The Cross in the Closet (11 page)

I step off of the train at Penn Station in awe of my surroundings. Of all the places I thought this experiment might take me, New York City was never on the list. It hadn’t occurred to me that I would leave Nashville. Even more intimidating than the hustle and bustle around me is my purpose. I am here to protest with Soulforce—the very organization that I adamantly opposed four years ago at Liberty University.

Even more surprising than finding myself in the ultimate concrete jungle is how I came to be here. The round-trip plane tickets were purchased for me by a church located a mile away from my house. The River at Music City is an open, affirming, artistic body of Christ-followers led by Donny McGuire and Reba Rambo McGuire, who have enjoyed long and successful careers in gospel music. When a friend of mine who attends the River told the pastor about my opportunity, the church graciously provided the one thing hindering me from attending. Amazing.

I emerge from the mouth of Penn Station with only the clothes on my back and a backpack hanging over my shoulder. I packed light, knowing that I will be walking most of the week in New York. The weather is miserable. Sleet and rain pours on the thousands of city folk rushing all around me, most of whom look as though they are late for a meeting. I examine a guidebook that I purchased before leaving and begin the 119-block trek to a Starbucks on the upper west side. An ex-girlfriend of mine moved to the city four months ago and arranged for me to stay at her boyfriend’s apartment my first and last nights of the trip. I look both ways before crossing the street and begin my walk into an experience that will change my life.

Three months before my experiment began, back in October, I read every book possible on coming out of the closet. The small collection of books I amassed was topped, however, by one book.
Stranger at the Gate: To Be Gay and Christian in America
, by Mel White, was the most poignant of them all. The irony of Mel’s story and the beginning of my journey left me unsettled. The memories of that spring day at Liberty played through my head after every chapter, and something inside of me said that I needed to apologize for my behavior. Not only that, I felt compelled to ask for Mel’s blessing.

Without much effort I was able to reach him by phone.

Mel was very calm and personable. There was an ease in our conversation, and as I laid out my plans he graciously listened to every word.

“I want to ask your forgiveness for what I said about you, and I want to know if you think going through with this whole thing is offensive, or justified, somehow…” I said, nervously pacing in the front yard of a friend’s house.

“Tim, I’m glad to forgive you. Thank you for wanting to apologize,” he said.

“And the other thing?” I asked, shaking.

“I really think you need to follow your heart and your gut. If this is what you need to do to question your upbringing, I think you should do it.” Mel’s warmth and sincerity was encouraging.

“I really think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m eager to see how this plays out. It’s a ballsy idea.” He half-chuckled, and I felt like I was talking to an old friend. Not someone that I once called
enemy
.

“I’m just hesitant about lying to the people I’ll meet.”

“Well, in this case, I think it might be safe to say that the ends could justify the means.”

Mel’s blessing was a match to a fuse, and in that moment the reality of my experiment became all the more real.

Five months after that first conversation, and two months into my project, I received an unexpected call. Mel’s voice was a pleasant surprise. Mel had kept touch with me by e-mail and offered me words of encouragement and advice as I dealt with the initial backlash of my coming out as a gay man, but his phone call was a surprise.

“Tim, I wanted you to know about an action Soulforce is doing in New York City. I’d really like you to come.”

“I’m not sure how I’d get there, but I’ll do my best,” I said excitedly.

“I’ll be praying it works out for you. In the meantime I’ll email you the information.”

“I really will try to be there.”

“I know you will, and I promise to keep your secret. I think you need to see what Soulforce is really about. It might help you answer some of those nagging questions you’ve been wrestling with.”

Mel’s invitation was an unexpected gift. More than that, it was a revelation. I began to think about how perfect the opportunity could be. I felt a renewed sense of purpose and reveled in the idea of having the opportunity to experience Soulforce for a second time. Not only that, but I would finally be able to speak out against an injustice, and I would get to do so in my first ever, non-violent protest.

“I appreciate it, Mel. Thanks for calling and letting me know!”

“No problem. See you in New York.” Mel hung up the phone, but it took me a few seconds to follow suit. I just stood there with the phone to my ear and a grin on my face.

The first twenty blocks of my walk are painful. My feet and hands are numb from the cold, and I chide myself for not checking the weather before leaving for the airport. I might have packed warmer clothes, or at least worn long underwear. I’m wearing only a hoody and baseball cap. A few blocks past Times Square, I catch my reflection in the glass of a first floor office window. My nose and ears are red, and I wonder what I will look like after walking another hundred blocks. My only consolation is that I am meeting my friend at a café.
Coffee
…Just the thought makes me move more quickly.

After an hour of trudging through the metropolis, I reach the upper west side cafe. I am a soaked, frozen, soggy mess, and I hope my friend is able to recognize me. I open the door for a woman and she sneers. Maybe the stereotypes about New Yorkers are true. Or maybe she was sneering at the weather. I hope it is the latter.

Not long after I arrive and find a table, Amy makes her way inside. She looks around the café for me, so I raise my hand and wave. Her smile is contagious, and she looks better than I remember. It has been a year or more since I have seen her, and she looks classy and grown up. She looks like a New Yorker. It is amazing to me how an environment can change someone, like it has a godlike power over style and interests. Amy looks changed, and I wonder if the Southern girl I have known for so long is still there somewhere, under the designer clothes, makeup, and auburn hair.

I stand and Amy wraps her arms around me.

“It’s so good to see you, Tim. What brings you to New York?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m here for a protest.”

“Sounds like a lot’s changed for you since you came out. From church guy to gay activist; I must say I’m impressed.”

Her comments catch me off guard. “You were more churchy that me!” I laugh. “No religion for you in this city?” I sip my coffee and welcome the warmth. I may be soaked, but at least I am warm.

“We have visited a few churches but haven’t found one yet. What about you? Have you been to church since you came out?”

“Honestly? I’ve tried but it hasn’t gone so well.” I think back to my most recent attempt at church and shudder. Maybe winter would be a better season for it.

“Just remember that you are still you. And you love church.”

Amy is different, but a good different. Somehow, after just four months in the city, she has grown up.

“Things are different. Maybe I’ll go back one day, but I’m too busy trying to discover if it’s worth it anymore. Nashville may not be rural Mississippi, but it
ain’t
New York.”

After thawing a few more minutes, we set out once more. We are still twenty-three blocks from her boyfriend’s apartment, and I hope it goes quickly. I am exhausted, but my lack of energy is made bearable as Amy tells me how she met Nick while visiting friends for Thanksgiving. Three weeks after meeting him she decided to move, and the rest is history. She seems happy, but I question my decision. Staying with an ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend is not something I would do if everyone thought me straight…but admittedly I am too afraid of hostiles. Too many creepy movies have ruined them as a viable option while traveling.

The apartment building is exactly what I pictured, and the architecture and design is probably early twentieth century. I also love the neighborhood. Amy tells me that the building three doors down is an old church converted into housing. She says she will prove it to me when I am in Nick’s twelfth-floor one bedroom apartment, but all I want is to sit down.

“Your feet hurt?” Amy asks sardonically.

“Like hell,” I answer.

“After a few weeks you get used to it. I walk everywhere. It’s the cheapest way to get around.”

“After a 142 blocks, I’ve decided to buy a subway pass!”

“Good idea,” she says laughing. “Don’t get pissed, but the elevator is broken. We’ve got some stairs to climb.”

“Great! Trying to get me to lose weight?”

“Just trying to get you to a couch and a hot shower.”

The words
couch
and
shower
are magical, and I catch a second wind. “Tell me there’s beer in the apartment, and I might go straight and steal you from Nick!”

“Yeah, right! You’re totally gay!” She laughs, and I smirk. If she only knew.

I count each stair as though I will be tested on the number of them later, and with each step my calves, ankles, and the soles of my feet scream in agony. The hallway floors we pass are black and white, checkered tile, and the décor is a retro mustard color with molding worn almost completely away. This is not the New York apartment building you see in the movies. This place is real and grungy, but still somehow appealing.

This is the New York City I have dreamed of since I was a kid, and it is perfect in all of its imperfections. It is a place alive with the spirits of the thousands who call it home, a place that digs deep within me and stirs the writer I have always wanted to be. This place, this old apartment building, inspires me.

As we reach the top step of the twelfth floor, I see Nick waiting by a door at the end of the hallway. He is tall and handsome, thinner than I had imagined. He looks the type of man who would wear long winter jackets with big black buttons, and shoes that don’t have laces. His facial hair is patchy but not unkempt, and his blue eyes contrast vividly with the dark brown of his hair. I like this man. We have yet to shake hands, or even utter a word to one another, but I know he is good. And his goodness is confirmed by the look in his eyes as he sees Amy.

Before greeting me, Nick embraces Amy and they kiss. A pang of jealousy overtakes me. I am not jealous that he is kissing Amy; I am jealous that he is allowed to kiss and know and love the person he desires. The closet has robbed me of that option. But unlike many, I must endure it only for the rest of the year—a fact I try to remember every time I feel self-pity. So, so many have it worse than me.

After they separate, Nick introduces himself and pulls me into a hug. His friendliness draws me in, and it is easy to see why, after only three weeks apart, Amy would make the move from Nashville to New York. “Come in! Come in! Welcome!”

I make my way inside, following Amy, and Nick closes the door behind me and shows me to the bathroom so I can dry off and change clothes. The bathroom is cramped but quaint, and I welcome the hot water and soap.

After changing socks and pants, and putting on a fresh t-shirt, I make my way to the living room. Nick and Amy are playing video games and pause as I walk in. “Do you have a roommate?”

“Yes, I do. In fact, you might like him.”

Amy slaps Nick on the shoulder, but I am not sure why.

“Why would I like him?” I ask naïvely.

“Well.” Nick stalls for a second, second-guessing himself. “Dane is gay, too
.
” He smiles, trying to take the edge off what he realizes to be an insensitive generalization. It is a generalization I have made many times, believing that just because someone is gay means they are sexually attracted to everyone of the same sex.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, bro, but things don’t really work like that. I’m sure you don’t want to sleep with
every
woman you meet.”

“Well, most of them!” Nick says with a laugh right before Amy punches him on the arm.

“You guys are so cute, I could just shit.”

Amy throws a pillow at me.

“I like this guy,” Nick says, high-fiving me.

I take a seat next to Amy and she hands me her game controller. “What do you guys want for dinner?”

“Take-out Chinese!”

“Tim, are you sure you aren’t from New York?” Nick asks.

“No. I’ve just spent years watching
Seinfeld
re-runs.”

“You got it,” Amy says, grabbing her coat.

“Need money?” I ask.

“No. Dinner is on me! You are our guest.” She smiles and walks out the door, and I see it. I see the country girl in her, and the spirit that had always attracted me to her.

Dane bursts through the door like a force of nature, startling me as I take a bite of my General Tso’s chicken. I try to keep from choking but cough it down, awkwardly covering my mouth with my hand. Nick hands me a beer and I take a gulp.

“You would not believe the day I’ve had! One meeting after the next, and those damn designers would not listen to me! I said we didn’t have the right type of fabric for my new design, but
noooo
! They kept asking and asking as if I was hiding it just to be rude! Tha Queens!” Dane speaks without breathing in a voice an octave higher than I would have expected, and his energy reminds me how tired I am. The atmosphere, once conducive to conversation and rest, becomes tense and dramatic. I feel like I have been transported into an episode of
Sex and the City
. Amy looks at me sympathetically.

“Tim, grab the dumplings. Quick!” Nick whispers. I reach for the box.

“Ooh! Are those dumplings? I love dumplings! Do you have any of that sauce?” Dane moves towards the food.

“They are Tim’s dumplings,” Nick says.

“Oh, yeah. Okay! What else did you get?”