The God Box (12 page)

Zip. Zero. Nada.If I was truly bisexual, shouldn't I feel something} Maybe I'd just stopped feeling horny altogether. To check, I clicked back to the "Hot Hunks" site.Instant wood. Quickly I closed the browser again.I leaned back in my chair and took a huge breath, realizing the implications of my experiment. I was definitely turned on by guys, not girls.I wiped my sweaty palms against my pants, more worried than ever. What if this wasn't a phase? What if I never became attracted to women and yet didn't want to sin by having sex with guys? Should I be celibate for all my life?

Was that what God wanted for me? To never experience the warmth and love of someone else's body or feel their heart beat against mine?I knew that St. Paul considered celibacy a noble calling, but he also realized how hard it was. I recalled i Corinthians 7, where he even said that it was

"better to marry than to be aflame with passion." I didn't want to go through life alone and crazed with lust. I wanted to be loved and cared about like everyone else. I wanted someone to marry, to love, "to have and to hold till death do us part." So, why would it be so wrong for that person to be122another guy? What if the two of us just didn't have sex?Get real. I sighed. How long would that last?Okay, then... So, what if I couldn't change, and neither celibacy nor marriage was an option, what other choice was there?I adjusted my pants and glanced at my Bible. How could I choose between my sexuality and my spirituality, two of the most important parts that made me whole? It seemed so unfair, like some cruel joke."Why?" I asked Jesus. "I gave my heart to you before I even knew what sex was. I've always tried to follow you. Why has God given me up like this?"Before, I had always believed that Jesus heard my prayers, even if he didn't respond. Now, for the first time in my life, I doubted. Did he hear me?My doubts made me feel even guiltier.

Maybe I needed to give my heart over to him again.This time I wrote down my prayer, hoping to make it even more real, and I based it on everything I had learned in church and Sunday school:Dear Jesus,I believe you are the Son of God and that you died for my sins. I accept you as my Lord and savior and give my life over to you. I believe that by your stripes we are healed.

Please heal me. You know I don't want to be this way. I've tried and tried to change. I don't know what else you want me to do. Please forgive all my sins and come into my heart. Again. Thank you.I folded up the paper, opened the lid of my God Box, and surrendered it inside.123

AFTER GIVING MY HEART OVER TO JESUS AGAIN, I HOPED TO WAKE UP THE

NEXT MORNING FEELING CLEANSED AND RENEWED. INSTEAD -- MAYBE

BECAUSE L'D LOOKED AT THE PORN, OR BECAUSE I'D DOUBTED JESUS--WHEN

THE SUN'S RAYS PRIED THROUGH THE WINDOW BLINDS, I WANTED TO HIDE

FROM THE WORLD."You okay?" Pa asked, shaking my foot."Yeah." I pulled the blanket down from over my head and hauled myself out of bed.During homeroom I avoided looking at Manuel, afraid he'd somehow know that I had taken up his idea about porn sites."Hey," he whispered, "are you ignoring me?"I shrugged and didn't answer. Instead I glanced over at Angie, recalling my lack of response to the porn pic women. How long could I continue to withhold my secret from her?In government class that morning the topic was the U.S. Constitution. Almost immediately someone brought up the proposed amendment to make same-sex marriage unconstitutional. A couple of guys on the football team said some pretty nasty things124about gay people, while other classmates uttered stupid stuff, like, "If two guys can get married, I should be able to marry my dog."Big laughs, while Mr. Proctor simply smirked and allowed it.I sat silently, taking it all in and wanting to crawl out of my skin. Then I noticed, a couple of seats away, Stephen Marten's lip begin to quiver.I felt like I should do something: speak up and confront the jerks in class, comfort Stephen, show him he wasn't alone, do something."Aw . . ." Jude Maldonado saw Stephen and snickered. "The little faggot's going to cry."At that point, Stephen stood up, his whole body shaking, and yelled at Mr. Proctor, "Why don't you stop this?"Mr. Proctor looked blank, as if he didn't understand what Stephen was making a fuss about. "You're out of line, Stephen.""No, you're out of line!" Stephen shouted, and ran out of class. And I slunk down in my seat, feeling even more ashamed for not having the guts to stand up for him--or myself.The story of Stephen running out of class spread through the hallways."Did you hear about Stephen Marten? What a crybaby." "He's such a fag."With each comment my stomach turned--and yet I said nothing. At lunchtime Angie asked me, "Aren't you in his government class?""Yeah," I muttered. Not wanting to talk about it, I bit into my barbecue sandwich. Next to Angie's tray I noticed a library book. "What's that?""I was just telling Dakota. It's about a transsexual teenager." Oh, great, I thought. As if dealing with gay people isn't enough. "The story is so amazing!" Angie exclaimed, patting the book. "Mrs. Ramirez is amazing," Dakota replied, "for having books like that in the library."125That was definitely true. The odd thing was: Mrs. R. didn't look like some freethinking radical who would read books about gays or transsexuals. She stood less than five feet tall, had graying hair, wore reading glasses on a silver chain around her neck, and dressed in boring-as-dirt clothes.Suddenly, an idea occurred to me. "Hey, does the sponsor for the GSA have to be a teacher? Or can it be a staff member?"Angie glanced at Dakota; then Dakota tossed her curls back, screaming at me: "Oh, my God! You're a genius!"Hardly. I felt more like an idiot. If I didn't want the GSA, why had I said anything?Angie pulled the club application from her notebook and hurriedly reread it. Then she gazed up with an ear-to-ear smile. "It says the sponsor can be any faculty or staff member.""But do you think Mrs. R. would do it?" I asked, once again secretly hoping the club wouldn't happen."I'll find out," Angie replied, still smiling. And I pushed aside my soggy barbecue sandwich, too queasy to finish.During afternoon classes, I barely paid attention. My thoughts swirled between porn sites, same-sex marriage, transsexuals, and the GSA.When I arrived home after school, my pa's truck stood parked in the driveway. I strode in the front door and yelled, "I'm home!"Pa replied from my room, "I'm in here."He was sitting at my desk, using my computer--something he rarely did, since he had his own computer at work.

My mind immediately rocketed to the porn sites I'd visited. I'd forgotten to erase my tracks. Had he seen my web pages history? Hardly able to breathe, I choked out, "Um, hi."Pa turned from the computer, his dark eyes giving me a long serious look. "Hi."126"Um, I've got to go to the bathroom," I uttered and hurried down the hallway. I closed the bathroom door behind me, and as quietly as possible I threw up.I guess the guilt was getting to me. I splashed cold water on my face, cleaning myself up, and realized how truly terrified I felt of Pa finding out about me. Would he be angry? Disappointed? What if he started to drink again?During dinner I barely ate, waiting for him to mention my porn visits. But he never said anything. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Maybe I was just going wacko with paranoia.I was taking out the trash when Angie phoned: "Guess what?

Mrs. Ramirez thinks the GSA is a great idea. She'll do it! Isn't that awesome? Why didn't we think of her sooner?""Um, I don't know." Me and my big mouth. I tossed the trash in the can and slammed the lid."So," Angie continued, "she signed the application and I turned it in. The main office secretary saw it was for a gay-straight alliance and said, 'I think Mr. Arbuthnot will want to speak to you about this.'""Great," I mumbled. Maybe he'll tear up the application.The following morning in homeroom Mr. Arbuthnot boomed over the loudspeaker: "The following students report to my office immediately: Dakota Sims, Stephen Marten, Angie Leon, and Manuel Cordero. Immediately"Angie and Manuel sat up in their seats. Classmates turned to stare. From the back row Jude and his goons hooted: "Uh-oh! What did you do? You're busted, man!""Quiet!" our homeroom teacher yelled. "Or I'll send you all down."Boy, was that the wrong thing to say; the catcalls only got louder.Manuel and Angie collected their books and headed out the127door, while I felt left behind. What would happen to them? I had to wait till lunch to find out.When I got to the cafeteria, Angie and Dakota were sitting at our usual table, along with Manuel, Stephen Marten, and the rest of Manuel's crew: Maggie, Gerald, Rufus, and Janice.Slowly I shuffled over. I didn't exactly relish being seen with that group.Dakota was excitedly describing the meeting with Mr. Arbuthnot. "He said, 'We don't have any gay students at our school.'""So, I told him..." Manuel grinned proudly. '"Oh, yes, you do.'""And I explained,"

Angie interjected, "that our school also has a huge homophobia problem.""So then Arbuthnot says . . ." Dakota lowered her voice to mimic him and banged her fist on the table. '"I won't allow a club that condones immorality to disrupt our school.'""Like Jude isn't disruptive," Stephen said sarcastically, "but our club would be? I told him about government class."I averted my eyes, not wanting to recall that."And I told Arbuthnot," Dakota continued, "that because of the federal Equal Access Act, he had to allow our club, or we'd call the ACLU.""He got quiet at that," Angie finished up, "and said he'd have to consult with the superintendent.""We've won!" Dakota started a chain of high-fives around the table. "He's got to allow it!"Seeing my friends' excitement, I wished that I had signed the GSA application. But when Angie patted my palm, her brown eyes gazed into mine, and I remembered why I hadn't.128

AS WE GOT INTO DECEMBER, THE WEATHER TURNED COOLER --AND SO DID MY

RELATIONSHIP WITH ANGIE. WE STILL IMED AND TALKED ON THE PHONE, BUT I

DIDN'T CALL HER AS MUCH. TOO OFTEN, I NO LONGER KNEW WHAT TO SAY TO

HER. IT WAS ALL SO CONFUSING.I was relieved when she told me, "Hey, I'm sorry I can't go out this Saturday. I have to go visit my aunt in Amarillo.""No problem," I told her. The real problem was inside me. I had to talk to somebody about everything going on or I was going to burst out of my skin. But who could I talk to?The answer to my prayers came that Sunday at church. Pastor Jose preached a sermon about how God needed to be the focus of our lives and at the center of every Christian marriage. To give examples, he described several couples that he'd counseled and helped to get back on track.I had never given much thought to that aspect of his pastoral work. Now as I listened, I wondered, Could he possibly help me with Angie? I still wanted for things to work out between us. But did I dare open up to him? He was, after all, my pastor. Could he help get129me get back on the straight and narrow--especially the straight}For several days I prayed for courage, until one afternoon, while at home alone, I picked up the phone. I knew our church's number from memory. Fingers trembling, I dialed."I Am the Way Church," answered Mrs. Tilly, our church secretary."Um, hi, this is Paul Mendoza. I'd like to know if, um, I could make an appointment to, um, come in and talk to Pastor?""Sure, hon." Mrs.

Tilly always called me "honey" or "sweetie" or something. She'd known me since Pa and I had first joined the church. But today, as she scheduled my appointment, her cheer barely made a dent in my nervousness.For the remainder of the week, my stomach gurgled constantly. At night, I could barely sleep. In school, I couldn't concentrate. On the drive to my meeting with Pastor, I gripped the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles turned white."Hi, honey," Mrs. Tilly greeted me, smiling. A half-joking sign on her desk read the wages of SIN IS DEATH, REPENT

BEFORE PAYDAY."Um, hi." I forced a smile back at her. "I think I'm, um, kind of early." (Half an hour early, in fact.)"No problem, sweetheart. Oh, I've got a new one for you . . ." She was always telling jokes and now leaned forward eagerly. "The preacher's little boy asks, 'Papa, I notice that every Sunday before you preach, you bow your head. What are you doing?' And his papa explains, 'Well, son, I'm asking the Lord to give me a good sermon.' So, the little boy thinks about that a minute and asks, 'Then why don't he?'"Mrs. Tilly burst out laughing. I tried to join her. Then I shuffled over to the sitting area and sank into the plush couch. While I waited, I glanced around at the inspirational signs on the wall. One read noJESUS, NO PEACE. KNOW

JESUS, KNOW PEACE.130The words failed to put me at ease. Should I leave while I still had the chance?Jesus, I prayed silently. Please give me your peace.The door to the study opened and Pastor Jose appeared, his big frame filling the doorway. "Hello, Paul. Come on in." As I stepped into his office he smiled and patted me on the back. "How are you? Have a seat."I quickly dropped into a wing chair, hoping he wouldn't notice how badly I was shaking."So ..." Pastor faced me in his big stuffed armchair. "I'm glad you came in. What's up?"I stared at him, my mouth open. But no words came out. My tongue felt frozen.Pastor gave me an encouraging nod.

"You can talk to me about anything."I took a deep breath and my voice slowly returned, though I stumbled over every word. "Um, I thought about what you said Sunday about the--you know--the, um, couples you've pastored? And, well, it has to do with Angie and me, sort of." As I spoke, I could feel the blood rushing into my face. "Um, I think, maybe, I don't know. I love her and I want to date her, but..." My voice trailed off.Pastor peered at me in a friendly way, as though trying to understand. "But what}"My head felt about to explode. I'd reached the point of no return. My next words would change Pastor's view of me forever."But, well, I'm, um, not attracted to Angie--or any girl. I don't know why. I just never have been. Ever."Even though I didn't utter the word "gay," Pastor must have understood, because I suddenly broke down into uncontrollable tears.For what seemed like forever, I gulped down my sobs, feeling as though every stitch of clothes had fallen off my body, leaving me131exposed. I kept my eyes glued to the floor, waiting for Pastor to say something--that I was sick, or perverted, or condemned to hell. I had put my entire future into his hands. But he remained silent, quietly setting a box of tissues on the table beside me. Finally, as my tears subsided, I looked up at him.His face wasn't scowling in rage or contorted in horror. To my amazement he seemed calm. That should have put me at ease, but a new worry came over me. Why was he so calm? Had he already suspected I was gay? How?