that it was real, a few days ago."
Ronny was silent, staring down at his mostly uneaten food.
"Boys, if you're finished, I'll clear your plates," Marcy said, standing up.
"Thank you, Mrs. McMercy," Ronny said as she took his plate away. "I really thought the rain would let up, when I came over."
"It's fine, Ronny," Pudge answered. "I don't feel much like looking at Grandfather's truck today."
"I guess I'll go then," Ronny said quietly. "Good luck, Pudge."
"I'll walk you out," Pudge added quickly.
As Ronny opened the door, he suddenly stepped back, startled, as he came face-to-face with Pudge's grandfather.
"Oh--we were just about to knock!" Grandfather smiled.
"Oh, um, hello..." Ronny began.
"Dad! What are you doing here?" Marcy asked, coming into the living room.
"We were a little concerned; you left really suddenly, and you both forgot your bibles," Grandmother explained as they both came in from the rain.
Ronny was staring at the two, as if trying to recognize them, and Pudge looked very uneasy.
"Pudge wasn't feeling very well," Marcy explained, taking their bibles back. "We were sad to miss the sermon, but we really didn't have a choice."
"Woo!" Grandfather exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. "It was NOT what I expected!"
Pudge blanched at the thought.
"Reverend Rayford started talking about the horrors of the homosexual lifestyle..." Grandmother began.
Ronny glanced at Pudge, a look almost of sympathy crossing his face. If it wasn't Ronny, Pudge would be certain that it was sympathy.
"...but then it kind of...took an unexpected turn..." she finished.
"REALLY???!!!!" Ronny interjected, suddenly. "Sounds fascinating! Was he a top or a bottom? Or maybe there were more than two!"
The elderly couple stared at him in shock, mouths open. Pudge looked horrified. Marcy hid her mouth with her hand, scared and yet somehow, a little bit, grateful.
"This 'homosexual lifestyle' sounds wild!" Ronny grinned wickedly. "Maybe if I can just get my asshole in fighting shape, I'll be all set!"
"Pudge...?" Grandmother asked, uncertainly, "who is your...friend...?"
"He's not my friend!" Pudge said defensively. "I mean, he is, he kind of is..."
"Ronny Vain. I'm here to look at the truck out front, though I obviously can't do that today." Ronny extended his hand to Pudge's grandfather, who was closest to him; Grandfather leaned back, not offering his own hand.
"I...think I remember you now, son," Grandfather's eyes narrowed. "I see you haven't changed."
"Ha-ha!" Ronny laughed. "That was just a joke, Mr. McMercy. I just love to get people riled up."
"Well, it wasn't very funny, young man," Grandmother frowned in obvious disapproval.
"Duly noted, ma'am. You'll be pleased to hear that I was just leaving," Ronny nodded respectfully, starting to walk out the door.
Pudge glanced quickly after Ronny, as if wanting to say something.
"Pudge, please see Ronny out," Marcy said quickly, catching that glance. "While I get some coffee for your grandparents."
Pudge followed quickly, relieved to be away from them. "What were you doing?!" he demanded, as soon as the door was closed.
"Did you see the look on your face?" Ronny asked, walking towards his truck in the rain. "They would have known everything if I hadn't distracted them."
"You're not going to tell anybody then?" Pudge asked.
Ronny turned around. "No. No, of course not. Now, if it was Ace..." he grinned, briefly, his face quickly falling back into seriousness. "No, Pudge. You're the only one of those Jesus people I've ever been able to stand."
"Yeah, I'm not very good at witnessing," Pudge snarked, surprising himself.
Ronny smiled genuinely, his brown eyes sparkling. "You're turning into me!"
After all he had been through, the thought of turning into Ronny, of losing his faith and his church, brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't help it.
"I'm sorry, I..." Ronny began. "I didn't mean it. I mean...wait, why is it so bad to be me?" he asked suspiciously.
"It's not that, Ronny, it's just that...I could lose all my friends if this gets out. But I can't imagine lying to them..."
"ALL your friends?!" Ronny demanded. "What about the guy who just had lunch with you even after knowing that you're a homo?! Doesn't he count for anything?!"
Pudge quickly looked around, hoping no one would hear Ronny, as he was getting louder. Fortunately, the streets seemed to be deserted because of the rain.
"I'm sorry, Ronny. I didn't think about you," he said quietly.
"Yeah, of course you didn't," Ronny scoffed, opening the door to his truck.
"Ronny, wait!" Pudge grabbed his arm. Ronny turned around, leaning away from him. Realizing what he was doing, Pudge quickly let go. "I'm sorry. I'm just dealing with a lot right now, and...and I didn't understand why you were being so nice to me, because of what Ace told me, and...I'm sorry, Ronny. Of course you're my friend. You may be my only friend, very soon."
Tears were now streaming down Pudge's face, mixing with the rain. Ronny stared at him for a moment, then slowly brought his hand up, brushing the tears off Pudge's cheek with his thumb.
The sound of a car driving by startled Ronny, jerking him out of the moment. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he snatched his hand away as if it were touching a hot stove, jumping nearly out of his skin.
"I have to go!" he said quickly, jumping into the seat of his truck and slamming his door between them. He peeled out of there at a speed much too dangerous, Pudge thought, for these wet and rainy road conditions.
"Yeah," Pudge muttered bitterly to himself. "So glad you won't desert me...friend."

Umpqua: I Am On The "Friendly Atheist" Blog

After the shooting at my school (Umpqua Community College) happened, the school was suddenly in the national spotlight. So I thought that some people would like to hear my story about being an atheist at UCC, and trying to start an atheist club there last year.
But my blog is small, and even people who would want to hear it might not get to. So I contacted Hemant Mehta of the Friendly Atheist blog, whom I had long respected and admired, about being a guest writer there. I thought I could be friendly enough, after all.
Here is my story, which I don't feel I should reprint here--after all, I wrote it for Hemant's blog. But I will provide the link to it, and I may elaborate on the same story here on this blog if I have time.
Some people who have commented on The Friendly Atheist have said that they would like to see me contribute more to that site. I think that I will (with Hemant's permission), if I have something that would be of interest to all or most atheists, and is specifically on the topic of atheism or religion. Here, it is more about life's journey, so that I talk about all different subjects, and interesting or funny incidences that happen to me.
If I write again for The Friendly Atheist or any other site, I will provide the link on this blog.

It's All Over When The Bigot Says Fuck

I became friends with someone before I knew that she had an evangelical background, and was, for all intents and purposes, still in it. She threw a fit on Facebook right after the marriage equality ruling, apparently thinking that people didn't "accept" the fact that she wanted to make millions of people second-class citizens.
This has bothered me ever since, and being in class with her almost made me physically sick. The worst part is that she is so very "nice," and I don't think she wants to harm anyone. But apparently, she believes that God wants her to.
I don't care that she was a Christian, but there is really no excuse not to be an LGBT-affirming one. There is much dispute about the "clobber" passages, so that nothing is really "clear," as much as some people would want it to be. Even if it was, I believe that that would be the most damning evidence that at least that part of the bible was NOT written by an all-loving God, and that it would be immoral to harm or condemn people when they are not harming anyone else.
I wanted so very, very much to tell her, matter-of-factly and without anger, that "acceptance" does NOT include taking away people's equal rights, and that if she would vote against equality at the first opportunity, that she has no right to call herself any LGBT person's friend.
But I felt that I could not say anything, because I saw her almost every day.
I was very much bothered literally every time I saw her or thought about her. She was well-meaning, but still supported policies that harmed people. She thought that "loving" people gave her a right to do whatever she wanted. She thought that the bible was a license to get her way.
In other words, she was me, about ten years ago.


Lately, though, things seem to be looking up. I feel so much lighter and freer ever since I heard her cuss. We can now be real friends, rather than my feeling like a fraud for talking to her.
In class the other day, she talked about seeing the elderly people who came into the store where she works, and the unique way in which they walked. "They're just like, 'Get out of my way, I'm going to get to wherever the FUCK I wanna go!'" she shouted, laughing. It surprised me, and warmed my heart.
I remember when I first started cussing, at around age thirteen. It was the beginning of the end, and though it took a long time, I am finally free today.
There are other little clues that I believe point to her impending escape.
She was the one who laughed longest and loudest, a few days before that, when another person pointed out, "I think in this play, 'Dear mother!' means, 'Oh, fuck!'"
That same day, she did an impression of a British accent. "See? See? I'm just a cockney bastard!"
Practicing for a small skit, a male friend of ours said, "I guess I can stand in for the other lady right now."
"He's a lady!" she smiled.
"Well, except that's not how I identify," he mildly protested. "I identify as a man."
(This guy is straight, as far as I know, but I think the correct use of the verb "identify" is probably a sign that he's an ally.)


"Ruth" at twenty reminds me of myself at about sixteen: Surrounded by evangelical friends and family, knowing exactly what she "should" be but secretly longing to be herself (whatever that is, because she doesn't know). Afraid to say what she really thinks out loud to herself, much less to others (if she even knows what she really thinks). And wondering how much, exactly, is what God expects her to be, and how much, exactly, is what other people expect her to be.
I'm guessing at all of this, of course, except for the evangelical friends and family. But I believe that she is exactly what I was: Stuck. In so many ways.


But she is different than me in a lot of ways too. She has many gay friends, being in theater, whereas I only knew my mother's lesbian coworker at my Stuck Age, and that not very well. She has seen the film "The Laramie Project," in one of our classes, about people's reactions to Matthew Sheppard having been brutally attacked for being gay.
"I just thought, 'What if it was Harrison?'" she said, about a mutual friend that I have also written much about. (I thought that was in poor taste, actually, because Harrison was helping with that class and could have walked in at any moment--though I was thinking the exact same thing as she was.)
In other words, she has less of an excuse, and may not take as long to escape the institutionalized bigotry.


She's probably torn, but there is an easy solution (well, relatively easy, though it takes admitting to yourself what you actually believe). So she can't "come out" as an ally right now; I say, don't. There's no reason, though, that she can't tell her closest friends that she is for their equal rights, but that she can't say anything publicly right now. (She has been, I think, intentionally vague and hard to pin down on the subject, probably because she herself doesn't know quite what to believe.)
It's kind of like another friend of mine said to me once, when I mentioned him being an ally, "I actually do consider myself to be gay, I'm just not very public about it." (Although my mom once saw him swaying down the street in rather "feminine" short shorts and a crop top, so he's probably more public about it than he realizes.)
Still, the solution remains the same. But that would take actually figuring out and coming to terms with where one really stands, not where they stand only because they're afraid of hell.

Ruth has mentioned that she is going to be "Waldo" for Halloween. She will dress as someone who is literally lost. How poignant.
Harrison will be a "gender-bent" Poison Ivy, making me wonder if "they" (Harrison's chosen pronoun) will eventually become a "she." Meanwhile, I have decided to dress as what I consider myself to be in real life: A Fairy Godmother.
I consider myself to be a "Fairy Godmother" because I agree wholeheartedly (if God exists) with Ruth's ironic line in an upcoming play (by Oscar Wilde, a gay man): "I was wrong. God's law is only love."

Not Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Sixteen

This is the latest installment of my subversive Accelerated Christian Education fan fiction. To see more chapters, go to the "ACE Gay Porn" page at the top of this blog, or to my Deviant Art page here.


 
 Jamal Michael Kindharte and Pastor Alltruth emerged from the pastor's office just as Happy and Becky were coming out of the children's classroom. Becky Meekway taught Sunday school to the children, and Hapford Humble assisted her. Pastor Alltruth did not look pleased.
Happy smiled at J. Michael. "Hi, Michael," he said quietly. Happy was a very tall, large-built young man, with pale blue eyes, light blond hair, and what appeared to be a form of Down Syndrome.
"Hello, Happy, how are you?" J. Michael shook his hand.
"Nice to see you again, Michael," Becky nodded.
"Hello, Becky," J. Michael nodded in return.
"I missed the sermon today," Becky said. "Was it a good one?"
"It was...interesting," J. Michael said tactfully.
"He's just passionate about what he believes," Pastor Alltruth said shortly. "He may be mistaken about some things, but that doesn't mean that he's not right about the sinfulness of homosexuality."
"It's not a sin, Pastor," Happy said quietly.
J. Michael and Pastor Alltruth gasped, staring in shock at Happy. Becky. strangely, did not seem surprised.
"What did you say, Happy?" Pastor Alltruth demanded, forgetting to be especially nice to Happy, like everyone usually was.
"Being gay is not a sin. It's gay sex that is a sin," he explained slowly, obviously nervous.
Alltruth explained slowly, as if to a small child, "It is a sin, though, because they choose to defy God's natural order of things."
"It's gay sex that is a sin, not being gay," Happy repeated, after a second or two.
"But Happy, homosexuals choose to sin," Alltruth said, getting a bit annoyed.
"But sometimes they don't," Happy said, looking down at his feet.
"I think what Happy is trying to say, is that Christians can struggle with same-sex attraction, and yet choose not to give in to it. Isn't that what you meant to say, Happy?" Becky smiled at him.
Happy nodded, still staring at his feet.
"Yes, but Jesus said that if you lust in your heart, it's the same as if you committed the sin."
"But surely Reverend Rayford doesn't lust in his heart?" Becky asked, trying to be respectful. "I'm sure he talked about still being tempted, at least some of the time? It's like a straight man, who chooses not to lust after a woman, right?" Becky smiled, placatingly.
"No, it's not!" Alltruth frowned, his patience at its limit.
"But if it is a sin, then surely Jesus Himself was tempted to do it!" Becky said passionately. "The Bible says that He was 'tempted in every way, like as we are, but without sin...'"
"The bible also says that women are not supposed to speak out in church!" Pastor Alltruth snapped, shouting and glaring at her.
Becky became red, looking down at her feet and shrinking away from him.
"Pastor, please," J. Michael interceded, stepping between them. "She's just mistaken," he smiled, though he now wondered about that.
"Michael, stay out of this! This isn't your place--I mean, your church!"
"You're scaring them, Pastor."
Furious, Pastor Alltruth flew back into his office, slamming the door with a bang.
The three stared after him for a long moment.
"Th-thank you," Becky finally said.
J. Michael didn't know what to say. He looked over at Happy, who was in tears. J. Michael wondered if he really wanted to be at this church, where women were intimidated and the pastor yelled at a mentally retarded person.
"Come on, we should get out of here," J. Michael said quickly, tugging on Happy's arm. "Give him some space."
"We forgot our umbrellas," Becky said, looking out the windows of the exit doors, where a heavy drizzle came down. "We got here early, and when we walked, it wasn't raining that badly. We were waiting for it to let up."
"I'll give you two a ride home," J. Michael said quickly.
"Oh, um, I don't know if I should..." Becky hedged, biting her lip. Girls were most definitely not supposed to accept rides from guys, even fellow believers, for fear something would happen. J. Michael wondered if she was especially hesitant to take a ride from a black man.
"It's okay, we got a chaperon here," J. Michael smiled, looking over at Happy. "It would be a shame if you two had to walk in the rain."
"Well, I guess it's okay, then," Becky said finally, looking relieved. J. Michael knew she would feel safer with such a large man as Happy with her. He knew every man would have to have these thoughts when dealing with women, but he thought bitterly that he especially had to be careful, and especially with white women. He wasn't about to leave them here with Pastor Alltruth as he was, though.
Happy got in the front seat, Becky in the back seat. Happy looked too upset to talk, so as they drove off J. Michael asked Becky, "So Becky, long you been teaching Sunday school?"
"I took over from Sandy about a year ago. She got married," she said, leaning forward to talk and referring to her older sister, who was about J. Michael's age, maybe three years older.
"I'll bet the children are pretty funny," he remarked.
"Oh, they are! The Israelites are the Lizard-lites!" she gushed. J. Michael laughed, and even Happy cracked a slight smile.
"I remember hearing a story about you, when you were younger," J. Michael said. "The teacher was telling the class to obey their parents, when they told them to wear their rain coats, and you asked, 'What if it isn't raining?'"
"Yeah, I wish someone had told me to today," she grimaced. "The teacher said that we must obey our parents, no matter what, and God would reward us."
"But what if it's not raining?" he asked, slightly amused and at the same time wanting to make her think.
"But it is raining," she said.
"But what if it's not? Then you're wearing your raincoat for nothing--or believing in a false doctrine."
"But God will reward you for submitting to authority," she said.
"God will reward you for subscribing to a false doctrine?" he contradicted, a little more fervent than he meant to. "I'm sorry. I just think that our leaders are human too, and as such, they could be wrong."
"They ARE wrong!" Happy said suddenly, vehemently. He was starting to cry again.
"Yes, Happy, there are wrong," J. Michael said, almost whispering. "And if they're wrong about one thing, they could be wrong about another."
"He's very compassionate," Becky explained. "He reads a lot, and he just wants people to have an easier time. He knows they're hurting, because their churches don't understand the difference between being gay and acting on it."
"Yeah, I don't think it's right to be gay--I mean, be a practicing homosexual," J. Michael said, correcting himself. "And I don't think they should get married. But I don't agree with them being discriminated against. That's just wrong. I have relatives who would know something about that, first-hand."
"Sounds like you're a little more enlightened than Pastor Alltruth," Becky said quietly. "This is my house. Happy lives just across the street. Thank you, Michael," she said as she got out.
"No problem. Remember what I said about the rain." 

Going Back To Umpqua

I went back to Umpqua Community College, for the first time since the shooting, on Tuesday. The media and many people from the community were there on Monday, I knew, but my class was on Tuesday.
There were no flags hanging from the tops of utility trucks, like I had seen in pictures of Umpqua College Road on Monday, but I did drive past many signs showing support.
There was also a large purple RV with the words "Billy Graham" splashed across it, sitting on the side of the road by the college's first driveway. I assume that was as close as they could get legally. There was a man sitting in the open door. He wasn't Billy or his son Franklin. The ministry people had obviously thought that we didn't have any churches in Roseburg, so they sent a Port-A-Preacher.

There wasn't anything else that had changed, when I walked into the small theater in which I had my acting class. Of course, I had arrived a few minutes early.
The substitute for our teacher arrived and I shook hands with her. The original teacher had had to take time off, after what happened. Apparently it had affected her very closely.
I was only the second student to arrive. After all of the others had arrived, that was when the parade began.

 In addition to the nine students and our new teacher, there were, crowded in that space:

Two therapy dogs
Two dog handlers
Another guy from the therapy dog agency
Three social workers from an organization known as Community Health Alliance
Two people from the community college in Salem
The director of the art and theater department


The famous comedian, Carol Burnett, was one of the dog handlers, but she lied and said that her name was Barb. We're onto you, Carol.
"There are people all across the country thinking about you--and praying for you," Carol said, significantly. The dog people made us all take business cards for both of the dogs, Hannah and Moses, whom they said each had their own Facebook pages.
This is what the cards looked like:

And the bible verses on their cards match the bible verses on their Facebook pages, in the "About" tab.
"They're like Pokemon cards," the man who wasn't a handler said. "You gotta collect them all. Except they all have the same power. They throw Comfort-Bombs!" he said enthusiastically.
His joke made me uncomfortable.

As far as I could tell, all the dogs have biblical names. I found a "Jonah" puppy on Facebook, but that was all I could find in a cursory search. (Edit: I have since found a Cubby, a Susie, a Zippy, a Tabby, and an Angel, though "Angel" doesn't really count as secular. There are still a lot of biblical names, though, Jacob, for example.)
There were also large Jesus-fishes splashed across the dogs' vests, in addition to the fishes and bible verses on their cards. All of this is a huge violation, in my opinion, of these dogs' freedom of religion. You can't tell me that every single one of those dogs is a Christian. That's statistically impossible.
These "Lutheran Church Charities" people are obviously compensating for not being able to preach or give out gospel tracts in the places where they go to help. And I thought I was a little militant by wearing my tiny rainbow flag pins everywhere. (Yes, I wore them that day, and I was glad that I had.)
Of course, I did appreciate all of these offers of help, from many different people and animals. But I knew that the people who really needed help the most were probably absent. And these helping people couldn't reach out to them.
I also knew that at least for me, it is most difficult long after a tragedy, not right after. I can easily say, "My cat died yesterday," for example, but a week or month afterwards, it's extremely difficult to even think about it, much less talk about it.
I didn't really need it (though others might have), but it was neat having dogs in the class, and petting them, because they were cleaner and calmer than my two large, difficult-to-wash dogs.
And I was polite to the Lutherans and the others. I smiled, and said "Thank you," for their prayers and cards, though I was a little uncomfortable with so much attention and their overly soothing tones of voice. I smiled, but (with church people) they didn't know that I wasn't always smiling with them...

Not Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Fifteen

This is part of my subversive Accelerated Christian Education fan fiction. To learn more or to see more chapters (sixteen so far), go to the "ACE Gay Porn" tab at the top of this site, or to my Deviant Art page here.

 
"That's okay, Pastor. I can see myself out." Jamal Michael Kindharte smiled politely, trying to counteract the slight edge in his voice that he couldn't help.
He had been preparing for this awkward conversation for a long time now. The long meeting in the old, white pastor's office had involved a lot of passive-aggressive pleasantries. Pastor Alltruth had been "concerned" that "Michael" would be more "comfortable" in his old church. J. Michael had just smiled and reassured him that he was right at home anywhere that the word of God was preached.
Alltruth had been taken aback for a moment. "Um...but surely there is a slight cultural difference...?" the old white preacher had objected.
"The only culture I need is the culture of committed believers. That is the culture here, is it not?" he had nodded, a smile plastered on his face. "We are all one in Christ, after all."
"Well, yes, but...you grew up in that church. Do you really want to abandon it now?"
He had been asked this question, sometimes in anger, by some of his own friends and family. He knew, though, that this was what he wanted to do--or rather, what needed to be done.

The hurt, for him, ran deep.
Their school system was still segregated. The commute to his all-black, private Christian school was almost an hour, while the white school (truly, the white school), Highland, was only thirty minutes away. He had passed it twice a day, every day.
He later realized how truly disturbing it was that his black school was called Harmony--as if that should be the primary goal of the African-American community: "getting along" (and it didn't refer to "getting along" among themselves, either). He believed, and had no doubts at all, that the message was deliberate. Black people, judged by white people, according to white standards, of how well they got along with whites.
There were all these "little things" that had disturbed, all his life. He had been called Jamal in the first few weeks of first grade, and remembered the day that his teachers had first started calling him by his middle name. He had been confused, but had eventually gotten used to it. He only realized, years later, that, if memory served him, it had coincided with a special visit from the head of the white school, who had visited their classrooms and had spoken in chapel. He wasn't sure whose idea it was to change his name, and sometimes doubted that he was remembering it correctly. The worst part was not knowing for sure, and not being able to bring it up or wonder aloud without sever condemnation for "playing the race card."
 But he wondered if making blacks doubt themselves was not a tactic to leave whites off the hook for their actions. And when he thought of all the other "little things," they sure seemed to add up fast...
He got into the habit, when he was older, of asking his supervisors and principal how long they had been teaching, and (a few days later, so that they wouldn't suspect what he was doing), how many times they had spoken at the other schools. Most had only spoken a handful of times, if that. Speaking at the Philippino school was also much more common than speaking at the white school.
Yet he knew the head of the white school by name, he was so familiar with him.
He started noticing that some girls were told their hair was "unkempt" when they wore it long. The dress code encouraged girls to have long hair, as it was "proper," but very curly hair became "messy" when it got long and stuck out at the sides. Those girls fought a losing battle with their hair, trying different products and things, but could never really please the black, female monitors, most of whom had straight or nearly straight hair. He wondered if they would have been hired otherwise. He noticed that teachers were especially fussy the day before a white guest speaker came.
He didn't realize, until he got to college, that the word "apartheid" was a bad thing. A very, very bad thing.
And that American slavery was almost never "mutually beneficial," with women raped, families torn apart, and people abused, tortured, and killed. He knew now why most of his teachers seemed so uncomfortable when the topic came up--because they knew better! They knew that they were teaching the children a lie.

He also learned, in college, that all of these "little things," that so bothered him, had a name: Microaggressions.

There was now a word to fit all of the many times that he had had to "wonder." For all of the times that whites said he was equal, then had dismissed out of hand what he had to say about his own life and what had happened to him.
For all of the times that they had said they respected him, then had not bothered to make him feel respected.
For all of the times that they thought not "hating" someone was enough.
For all of times that they professed love for him as a brother in Christ, then had spoken badly about bills protecting his equal rights--even those that were decades in the past, when they were sorely needed, as bigotry was much more present (or rather, as he knew in his heart, more openly expressed and "acceptable").
For all of the times that they affirmed that Christians should marry "within their own culture," making him if a black man, even a committed believer, wasn't good enough for their daughters.
For all of the times that white people made excuses for violence and discrimination that seemed so very plain and obvious to him, even when these horrible people were not fellow believers. (But what did he know? They said he was an equal, but acted as if his mind was inferior and incapable of making correct observations, unlike theirs.)
For all of the times that the races should be "separate," while white people controlled all of the power structures. (And apparent "separate" did not include master-slave relationships.)
For all the times he had apparently "played the race card" when trying to bring up real concerns.
For all the times someone had uttered, "I'm not racist, but..."

So he had come home, now, and had set his mind to changing things.
He had gotten opposition, it seemed, from almost every direction (though his mother and a few of his friends understood). Some thought he was turning his back on his community. Others were concerned for what would happen to him, both within the church, and, in an unspoken, heavily implied way, to his physical safety.
He sometimes even doubted himself, wondering if he was doing the right thing, especially with his mother's concerns. But he felt that he had to see just how far he could go in his little cause. Some black children might not be as strong as he was, able to resist those implied messages and weed out the bullshit. He especially didn't want his future son or daughter to have to deal with that, and so he felt compelled to at least try to change the system from within.
And so he had prepared himself for this uncomfortable conversation, writing down his points and trying to anticipate what the old white pastor would try to say. He knew he was probably not the first one to attempt this. He hoped that he would be the last to have to.
And so he had smiled, nodded, and politely but firmly told Pastor Alltruth that he would feel right at home in a church where he knew he would not be welcome because of the color of his skin.

Umpqua: "AJ Would Have Been Martyred!"

 This is embarrassing, because I hit the "Publish" button by accident, before I had actually written this post. Sorry for any confusion.

I went to a family reunion recently, or as I morbidly call it, my "Look everyone, I'm not dead!" tour.
I attend Umpqua Community College, and I had talked to my grandparents that very day to tell them that I was okay. But when my grandmother greeted me with a hug yesterday (our family custom), she said, rather emotionally, "I haven't seen you since all this happened! I am so glad you are all right!" I thought she was making too big a deal out of it, but, well, it was a mass murder, and I certainly am grateful that I'm alive. They probably didn't know that I had my class in the afternoon, either, with the shooting in the morning.
My mom tells me that at one point, my "Uncle 'Phobe" remarked, intensely, "Just think, if AJ had been there, she would have been shot, because she would have said, 'Yes, I am a Christian!'"
Supposedly, the gunman targeted Christians, though I have learned that that was not exactly the case.
I'm not sure my uncle should have said such a thing to my mother, either. The thought of losing a child has to be a parent's worst fear.
And as for what he said, you can probably tell that most of my family does not know that I am kind of, well...not. Sometimes I'm not even sure that the word "atheist" accurately describes me either. I don't really know what I am, but I know very well what I'm not.
As my mom told me this story on the way home, she said, "And I thought, no, she wouldn't have!"
The tone in her voice almost sounded as if she were saying, "You BETTER not!"
A few days after the shooting, as we were talking about it, she had said, "You remember this: I would rather have a live coward than a dead hero!" And when she said it, I felt...loved.

I am rather surprised that my Uncle 'Phobe thought that I would say that. I had assumed that he thought I wasn't a "real" Christian anyway, after disagreeing with him about gay rights. Apparently he thinks that one can be saved, and also be "wrong" about things. That was a pleasant surprise.

I used to be bothered about not being able to express my doubts in front of my family, or even call myself an atheist to my family, but after learning about all of the shit that LGBTQ people have to go through, I rather identify with them, as a bisexual person and an ally, more than I identify with atheists. Whether one believes in God or not is really of no consequence to me now; what matters is how people treat one another. And yes, I did think that religion led to bad treatment, until I met a lot of good-hearted gay and allied Christians.
But I do think it's ironic that if my extended family knew that I would say the right words to save my life, they would worry about me so much more, not less. And that saving my own life becomes a wicked act, when I don't even do it at other people's expense. And even for most of my gay Christian friends, I can't imagine them denying Christ.
What I can imagine, however, is an all-loving Christ being perfectly understanding about things like this. My own mother would rather have me say that I hated her, and live, than to say that I loved her, and die. I know--I asked. And she feels this way, well, because she cares about me.
I wonder what that says about some people's conception of God...

Not Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Fourteen

 This is my Accelerated Christian Education fan fiction, which has sixteen chapters so far. You can see all of it on the "ACE Gay Porn" page at the top of this site, or on my Deviant Art page here.


The knocking persisted.
"Who is it?" Marcy called, glancing at Pudge and trying to keep her composure.
"It's Ronny," said the voice from outside. "Um...Mrs McMercy?"
Marcy instinctively rushed to the door, grabbing Ronny and pulling him inside, as if it were dangerous out there.
Ronny looked frantically from one to the other, a frightened expression on his face, and Pudge was suddenly aware of how obvious it was that both he and his mother had been crying.
"Is something wrong?" Ronny asked. "What happened?"
"Nothing is wrong, Ronny," Marcy explained quickly. "It's just that...well, it's a little complicated, but nothing is really the matter, dear."
"But--did I come at a bad time?" he asked.
"No, honey, though I'm afraid we did forget that you were supposed to come by today."
"But--is everyone all right? Did something happen to someone?" Ronny was getting more upset and agitated by the minute.
Marcy put her hand on his arm. "It's all right, Ronny--really!" She glanced at Pudge, raising her eyebrows questioningly. Did Pudge want to tell him, or keep it to himself?
Ronny had a devastated, desperate look on his face. Suddenly Pudge remembered that look, from Ronny's accident, years ago, in which Suzy had been killed.
Ronny thinks someone has died! Pudge thought with sudden clarity. Ronny was probably still haunted by that experience; who wouldn't be?
Pudge knew what he had to do. "Ronny," he said decisively, standing up and taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Nothing is wrong. Nobody is hurt. We're just discussing...the fact that I'm gay!" he said quickly, before he lost the nerve.
Ronny was silent for a moment, mouth open, clearly stunned. "No one got hurt?" he repeated, as if half listening.
"No, honey, no one is hurt," Marcy reassured him.
Ronny seemed to suddenly realize something. "What--you're...?"
"Yes," Pudge nodded, looking Ronny square in the eye, and with a calm that surprised himself. "I am."
"And you're okay with this?" he asked incredulously, staring at Marcy.
"Yes," Marcy said softly, looking at Pudge. "I am okay with it. He's my son. I trust him."
Pudge nearly cried, so touched was he by her response. This was nothing like what he had expected!
"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely, not caring if Ronny heard.
"Huh. Wow," Ronny muttered. This was nothing like he had expected--this was nothing like he had gotten, and he hadn't even been homo!
...At the time, a small voice whispered inside his head. He ignored it, for now.
"So you're still going to that one church?" Ronny asked. "With the big steeple, and the dresses, and the...?" he trailed off, glancing at Mrs. McMercy's well-concealed ankles. 
"Yep," Pudge sighed. "Still going there!"
"And they're not okay with it?"
Pudge snorted in a rather bitter laugh. "Ha! You have no idea!"
"That is actually what we were just discussing," Marcy spoke up. "We will have to decide whether we want to continue going there..."
Pudge was surprised. Give up their church? He had grown up in that church! He had gotten saved, then baptized, then had prayed and learned and grown in that church. How was he supposed to give all that up? Maybe he could keep it a secret, and if he didn't give in to sin, it would all be okay.
But then again, he was uncomfortable when people started talking about "perverts" and homosexuals. This was HIM--but it wasn't him! He didn't want to sin! He wasn't one of those people they talked about, but he knew that if he told them, they would think he was. And if he told them, truthfully, otherwise, they would assume he was lying, and tell him so. He might even be kicked out or shunned. Even his boss at the grocery store went to that church...
He wasn't what they would assume he was--unless, of course, God had given him over to perversions already. A moment of fear briefly paralyzed him, until he tried to reassure himself. He didn't want to sin, and he hadn't sinned yet--at least, not with someone else, and not enough to be considered a "lifestyle"...he hoped.
"Maybe I should come back later?" Ronny was saying, pulling Pudge out of his thoughts.
"No, it's all right, Ronny, really," Marcy answered. "You boys relax, and I'll make us all some lunch."
Pudge flopped back onto the couch, while Ronny took the chair next to it.
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Pudge asked quietly.
"No, of course not." Ronny paused, unable to think of what to say. "I mean, sometimes, even I, myself...never mind," he said quickly.
"But I thought you liked Suzy!" Pudge blurted, without thinking.
"I do! I did," Ronny protested, correcting himself. "She was...she was great."
There was a long, awkward silence between them.
"I loved her, in fact," Ronny finally said low, his voice nearly cracking. "I...I killed her...but I loved her."
"You could find forgiveness, Ronny," Pudge said automatically.
"Will that bring her back?!" Ronny snapped.
"The casserole is still heating!" Marcy answered crossly, as she returned. "That's why I'm coming back!" 
Ronny stared at her, an expression of hurt, fear, and confusion darkening his face.
"Mom...we were just talking about Suzy," Pudge explained quietly.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Ronny. I didn't realize." She sat down on the opposite end of the couch to Pudge. "Some people didn't care for her, but I liked her. She was a nice girl, for the most part."
"She was," Ronny nodded, putting his head in his hands. "And I killed her."
"Oh, honey, that was an accident," Marcy began.
"I killed her," Ronny repeated. "It was my fault. I should have been the one to die."
"Don't say that, Ronny!" Marcy corrected him sharply. "You didn't know any better!"
Instinctively Pudge reached out and put a hand on Ronny's back, then realized what he was doing and snatched it away self-consciously, stealing a furtive glance at his mother. He had been taught in church and school all of his life to avoid physical contact with the opposite sex, for fear of promoting lust, but now he was not sure what was okay for him and what wasn't. He had been forbidden to touch girls all his life, and taught to avoid lust all his life. But now these two things were clearly not the same. It didn't feel right to touch anyone now. And though he hadn't meant it in "that way," he was afraid Ronny and his mother would think he had.
Neither of them seemed to notice, fortunately. Marcy got up, crossing the room and knelt on the ground to be at Ronny's level.
"Ronny, look at me," she began, as he looked up. "No, Suzy should not have died. But you are not going to solve anything by hating yourself, and letting us, and the rest of the world, lose you too. The world has already lost one great young person, it doesn't need to lose another. You want to honor Susie, then make your life count for something--don't waste it or throw it away. Promise me you won't make us lose you too."
Silently, Ronny nodded, tears in his eyes.
"And Ronny, you can find forgiveness, too," she continued.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. McMercy," Ronny cut in, "I know you mean well, and I know you're just trying to help, but it's not going to bring her back, and it's not going to make me feel better."
"Well, all right, but at least think about what I said before."
Ronny nodded. "Okay." He actually, almost, felt a little bit better now.

I Go To Umpqua Community College

I did not know the shooter, but I am good friends with people who did. As far as I can tell, no one I know was hurt or killed.
My gay baby, "Harrison," is unharmed. My conservative-in-all-the-wrong-ways friend "Ruth" is unharmed. (I am glad, though I hate how she is a mixture of good and evil. She doesn't deserve death, she just deserves to have her rights taken away from her until she understands.)
The young man who danced with a loaf of bread after not being interested in me is unharmed. All of the people I have mentioned on this blog are unharmed.
The killer, Chris Harper Mercer, was to be a production assistant in my very first play in which I had been cast. When my mom learned of it, she had to lie down.
The play was called "Blithe Spirit" by Noel Coward. It was a comedy about a pesky ex-wife who is also a ghost. Given the subject matter, I am guessing that it will be cancelled now.
"I painted with him!" Ruth said.
Harrison's phone cracked the previous day, so they (I learned recently that Harrison is actually androgynous, and so goes by "they" and not "he") decided to go without it, on what turned out to be the worst possible day to do so. I was only worried for an hour or two, since I contacted someone who was sitting right next to them, on the bus, I presume. But others were worried, very much so. I tried to tell those people that Harrison was okay, whenever I saw someone asking about them.


I was at home at the time of the shooting. I have an afternoon class, and I was going to go to school later that day. My mom called and didn't even say hello before ordering me, "You are not going to school today!"
"Okay," I said, knowing something was wrong. "Why not?"
"There's been a shooting. Like, fifteen kids are dead!" (Supposedly, we now know it's only ten. "Only" ten.)
I went on Facebook to learn more, my heart sinking. Someone I barely knew messaged me, "Are you okay???" I said that I was.
There was a lot of frantic scrambling, on Facebook, to see if friends were all right. It was chaos. I decided it needed some organization, so I made a huge, long, public list of every name that I could find that was all right. I also made a special page, "List of Umpqua Community College Shooting Survivors," and updated both lists every time I found a new name. I knew that people I didn't even know would search for something like this, so I created that special page.
I was somewhat of a celebrity over the next few hours. People were liking my posts, sharing them all over. People commented, saying, "Thank you for doing this," "This is a blessing," etc. I have had four new friend requests, and people that I sent friend requests to months ago accepted.
"Where is Harrison??!!" somebody shouted.
"I saw his name on a list of people who were okay," someone else said.
"Yes, it is AJ's page," one of my friends informed them, mentioning me so that I could see her talking about me.
"I don't know, I just saw a screenshot of it," the former person said.

"Oh Ruth, I was so relieved to see your name on AJ's list!" gushed someone that I didn't even know, had never even heard of.

People gave me as many names as they could. Sometimes they would say, "My brother is all right," or "I saw Jane Doe's niece, Nancy." So I said, "A brother of John Doe, who is also confirmed unharmed, but whose name is unknown." I also said, "Nancy Doe--I believe it is Nancy Doe, she is the niece of Jane Doe." I listed their names even if they were total strangers to me.
I wanted to give as much hope to as many people as possible, and people were very grateful for it. I thought it was kind of cool that I had left my "gay pride" filter up, from the marriage equality ruling months ago. So total strangers knew that someone who could be gay was doing this.

I don't have nearly as much trauma and grief from this as some others, but I am feeling very shocked by this, in a sort of fog where I don't quite know what to do with myself. Suddenly, my hometown is famous, and not in a good way. Instead of struggling to pronounce, "Umpqua," people now know our name like they know Laramie and Columbine. I never thought I would ever be so close to the center of the action, especially this kind of action.

I don't know when the next family gathering is, but I assume my Uncle 'Phobe will probably ask me about it. If he mentions it, I will say, "Well, it wasn't the gays, because this lesbian wasn't on campus." (I'm bi, but it's not like he would know the difference.) I've just decided to come out to my family by being myself and making jokes about my gay self, whatever those jokes are at the moment.

There are rumors that the Westboro Baptist Church ("God hates fags" people) is going to attend the funerals. If you see any news videos, look for me, the girl in the bright pink t-shirt that says "Fag And Proud" and holding a sign that says "UCC Gay-Straight Alliance Club."

Still A Tiny Bit Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Thirteen

Pudge had been silent the entire ride home, as his mother drove. She had not stopped to retrieve their bibles from the sanctuary, saying that it didn't matter, they had more bibles at home. Pudge had never seen her leave her precious bible anywhere--it had belonged to his father.
Pudge had never felt so sick before in his life. His stomach literally felt as if it were tying itself into knots, and he couldn't even look at his mother as they walked into the house.
He tried to head straight for his room. "Pudge, stop!" his mother ordered, gently but firmly, "Let's talk about this," she said, guiding him by the shoulders towards the couch.
"Mom, I don't want to sin!" he nearly shouted. "I don't want to go out and fornicate with some random stranger!"
"Then don't!" Marcy exclaimed. "If you don't want to fornicate, Pudge, then you don't have to!"
Pudge seemed a bit taken aback. "I love Jesus," he said, "You know I do--and not in that way! I'm still a Christian!"
"I know, Pudge, I know," she agreed. "I know your heart, Pudge; I know you love the Lord. How long have you struggled like this?"
Pudge sat down. "Since I was twelve. I thought it was okay, though, since it wasn't that bad, until..." he trailed off.
"Until what, Pudge?" she prompted softly.
"Until Ronny came over," he choked.
She sat down next to him. "Do you like Ronny?" she asked gently.
"No!" he roared. "I don't like him, and I don't want to have sex with him!"
"I know, I know! That's not what I meant!" Marcy exclaimed. "I just meant that he's turned into a nice boy, now."
"What?! How can you say that?"
"Well, he has! I didn't mean anything else, than that he was nice. I could see why you...well, you know..."
"He's not even a believer. And he's a guy! How could you approve of this? Are you telling me to...?"
"I'm not telling you anything, Pudge. And I'm not approving or...or disapproving, of anything. I merely wanted to say that I think your feelings are perfectly understandable."
"I don't have feelings for Ronny!" he burst out.
"I know, honey, I know. I just...well, it's what I'd say to you if you were a girl."
"I'm not a girl, Mom, that's the whole problem!" he exclaimed, turning red.
"Pudge, listen to me," she said. "I don't know what this means, as far as...your life, or what's going to happen, or how this will affect your life. But I trust you, Pudge. I trust that between you, and God, you'll figure this out."
"What...what...what do you mean?" he sputtered. "What are you saying?"
Marcy grabbed his hand in both of hers, looking him in the eye. Her eyes started to fill with tears. "I know you love God, Pudge. I know you love Jesus--but not in that way. And I love you. And I don't know that there's anything more to say, than that."
Pudge slumped against the couch, a strange relief flooding over him. He felt as if his mother had just given him something that no one else ever had. She trusted him, with his own soul and his own relationship with God. No one had ever trusted him before with his own soul--as if he couldn't take care of something so precious.
"So what happens now?" he asked, dreading the answer. "Do I have to go tell Pastor Alltruth?"
"Well...I don't think Pastor Alltruth would understand," Marcy answered. "I mean, he should know that you love God, but...I think if you say the words, 'I'm gay,' he's going to assume that you already..."
Pudge winced at the words "I'm gay," yet he had to agree with her. "It's not 'already,' Mom. And it's not going to happen," he added defensively.
"Of course," Marcy said, quickly. "Still..."
"Still what?!" Pudge demanded. He was right! She didn't understand, after all! She had no faith in him!
"Well, it's just that...maybe we're wrong about certain things..." Marcy explained, studying her hands in her lap.
"Like what? You mean Christians?"
Marcy nodded, took a deep breath. "You know, Pudge, some of the things that Reverend Ray said today...I'm not entirely sure I agree with them. You see, a few months ago, I stumbled upon something, and I've been doing a lot of reading about it lately, this issue, and I've found a lot of interesting articles on the internet, and..." She hesitated. "I must confess something also, Pudge; I don't believe in the Rapture!"
"What?" Pudge stared at her blankly.
"Well, it's just that, those verses that mention it, there's only a few, and they also talk about dead bodies and vultures and stuff! I just think that it would have been more clear, if it was really that important for us to know..."
"So you--you--you disagree with Pastor Alltruth!" Pudge stammered, thoroughly shocked.
"Yes, I'm afraid so. And I hope that if I'm mistaken, I don't get...you know...left behind. But I know Pastor Alltruth wouldn't listen to me, because I'm a lay person, and...well, and because I'm a woman," she added quietly, looking to the ground as if she had said something scandalous.
"But you said that pastors and authorities were put there by God to lead us."
"Yes, but, well, I still think they might be mistaken."
"But they're put there by God! And he's had so much training!"
"Not so much, actually," she whispered. "The ACE teachers' academy is not accredited. It's not a very...a very thorough seminary, with the original Greek and stuff. I've read about it."
"But what does this have to do with...?" Pudge trailed off.
"All I'm saying is this: If we can be wrong about the Rapture, as I suspect we are, perhaps we can be wrong about other things, too. I mean, Jesus did say that two men would be in one bed, for goodness sake!" She covered her mouth shyly with her hands, and they both blushed at the thought. "Maybe this is...maybe this is the way that God wants you to be," she blurted, looking Pudge straight in the eye and squaring her shoulders defiantly.
Pudge stared at her for a long moment, utterly dumbfounded. His first instinct was to dismiss it--his mother had just uttered blasphemy, after all!
But a part of him, a small, tiny part of him, wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he wasn't broken, fundamentally wrong, though he feared what would happen (eternally) to him if he actually did believe it. It seemed too good to be true, that he wouldn't have to fight against himself and his own loneliness all his life, while watching all of his unbroken friends find love and happiness. He wanted a family; he wanted someone to love. And he couldn't imagine ever loving a woman the way he was supposed to--the way he thought he could love a man--warped, sinful, and unnatural though it may be.
Maybe Pastor Alltruth was mistaken, maybe he could find love and still be pleasing to God, maybe...
They were both startled abruptly out of their reveries with a sharp, loud knock at the door.

Harrison's Father Disowns Him

 I agonized over whether to publish this, because it is rather personal, but of course I have changed his name; I publish this anonymously; he was pretty open about it himself; and, well, there seems to be a valuable lesson here, and that is: This shit still happens! 
If "Harrison" ever finds this, I hope he will forgive me.


A few days ago, a gay friend of mine, Harrison, posted this on Facebook:

"The thing about the fight for legal protections under the law that I'm not sure I've heard anyone acknowledge is that the fight is not actually about legality at its core.
The real fight is one of ideology.
But because one person can not change the mind of another, we must fight to change the things we've made.
Instead of convincing a father who sees no point in affording his child the same opportunities as any other person, regardless of what the child's genitals are, which gender they identify as, or who they end up loving or not loving, we must change the law so that people of the same mind as that father are prevented from exercising their hatred within the bounds of the law.
So instead of wasting our energy trying to convince people that we are human beings in the face of people who have already made up their mind, we put our energy into making sure there is a piece of paper somewhere that affords us the rights of one."

This wasn't the first similar post on the subject, and I have already detailed how he gave an awesome and brilliant answer to a "loving" but homophobic mutual friend. I liked his post and replied thusly: 

"I think that after a few years of marriage equality, a lot of people will see that the world hasn't ended, and they'll be affirming or at least more open to others' points of view. Not all, of course."

About a minute later, I thought of something else, and added this: 

 "The ones I'm really worried about are their children."

A few hours later, he posted this: 

  "I'll try to make it more real for you next time."
My reply to my father after I lost my composure and he told me we weren't in acting practice. Except there probably won't be a next time."

I responded:

"Oh, God. I'm sorry."

 I had tried to think of something else to say, but I couldn't, so I left it at that, figuring that it should be short and sweet, rather than saying something that tries to help him feel better, but doesn't. 
Then I got worried. A thought occurred to me, so I private-messaged him. Here is our conversation:

"Will this affect your living situation, Harrison? Do you need a place to stay?"

 "No, my mother and father have been divorced all my life. I live with my mother. Thank you, though."

 "Glad to hear it. You don't deserve this crap. You're great."

 "Thank you."

I had not consulted with my parents, whom I live with, but I knew that it was almost certainly okay with my mom, and probably okay with my dad, especially if I told him that Harrison reminded me a lot of my little brother, Cody. I had a little bit of money saved to put him in a motel, at the very least. It was late at night, but I was not adverse to waking my mother and the two of us going to get him (because she certainly wouldn't let me go to town at one a.m. by myself). 
I racked my brain, trying to think of something to say to him. About twenty minutes later, I messaged him again: 

"Hey Harrison, you going to be at the next GSA* meeting? Because it just occurred to me that I didn't get a chance to give you your going-away/birthday present for your upcoming trip.** There's also an essay I wrote for acting class, about your performance in the last play, that I think you might want to see."

 (*Gay-Straight Alliance club at my school. It's meeting during the summer too.)
 (**He had applied to be in a show out of state. I didn't know if he had been successful, but I had already bought the present, a nice pin, which had only been a few dollars for me anyway, and I thought he deserved it anyway, for trying.)

"When is it?" he asked. 

I told him the time next week. 

"I think I can swing that, yeah."

 "Good. Because none of the great things I said about you is untrue. :) <3" 

 "Hahaha, thank you so much. You are a very supportive person."

I didn't know whether I should tell him this, but I decided to risk it:

"I've had..."complicated" relationships with some of my relatives too. It grieves me that it happened to you, too. I just hope you know you're not alone. I can come over sometime if you wish, or we can talk, or I'll just let you be alone, whichever you think is best for you."

I had agonized over that last sentence. I can't offer to come over! I thought. That is so overbearing and smothering! But...that's me. I have to be me. 

He took a while to answer, and when he did, it was much like I expected: 

"I deal best when I have time to talk to myself."

I thought, Of course he doesn't want me around, because he thinks I'm TOO supportive--that I'm smothering him!...But at least, I've said it. At least he knows.  

At least he knows.

"Me too, most of the time." I replied.

"I really need to try to sleep, though." He hinted. 

I was apprehensive about disturbing him any further, though I thought I should let him know that I wasn't going to disturb him any further. 

"Good night. Over and out."

 "You too!"

 I didn't know how he felt about that conversation, but he rarely replied to me last, much less used an exclamation point, so I figured that I might just have helped, after all. Now he knew that someone out there thought he was great, while knowing full well that he liked boys, and he had a few days to look forward to reading about how great he was. I hoped my little essay wouldn't disappoint him.

Burning with curiosity now, I looked on Harrison's Facebook page, where I had previously seen his father listed. His father was not there. 
So I looked on Harrison's brother's Facebook page. His father was there. 
So I looked on Harrison's father's Facebook page. 
Harrison was not there. He only acknowledged his other son. 
I had looked there before. I knew that Harrison had been there, before. I felt physically sick.

After trying to go to bed, I lay awake a long time, and then it hit me: In the first post, he was talking about his own father! 
And furthermore, I was talking about him, when I said that I was worried for "their" children. I had had no idea! 
I remembered, only a week before, I had been amused to find out that Harrison had exactly 365 Facebook friends--one for every day of the year. After he published an earlier post, indirectly knocking down our homophobic friend, "Ruth," it showed that he only had 364. I didn't know whom he had unfriended (or who had unfriended him), but it was not our homophobic friend, interestingly enough. 
That night, it had been down to 362. And now I knew who one of them was. It had never occurred to me to check to see if it was his own family. 

I worry sometimes about whether my little brother, Cody, whom Harrison so much reminds me of, will also have to deal with a parent's rejection, because of the way his father and stepmother act. Recently, his stepbrother had to come live with them, because, as Cody told it, his stepmother's common-law ex-husband was yelling, "I don't want to see you ever again!" and cursing his son, and calling him names, after a major fight. 
"You know we'll never be like that, right?" I asked him the next time he came over. "You know we'll never be like, 'I never want to see you again' or anything like that to you?" 
"Yeah...?" he gave me a really confused, almost disdainful look, as if I had said something as obvious and unimportant as, "You know we're breathing right now, right?" 
I was very comforted by the fact that he looked at me like I was a moron. 

My dad literally gets up at 3:30 a.m. to work out. I was still up then, still wound up, writing this piece, because I wasn't going to sleep anyway (I had actually had to turn my computer back on). 
So I went out to the kitchen, where he was feeding the dogs, and hugged him and told him I loved him. I explained the situation, and said how glad I was that he and my mother weren't like that. 
"That I'd never disown you?" he asked. 
"Or Cody." 
He didn't seem to know what to say, because he's not much for talking, and it was very awkward to say those things to him, but tonight was a night to Just Say It. And I'm glad I did.

As far Harrison goes, I was homeschooled from fifth grade on, and I often feel like I was never schooled on the rules of making and relating to friends. I feel like everyone else in the world has a guidebook for this very thing, and I don't. Most of all, I was so scared of seeming "needy" or "too clingy." 
Sometimes it's hard to tell what crosses the line between "helpful" and "smothering," but...what choice do we have? 

Which side do we want to err on? 

That is the question. 

I learned a valuable lesson that night. "Which side to err on?" is one of the most important questions in life, one of the most valuable things to keep in mind, and one we all too often miss, in our efforts to, at all costs, not look "bad."
I only hope I can retain this lesson. Maybe then I would not be so insecure about what my friends thought of me. This is something that I will strive to take to heart from now on.

A Little Hetero Pudge And Ronny: Chapter Twelve

 Reverend Ray is an amalgamation of one well-known character in Christian pop culture, and one lesser known one. I will give hints upon request, if anyone wishes to guess where Reverend Ray, Who Is Gay (one of the characters) comes from.



After all the hymns had been sung, and the children dismissed, Pudge's heart pounded as he watched Reverend Ray step up to the podium, clear his throat, and begin. "Thank you for having me here today, everyone. I'm very glad, and honored, to be sharing with you how God has changed my life, and delivered me from sin.
"It might surprise some of you to hear that I had a pretty normal childhood. My father was a little distant, but not anything unusual at the time. I was never molested. In fact, I was a normal, rough-and-rowdy boy," he smiled, as a few people chuckled.
Pudge breathed a sigh of relief, but was confused, too. It wasn't then because he had grown up without a father (though no shortage of other male role models), apparently, but apparently being a "rough-and-rowdy boy" wouldn't save him either. And did other, manlier guys also struggle with this?
"I was aware of my feelings for other boys in junior high and high school, but it was a homophobic environment in my small town, so I hid them, even from myself. I even dated a couple of girls, though nothing serious.
"After graduation, I joined the Air Force. I had already gotten my private pilot's license years ago, and so I started training to fly fighter jets. I pretty much tried to put my feelings for other guys aside during this time. In fact, while I was there, I met my future wife, Irene.
"After getting out of the service, I took a job as an airline pilot. Irene and I had two kids, Chloe and Rayford Jr, whom Irene called Raymie. After a few years, Irene got a new man in her life--Jesus!" he exclaimed, eliciting laughter.
"It was at that time that the old feelings came back. I had a new man in my life, now, too--a younger guy, named Buck."
There were a few quiet gasps and some distasteful expressions in the audience. Pudge didn't notice this, however, as he sat riveted to the sermon.
"Irene was always talking about Jesus, and at first I was skeptical, but then I decided that Jesus was for me. I became a minister, 'Reverend Ray, who is gay!' I remained married to Irene, and I did love her, in a way, though I continued seeing Buck on the side.
"Well, Irene eventually found out about Buck. She had known about my attractions, and we had actually had an okay sex life, before, but I guess this was the final straw for her. Chloe was at college by this time, but a week later, I came home to find my wife and son gone. I'm sure you can guess exactly what happened: Irene and Raymie were taken in the Rapture."
Confused murmurs echoed throughout the sanctuary. No one had noticed the Rapture had happened yet. Were they left behind? Surely Reverend Rayford must be mistaken?
Pudge cocked his head, confused as ever. Maybe Reverend Ray was making a joke? Although it wasn't very funny.
"But it's not too late!" Reverend Ray added enthusiastically. "You can still join your loved ones in heaven, eventually! I know that everyone here has lost someone, or has been shocked that millions of people could disappear in the twinkling on an eye, and I can't guarantee that you will survive the Tribulation that is about to come. But we can still be forgiven by God--He gives us another chance!"
The murmuring grew louder. Some people laughed, before realizing that the man was serious. Pastor Alltruth stood up. "Um, Reverend?" he began uncertainly. "Reverend? Rayford?"
The chaos around him was nothing to Pudge, compared to the roiling sea of emotion inside him. Reverend Ray was crazy! He had remained gay, even after becoming a Christian, and it had driven him mad! He actually thought that his wife leaving him meant that the Rapture had taken place! Pudge never wanted to cheat on a future wife, but what was to say that he wouldn't find some young Buck and give in to temptation, himself? Was this his future?
Pudge began to hyperventilate. He had to get out of there! Everyone would know how false he was! He had to leave!
"Pudge? Are you all right?" his mother was asking beside him.
Pudge tried to stammer out some excuse, but his voice was not working. He fled, taking advantage of the noise and confusion around him.
He ran out into the foyer, down a side hallway, past the children's classroom (hoping Becky, teaching Sunday school, and Happy, acting as her assistant, wouldn't see him), and into the men's room. He heard his mother call his name from the end of the hall as he disappeared into the bathroom. At least here, she couldn't follow him. Maybe he could compose himself here.
"Pudge?" she was calling, outside. "Pudge, are you okay? I'm coming in there, Pudge!"
"What? No!" he cried, tears streaming down his face, as his mother burst in. "No, Mom, you're not supposed to be in here!" he sobbed, his voice cracking.
"Pudge, what is wrong...?" Marcy began, putting her hands on his shoulders, then slowly the realization crept across her face, as her expression changed from one of concern and worry to one of shock. "Pudge...Pudge, I...I...I love you," she gasped, starting to cry now, herself. "I love you, Pudge," she repeated, pulling him into a hug.
Pudge trembled, burying his face into her shoulder. He was relieved, but dreaded the lecture.
"Mom, I know it's bad, I didn't want to be this way
"Stop!" Marcy commanded abruptly, pulling away to look in his eyes. "Stop it, Pudge, please. We can talk about this later. Come on, we're going home. We have got to get out of this church!" she declared, her eyes flashing in determination.