Ray of Sunlight (8 page)

“That’s enough,” Allen said, raising his voice to Pete. Again, something I’d never seen happen before. “You will keep quiet, or you will leave this table.”

Pete shut up. I wasn’t surprised at that. He’d never—before today—stood up to Allen. I guess I couldn’t expect that to change
completely
overnight. I was impressed that he stood up to him at all.

“Either way, I have my answer.” I stood up. “I’ll be eating Thanksgiving dinner with CJ at the hospital.”

“You most certainly will not,” Allen started. “Thanksgiving is a time for family, and you will damned well be with your family on that day.”

I shot back, “Thanksgiving is a time to give thanks, and I’m much more thankful for CJ than I am for you.” I grinned. “Besides, you can’t keep me from doing my community service. I can always call Mrs. Detrick if I need to.”

Allen wasn’t sure what to do with that. Then he came up with something. “I doubt the buses will run on Thanksgiving. You won’t have transportation.”

“Yes, he will.” Pete spoke up again. Against a direct order. I was fascinated. He stood up, folded his napkin and laid it on the table, and, as he passed me, he said, “I’ll take you if the bus doesn’t run.” I stared after him until he stopped at the archway. “You’re wrong about this, Dad.”

I just smirked as I threw my napkin on the table and
stomped away.

T
HE
NEXT
day, I approached CJ with an idea.

“Hey, I was thinking,” I started.

“That could be dangerous,” he teased.

“Har, har.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you the only one not going home for Thanksgiving?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” he answered seriously. “Some of the kids are too sick to leave. Most of them have parents coming in, though. The hospital usually serves the institutional version of Thanksgiving dinner, and the parents can buy a meal and have it with their kid in their room.”

“Would they be able to fix real turkeys if I can get some?” I wondered aloud.

“Where would you get enough turkey? They’re expensive.” He seemed to think of a possibility, and his eyes got comically round. “You wouldn’t steal them, would you?”

I put my hand on my heart. “I’m wounded! You actually think I would steal turkeys?” I waited for him to look contrite, then added, “They’d never fit in my pockets, man.”

He laughed and hit me.

I had to admit, “It does
sound
like me, though.” Then I went on with my idea. “What I was
going
to say, before certain people started defaming my character, was… what if we could get some turkeys donated. Could we get all the kids together in the cafeteria or something… and all the parents who want to come… and feed them a good Thanksgiving dinner? Maybe Mrs. Dietrich could get some volunteers to help serve it or something… other kids on community service or something like that. We could decorate and everything.”

CJ started getting into the idea. “We could even make a whole day of it, maybe. Have a bunch of booths or something like Halloween. You could draw… I could do the clown thing, and/or paint faces. Just have fun… as much as they can, since it’ll be the sicker kids left here.”

I had originally thought about this just to make it official that the hospital would need my help and I’d have Attila on my side for wanting to be here. But now, bouncing ideas off of CJ, and watching him get so excited, I was really getting into this. I made a point of asking Mrs. Barton when I had some time. She said she’d ask the cafeteria workers scheduled for Thanksgiving Day but felt sure they’d be okay with it if there were extra volunteers to help them.

By the end of the day, Mrs. Barton got back with me. If I could get volunteers to help with the extra workload, it was a go. She said they could just serve the typical institutional, sliced turkey if I couldn’t get the whole turkeys donated.

The plan was a go. CJ was really excited. And I had no clue how I was going to pull this off.

T
HAT
NIGHT
after dinner, Allen took great pleasure in telling me that Mrs. Dietrich was on the phone. He no doubt thought I was in trouble for some reason.

“Great,” I took just as much pleasure in responding. “I had asked her to call.”

I wish I had a picture of his face, but I really did need to talk to her so I dashed to the phone.

“Hi,” I started, “thanks for calling back.”

When she asked me what she could do for me, I explained CJ’s and my harebrained scheme and what we needed to do in order to make it happen.

“So, I was wondering if you knew of anyone… maybe some of your clients who needs to do community service… who might want to volunteer? It’s a bigger undertaking than they’re staffed for, and… well, I know it’s Thanksgiving and all, and most people wouldn’t want to….” I suddenly didn’t even know how to ask. “Well, you were the only person I knew that might even have a hope of helping, so….”

“
I’ll make some calls, Russ, see what I can do
,” she agreed. “
I’m really proud of you taking initiative like this. This community service might really be good for you
.”

I didn’t have the heart… or the courage… to tell her the whole thing started so I’d have a legitimate reason to spend the holiday with CJ. I hung up and started upstairs, but Pete came out of the dining room. I had seen him listening in on my side of the phone conversation.

“Russ,” he started. “I heard part of that… what are you doing exactly?”

“It’s none of your business, Pete.” I turned away again and started up the stairs.

“Damn it, Russ, I’m trying to help.” Pete followed me, but I stopped and turned around. I figured this might be interesting, so I was ready to hear him out… at least for a while. When he saw he had my attention, at least temporarily, he continued. “I heard that you needed volunteers for something you’re doing for the kids. Is that right?”

I cocked a hip onto the banister. “Why, Pete? You
volunteering?”

“Yes, damn it. I am.” He was getting a little huffy, which was really unlike Pete… well, this huffy anyway. But he continued. “And I think I can do even better than that.” He stopped, probably to make sure I was still listening. “Our youth group is always looking for opportunities to help out.”

That was true enough. I had made fun of him enough times, giving up his Saturdays to go build crap for people. I still couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to give up their Thanksgivings, though. And I said as much.

“Well, we won’t know if we don’t ask, right?” Pete smiled and picked up the phone.

A
N
HOUR
later, the youth pastor from Pete’s church was in our living room.

Pete and I were in the doorway, just before entering the room.

“Why did he have to come over in person?” I whispered.

“I didn’t have all the details, and I thought it would be better coming from you.” Pete grinned and started toward the couch. I couldn’t help but think that Pete was enjoying my discomfort far too much. “Come on, Russ. Pastor Roy doesn’t bite.”

“Come in, son,” the pastor said. “Tell me more about this Thanksgiving project you’re trying to put together.”

I stuttered through the explanation of everything. And I really was getting tired of going over and over this. If it wasn’t for CJ, I would just tell everyone to forget about it and stomp off. That would have been more in character. But, I found I really wanted to make this happen. So I struggled through. I really didn’t like talking to people… never really had, but I’d been getting even more solitary as I got older. I really didn’t want to do this. But I did… for CJ.

When I was finished with the explanation, the pastor asked if I would come to the church Sunday and explain what I had just told him. This was getting out of hand.

“I don’t think—”

“Pastor,” Allen said, “I didn’t want to interrupt you earlier, but you don’t want to get mixed up in this. Did you know the boy you will be helping is gay?”

Pastor Roy looked at me. “He doesn’t mean me, pastor.” I didn’t mention that it was only because he didn’t
know
I was gay, or bi, or whatever. Not because I wasn’t. “He means my friend CJ. This was mostly his idea… at first anyway. We kind of bounced off of each other.”

He seemed confused. “And CJ is gay?”

“Yes, pastor. He is. Or at least he was a year or so ago. Right now, he’s dying of cancer, so I don’t think sex… with either gender… is really on his list of most important things to do.” I got up to leave. I didn’t really need round two of how a supposedly loving God was going to damn CJ to hell just because of who
he
loved.

“Where are you going, son?” Pastor Roy really did sound puzzled. “You haven’t answered me about Sunday.”

“I figured that offer was rescinded. I’m sure you don’t want to deal with the friend of a dreaded gay person.” I wiggled my fingers like I was saying something scary.

Allen came back in full force. “Cut the attitude, Russell—”

But the pastor interrupted him. “Come back and sit down, son. I really don’t care about your friend’s orientation… well, I care, but it has no bearing on what we were talking about.”

“Why? He’s damned to hell, right? Just because he kissed one boy, a year ago. Isn’t that why God is killing him?” I was getting a full head of steam and the real Russ Michaels would be back any minute. The out of character, stuttering, wimp who was foolishly trying to do something to help someone, was gone. Sarcastic shithead was now firmly back in place.

“I don’t believe God kills people, Russell.” Pastor Roy was talking calmly, trying to get me to come back. “I don’t know where you got that idea. The God I know doesn’t work like that, son.”

“Not what I’ve heard.” I glared at Allen. Mom was nowhere to be seen. She had giggled nervously when the pastor showed up and then went to the kitchen to “make some snacks.”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, or where you’ve heard it. But God is all about love. There are right things and wrong things, and the Bible tells us about what some of those things are, but there are different interpretations of everything, and everyone really has to make up their own mind. It’s between the person and God. I’m told in the Bible not to judge. That’s God’s job.” By then he had come across the room to stand in front of me, since it must have been obvious that I wasn’t going to go back to him. “And it has no bearing on whom I help. Jesus said to love our neighbors. All our neighbors. Not just the ones like us. Not only the ones doing what we think they should do. Not exclusively the ones that agree with us on what is right and wrong.
Everyone.
”

That sure was different than anything I had heard Mom or Allen spout. Allen looked like he was about to spit nails. Pete didn’t seem surprised, though. He had told Allen he was wrong about his view on this. This is where he got that idea apparently. Maybe the church Pete went to wasn’t all that bad.

Not that I wanted to go talk to them.

“Son, I’d really love for you to come talk to the congregation on Sunday. But I can see that you’re not comfortable with that. You can tell me the details, and I’ll relay them. I’m sure everyone will want to help.”

“Come on, Russ,” Pete encouraged. “You got this. No prob, man.”

I don’t think Pete ever encouraged me to do anything before. Or at least I had never noticed. I don’t know why I decided to try it. But I heard myself saying, “Okay, I’ll come.”

I
TOLD
CJ about it, and he was all for it. But the little shit laughed at me like crazy when I got all tongue-tied trying to rehearse. He fell back on his bed laughing, and I threatened to smother him with his pillow.

“Just for that, you have to come with me,” I scowled at him.

“I’d like to, Russ.” CJ became serious. “I don’t have anything to wear to a church service, though.”

“Oh shit.” I suddenly realized something. “Neither do I.”

CJ laughed again. “Maybe Pete has something he’ll loan you. You’re about the same size, right?”

We were, more or less. I had a bit more muscle than Pete and probably had a good inch on him, which could cause a problem, but I was sure he’d loan me something. So, that problem solved, I got back to CJ.

“Will you come?”

“I have my last treatment of this round just the day before, and they’ve kind of been hitting me hard this time for some reason.” He got serious again. “But I’d really like to.”

“Let’s see how you feel then,” I suggested.

“Sounds good.” He smiled that beautiful smile of his, and his eyes sparkled. “Though I still don’t have anything to wear.”

I vowed that I’d find him something, no matter what, so that he could come with me if he felt like it.

S
UNDAY
WAS
there way too soon for my liking. Pete did loan me some dressy clothes. They didn’t dress in suits or anything at this church− well, the youth didn’t. But I still didn’t own anything good enough to wear there. Most of my clothes were T-shirts and jeans.

Pete even had some acceptable clothes that were too small for him that would fit CJ perfectly… or at least well enough.

I called CJ, and he was still going to try to come, but his nurse got on the phone and said absolutely not. He had been throwing up all morning and his doctor insisted he wanted him to stay in bed for the day.

So, I was dressed up, hair combed, instead of the bedhead style I usually sported, and was seated in church. If that wasn’t out of character in a major way, I didn’t know what was. Before long at all, I was introduced… as “Pete’s brother”… and didn’t I just hate that. And I stood up to the podium.

My mouth went completely dry. I tried to speak and nothing came out.

“Ah…,” I squeaked, and started again. “I think I’m allergic to public speaking.”

Everyone laughed… which I’m sure was supposed to put me at ease, but it really didn’t.