The Cross in the Closet (27 page)

I drive past the old church sign, the one that was vandalized, and I feel calm. God may hate sin, but God does not hate the Phelps. God does not hate anyone, for that matter. I drive away from the city with something inside of me missing. I have left a piece of my heart at Westboro Baptist Church, and I
will
pray God changes their hearts.

It is New Years Eve today, and I am sitting at the bookstore, formerly attached to what was Revive Café. I’m trying to capture and write down a few of the thousands of thoughts running through my head. It is comforting to be back here, to enjoy the vibe of the bookstore. Although this may be the last day of my year, it is the beginning to something else completely, something new and exciting and real.

My experiment has led me around the country and taught me to appreciate the people in my own backyard. Although I will miss my ability to blend into the community, it will be nice to be myself. Fortunately, “myself” has changed a lot this year. How could I not have? Every day I was confronted with new questions and new answers. I was inspired and encouraged, and as I look out at the bookstore and see people perusing the shelves, I am hopeful that I will be able to show these beautiful people just how much they mean to me.

I look over to the registers and see some of my old bosses. They are in good spirits, and I wonder how their view of me will change when they learn that I am not really gay. Will they be angry…or will they feel as though they have contributed to changing the life of someone, even though they weren’t aware of it at the time? I hope they feel part of something special.

The couch I’m sitting on faces the back window, but I hear the small bell attached to the door ring as someone opens it, announcing arrival. The bell hasn’t rung much since I’ve been here, but it’s New Years Eve, so I doubt it will much at all today.

I wish you could see this place. I wish you could experience it the way I have experienced it. I wish you could understand the impact that this little establishment has had on me, and all that I’ve learned while I was here. It is fitting that I am spending my last hours before the party tonight writing at this little store on Church Street. It is a stone’s throw away from the places I spent countless nights, from this little gayborhood that I have called home for a year now.

The bell on the door rings again and I hear the familiar voices of Scott and Jason. They are in the middle of a conversation, but they stop and greet me as soon as they see me.

“Looking sexy, handsome!” Jason says, pinching my butt while he hugs me. Scott laughs at him and ignores the flirtation.

“How’ve you guys been?” I ask.

“We’ve been doing well. We’re here with some friends from out of town who have been staying with us. Our house is clothing-optional…” Scott winks at me.

“You really should come over!” Jason says.

“Alas, I’ve already got plans, but we’ll have to hang out soon. I have a lot to tell you two,” I say, dreading the thought of what they might think of me when it’s all over.

“Sounds like a plan,” Scott says giving me a kiss on the cheek. “Sure you don’t want to ring in the New Year with us?”

I kiss his cheek and smile. “Would that I could. Would that I could.”

“Okay, kid. We love you!” Scott says, sighing.

“And we miss you terribly!” Jason adds.

“I’ve missed you guys too…a lot. You have no idea what you two mean to me.” I feel teary-eyed and nostalgic. “Just know that no matter what, I love you both!”

“I love you too, Tim,” Scott says thoughtfully.

“And I love you more!” Jason hugs me, and I smack his butt as we separate. “Ooh! Saucy!” he says, winking.

I sit back down on the couch and take a deep breath. Is this moment
possible
? Am I really going to miss being thought of as gay as much as I think I will this moment? I think I will, but only because of the relationships I have been able to have because of it. The sad fact in life is that labels really
do
divide us. They seem to dictate, in no uncertain terms, how we relate to each other as people. Labels serve as a barometer of sorts, how comfortable we will be in each others’ presence…and I do not think I’ll ever be as comfortably received again as I have been this year. I may be an ally. But that is just another label.

After another hour of writing I pack my things and put on my coat. I say goodbye to my old managers and make my way to the door. It’s a moment I have thought about for a long time, a moment I have pondered as I walked under the blue-grey sky of Nashville, and it is every bit surreal as I dreamed it would be. I look back around the bookstore and take a deep breath. The door’s opening rings the bell, and I feel content. I did all that I could here, and I let the place change me.

Cold air meets my skin and I shiver.

See you later, Church Street. You’ve been a wonderful teacher.

An hour passes before I arrive at the party at my brother and sister-in-law’s home. It is the first party of theirs I am attending since we reconciled in October, and it seems fitting to know that as clock strikes midnight, I will be with the same people I was last year at this time. Everything has come full circle. I am happy that my brother and I are a part of each others’ lives again. I park the car and look over at the Pharisee, who shows no sign of leaving.

It’s been a year since you started this crazy thing.

It’s been life-changing.

You’ve successfully become an apostate.

Oh, no. I’ve finally become a Christ-follower. But things aren’t ending the way they should be ending.

Why is that?

Because of you. You’re still here.

Yes, I am. You want me to leave?

I want you out of my life forever. And after seeing the things we’ve seen…How can you still be here?

That’s a good question. I’ll be here until I can’t be here anymore.

I get out of the car and grab my things. This year has left me feeling emotionally constipated. Will things be different, come midnight? Will anything be different tomorrow, or the next day? I hope so, but I cannot say for certain.

The walkway to the front door is slick, but I make it to the door without slipping. Before I even knock, Maren answers. She hugs me, and I see two glasses of wine on the table. “How are you?” she asks.

“Good. I’m ready for midnight!”

“I bet.”

Andrew comes out of the bathroom and gives me a big hug. “How’s your day been?”

“It was good, really very good. I spent the last few hours on Church Street. It wasn’t easy.”

He nods his understanding. Things with my brother have gotten better lately. It was encouraging that he allowed me to share my pictures of the past twelve months with him. It showed me that he was trying to understand, and trying is all I can ever ask of anyone.

“What’s the next step?” he asks casually.

“I’ve got to come out of the closet.”

“How do you think people will take it?”

“I think most of my friends will react positively. There are a few I’m worried about…well, three people, specifically.”

“You scared?” Maren says.

“Definitely afraid of hurting someone. I’m afraid of hurting someone and losing my friends.”

As the hour passes, people begin showing up. They are the typical eclectic bunch that usually appear at my brother’s parties. High school friends, college friends, church friends, couples, singles, family. And while spirits are high, everyone looks at me hesitantly, knowing that my relationship with my brother has been strained. Does it bother me? No. I’ve been in more stressful situations in the past eighteen months than these people can fathom. This is a party, and nothing stands a chance of flustering me more than the prospect of my re-entry into the label of straight.

I haven’t written about it, but my first day at Revive Café, I purchased a necklace and have been wearing it ever since. It is a silver dog tag with the pride flag on it and a second tag with the Bear Organization’s darker-colored pride flag. The Bears are an organization of burley gay men that socialize and raise money for charity. While I was a barista, I became a Bear Cub, and I got the second tag to add to the necklace. I have been wearing both silver dog tags around my neck all year, and they feel like part of my body. While I stand at my brother’s side and talk with the various people coming and going, every few seconds I trace the outline of the necklace around my neck and think fondly of all the memories I’ve made this year.

The clock strikes 11:00, and I am taking everything in. I want to be present every second I have left. I want to know the feel of turning the key to my inner closet and letting straight Tim out again. I want to celebrate the ability to be who I am. As I think about how life will change, I hope it never goes back to how it was before. I am acutely aware and thankful for everything that being who I am means. It is empowering to know yourself and to be yourself, no matter how that affects your life with others.

And that is something I have learned to appreciate this year. My first coming out was daunting because I was going into the closet. This time around, I gain the freedom of being
me
. When someone comes out as gay, it is a pinnacle moment in his or her life. It is the moment when the decision is made to be who he knows he is, and to let the chips fall as they may. Will he face persecution from the mainstream? Yes. Will he risk relationships, friendships, and his standing in the family? Probably. But what good are those things, if you cannot be honestly you? It takes courage to declare that you know yourself, and that you do not care who else knows it because
you
know it—and I admire that courage. It also takes an incalculable strength to live in the closet, and that is part of the journey, too. I would not have been able to live in the closet longer than I did. I am weak. My heart goes out to all of those who are not able to be open and honest about who they are, for fear of what they will lose.

I long for the day this issue is obsolete, the day that my friends do not have to feel like their lives are political. I long for the day when equal rights isn’t a campaign issue, when the news won’t run front-page stories about celebrities and news anchors coming out of the closet. Then maybe, just maybe, our focus will be on something meaningful, something we can eradicate for the better, like the sex trade, or poverty, or AIDS, or homelessness.

The countdown starts in one minute, and I hold my necklace in my right hand and a glass of champagne in my left. Everyone is hunkered around the television watching the ball drop in Time Square, and I think fondly of my time walking through Manhattan. I think of Soulforce, of Memphis, of Revive Café, and of my softball team, P3. I think of Shawn and Phil, Ben, Scott, Jason, Will, and Angela. I think of Mel White and of Elizabeth and Nicole. I think of everyone, and I wonder what they are doing at this very moment. I also think of Patrick and his judgments, and of the Phelps family. One is probably open-air preaching right now, and the others are probably picketing some televised event, saying that God hates all of us. I think of Samantha and Matthew, and I think of Brent. I think of Jesus in drag, and I say a silent prayer of thanks for her. I think of all the people and the faces that have become so powerful and beautiful in my life, the mental collage of inspiration that has made me a better man.

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. The seconds passed like hours last year at this time, but time passes normally this time around. And then the host shouts, “Happy New Year!” and the camera pans to Time Square where billions of confetti pieces rain down upon the thousands gathered for the festivities.

Everyone in the room begins kissing, hugging, and wishing each other a Happy New Year—but I stay in the background by the kitchen. I silently take a sip of my champagne and reverently take off my necklace. I don’t have a girl to kiss this New Year, but I do not need one. I kiss the pride flag on my dog tag and thank God for the things and people He has shown me.

I hear my brother next to me.

“Everyone, I’d like to raise a toast in this New Year’s moment to my little brother, and to the fact that he’s made it through a very interesting experiment. To Tim, straight once more!” Everyone laughs and raises their glass, toasting me. Anyone who hadn’t heard about my experiment by this moment in the party did when my brother toasted me. But they aren’t who I am worried about coming out to…Oh no, the ones that I am will know soon enough. I look over at the Pharisee and he raises his glass.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year to you.

I take a minute and walk outside to smoke a cigarette. I need to be alone. I need to be alone because the biggest limitation of my journey just made itself evident. I think back to my brother’s toast: “To Tim, straight once more!” and to the laughs and cheers I received. Everybody will automatically accept me back. I am straight Tim, and my orientation is no longer a social stigma. None of my other friends will be so lucky. No one else is afforded this luxury. My experiment lasted a year; their revelations relegate them to a much different fate. We aren’t a country of equals.

I wonder where I would be right now if I hadn’t gone through with my year. What would I be doing? What would I believe? Who would I be? I’ll never know, and I am glad to never know. This year has been the most transformative of my young life.

I take a few moments to celebrate the passing of the old year into the new, but the excitement is quickly replaced by a solemn realization. Before I can truly celebrate, I have to come out again, and this time I have far more to lose.

I like to think of my few days back out of the closet with the image of a space shuttle getting ready to re-enter orbit after a prolonged stint in space. The long mission was successful, and the shuttle is returning back to the place where it can be repaired and cleaned up, where the astronauts can rest. But that metaphor works best because re-entering the atmosphere is the most dangerous leg of the mission, after taking off. I will be re-entering through people, via the lie I have told them or allowed them to believe. I only hope they will understand.

January first is a different monster, this time around. Much like last year, I go first to a café on West End to meet up with Josh. I think of this time last year, when I was being driven to Josh’s house as an emotional basket case. It was a first step into an alien world. I go to the café knowing I might even see a few people who I’ll have to break the news to. It is a daunting thought, but I have to resist the urge to cower from it. The Bible says the truth shall set us free, and while I have been set free from who I was, I have to make that final descent in order to come to terms with the means by which I entered this experiment.

I have received positive responses during the first two days after coming out straight. Angela, my retired transgender runway-model friend, told me that she felt I had done God’s work; and in light of her being a mystic who does not believe in any particular god, her desire to speak in language that is important to me meant a lot. Several other friends from the bar were shocked but adjusted quickly, and after sharing my background with them a little bit more, they were happy that I did what I did. My LGBT friends in Memphis—especially Beth, who is still mostly in the closet—were so encouraged and overjoyed about my revelation that they could barely contain their excitement. When I asked them why they were so positive after I had lied to them, they told me that it was a beautiful thing to know an ally who actually attempted to understand. It was a humbling series of conversations. Samantha Hasty, Mel’s assistant, was also more than accepting. Not only did she accept me, we have become even closer. “Now I know why you flirt with me!” She said with a laugh. I know she will be a life-long friend.

Steve, a friend from the bar whom I hung out with on Wednesday afternoons and in the coffee shop most days, was shocked. As I told him, I braced for my first real taste of anger from someone I never wanted to hurt.

“So are you going to be writing about me and about our conversations, or any of the times I tried to flirt with you?” he asked me.

“Steve, anything we talked about is between you and me. I am not writing an exposé, I promise.” My response seemed to satisfy his concern, and after an hour on the phone, he made it clear that he still very much wants to be friends.

I would like to write about every conversation and moment I shared with people in the weeks after my re-entry, but that would be another book’s worth of chapters. Needless to say, I learned a lot from my friends after the fact, too. And it was all worth it, in the end—every moment of discomfort and every moment of humility.

Not one of my gay friends rejected me for lying to them. The more skeptical of them just asked me questions, but by the end of those conversations they were content with everything they had heard. Some bought me drinks, and some made me buy them drinks. Some asked me if I would ever consider “switching teams” for a night, to give “
it
” a try (If you’ve read the preceding chapters, it probably won’t be too hard to figure out who); and to them, well, I politely declined the offer. And in the end, there are only three people I have had a hard time finding the courage to tell. They are the three people whom I am the most worried will be hurt by my news. Until I talk to them, I still feel like I am in the closet.

Telling them is the only thing left to do before I start the next chapter of my life. But for some reason, I can’t bring myself to tell Will or Phil…and I am especially afraid to tell Ben. These three guys, in addition to Shawn, have been my mainstay friends from the gayborhood. And all three of them have been seriously taken advantage of and wounded in the name of Christ. Hell,
I
was one of the Christians who hurt Will before all of this, harassing him after he came out. What would I do if I told these three friends, and they didn’t want to be my friend anymore? How can I live with myself knowing that I might be just one more person who caused them harm? I simply cannot move forward with my life until they know.

The mirror in the bathroom at my dad’s house reflects the image of a young man, well dressed for the night but as nervous as I have ever seen him. It has been a little over twelve months since I felt this nervous, and I still don’t know how to cope with it. I guess all that is left to do is leave. My car’s engine roars to life as I turn the key in the ignition, and before I can second-guess my decision I am already on the road to Tribe. The Pharisee sits in the passenger seat, eyeing me with curiosity.

I pull into the parking lot behind Tribe, shaking. I know everyone is inside. Except for two slow afternoons, this is the first time I have been here in a month. I have missed this place, missed the ambience and the crowd. It really did become a home while I adopted the label of gay. I walk to the smaller bar in the second room to order a beer from Will, who runs over and hugs me as soon as he sees me.

“How are you doing? It’s been a while!” he says.

“I’m doing well. Trying to decide if I want to move in the next few months.”

“Oh, my god! I’m so jealous! Let me get you that beer and we’ll talk about it,” he says, retreating to the taps where he fills a pint glass with my usual.

He places the beer in front of me, and I take a sip, nervously deciding how I am going to tell him. I’m so nervous, in fact, that my sip drains most of the glass.

“Whoa, there! You okay?” Will asks with a smile.

“Will, we need to talk about something.” I take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks again.

“I’m okay.” I try to compose myself. “You know how I was before I came out, how dogmatically I tried to get in touch with you when you came out?”

“Yeah.”

“A few months after that, I felt convicted by how I acted toward you, and because of a situation I had with another friend who came out. I realized I needed to question what I have believed all my life. So I tried to figure out what would be the most effective way to understand what it was like to come out, and how the label of gay would impact my life... I’m not gay, Will. I came out to my friends, family—everyone—so that I could try to understand. I came here tonight to say I’m so sorry that I deceived you in the process.”

“You’re not really gay?” he says. I can tell he’s processing what I’ve just told him.

“No. I’m not,” I answer. Will makes a mixed drink for another guy at the bar, and I take deep breaths. “I was a bigot. I needed to change. I don’t know why I decided to do what I’ve done, but it felt like the only way…”

“So you came out as gay, so you could understand how it changes your family life and social life and faith?” His tone is even, and calm.

I don’t know if he is upset or angry, or okay with what I did. I feel a pang in my heart and a sense of sadness come over me. I look down at my hands before speaking. I can’t look him in the eye.

“Will, I am so incredibly sorry for lying to you this whole year. I feel horrible.”

“Why? Why would you feel horrible?” He waits for me to look up so I see him smiling. I feel a small measure of relief. “Did it change you? I mean, honestly change you?”

“Yes, it did. I never understood
who
I was condemning before…or why it was I was condemning them. I am a different person now. A better person, I think.”

“Then why are you sorry? Why would you apologize for taking the steps necessary to question and overcome your prejudice?” he asks.

“Because I love you and don’t want to lose you as a friend!”

“Give me more credit than that. Did you really think I wouldn’t accept you because you aren’t really gay?”

“Will, I lied to you.”

“We are all liars here. Most of us spent years in the closet, saying we were straight to everyone we loved. How is your lie any different?” Will smiles and fills another pint glass with beer. “This one is on the house. You have just made my night, so your beer is on me.”

“Thank you.” I’m still nervous and shaking, but Will puts his hand on mine and speaks softly.

“Tim, what you’ve done means a lot to me—and it will mean a lot to a lot of people. Be confident of that. I love you, too.”

“I hope so.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t see through it, though. I thought my straight-dar was better than that!” We laugh and I take a few more deep breaths.

“I’ve got to tell Phil and Ben, still. Know where they are?”

“They’re outside, smoking and talking as usual,” he says.

“Thank you, Will. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I grab my beer and walk towards the other room.

“You have balls of steel, my friend…” he says, flipping a dish towel over his shoulder as I walk to the next room.

I walk outside, and Phil is where I was told he would be. “Tim!” he shouts. “The prodigal son has returned!”

“How are you?”

“I’m great! Ben is in the bathroom,” he adds, seeing me looking around.

“Phil, I need to talk to you, and I need to do it now before I lose my nerve or am able to talk myself out of it.”

“Okay, honey. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, technically…I’m just afraid you’ll be angry at me.”

“Why?”

“I’m not really gay.” I let my words sink in for a minute before telling him everything I told Will. His face registers shock, and he takes a deep breath as he listens. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry for lying to you, and that I hope you will still be my friend.”

“Tim…I don’t know what to say. Of course I’m still your friend, but give me a second to wrap my head around what you just told me.” He takes a few deep drags from his cigarette and gulps from his drink. Finally he says, “I’m not mad at you. I’m overwhelmed by what you just said.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“Yes, it is, but Tim, thank you!” A grin spreads widely across his face and he laughs. “You just proved to me that what I have always thought about you is true! To think, you cared so much that you’d make such a mess of your life, just to understand…I can’t imagine.” He puts his drink down, ashes his cigarette, and then walks around the small patio table to me and wraps his arms around me. “I love you, Tim, and I’m not angry. Thank you for telling me, and for doing what you did. I couldn’t be mad at you. Other people will be angry at you, to be sure, but I know you, and I know your heart is so big.”

“You know, you, Will, and Ben are the only three I hadn’t told yet, because I was so afraid you’d be angry. I was so scared you would feel betrayed.”

“You were worried about losing me? Wow…That means a lot.”

Hugging Phil feels like hugging a family member. I feel tears in my eyes and try to compose myself, but it’s difficult.

“I need to tell Ben, and then we’ll all catch up!” I say.

“He’s at the bar. See?” He points through the glass window. “Good luck!”

I begin that short but fated walk to Ben as though I’m just a few short steps to complete freedom. The Pharisee looks over, putting his hand on my shoulder, and scowls. His nasty expression reminds me why I want to be rid of him, why I want to live the rest of my life without his voice lending itself as something more than what it is, the voice of a cruel and critical part of me.

I arrived here believing my fears would be justified, but so far they haven’t been. The three people I was the most afraid of are here, and two of them have shown me grace. Ben is all that is left between me and the end of this part of the journey.

That’s it. Go ahead. You can do it.

What do you want from me?

How does it feel to know that you haven’t had to face any retribution for lying to these people? Ease the conscience any?

I know the time will come. I know I’ll face judgment for this.

And you will deserve it. But worse than any you’re going to face is God’s judgment.

Why do you take so much joy from condemning people for their actions? Why can’t you just love people?

By telling you the truth, I am showing you love.

I always used to say that, but I was blind. Now you can leave me alone.

I set the glass down on a table and walk towards the bar. Ben’s back is to me. He seems to be in conversation with the bartender. I look over and see Will watching anxiously from the other room.

“Ben,” I say, putting my hand on his shoulder. He turns around and smiles.

“Hello, there!” he says. “I was just telling a friend about you the other day!”

“That’s sweet, if it was good stuff!” I laugh nervously.

“Of course it was all good. So how are you?”

“Well. We really need to talk.”

“Sure, babe, the floor is yours,” Ben says, grabbing his glass. He takes a sip from the tiny straw and waits for me to talk.

“Ben, I need to apologize to you and tell you about who I really am.”

“That sounds interesting. What’s going on?”

“You are the last person to find this out, but not because I care about you the least. I’ve been terrified of telling you because I respect you and love you, and haven’t wanted to lose your friendship.”

“Honey, you don’t have to worry about me—”

There is a real possibility that he will be wrong.

“I’m not really gay.” I slap my hand over my mouth like I did after telling Andrew and Maren that I was gay. After a few seconds I lower it. Ben stands with a blank expression on his face and waits. A few seconds pass and I force myself to speak. “I was raised a religious bigot, and I knew that something was desperately wrong with me. I came out as gay to everyone in my life so I could try to understand the pain and stigma that is attached to the label, and for the past year I’ve been living in the closet as straight.”