The God Box (18 page)

Angie told me.I didn't want to leave Manuel, even though I felt exhausted."Come on," she whispered, gently pulling me away from the ICU window, as the respirator eased air in and out of his lungs.She drove us back from Abilene through the rain, and I tried to stay awake, but it had already turned dark outside. As the car cruised down the highway, the steady flick of the windshield wipers quickly lulled me to sleep.I was barely aware when Angie dropped me off at home. Abuelita asked about Manuel, but I don't know what I answered. I can't even remember crashing onto my bed to sleep.189

THE NEXT DAY, WHEN I SLOWLY EMERGED FROM SLEEP, IT WAS LIKE ANY

OTHER MORNING. BUT AS I GAZED DOWN AT MY SLEPT-IN CLOTHES FROM THE

NIGHT BEFORE, THE MEMORY OF WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO MANUEL SEEPED

INTO MY BRAIN LIKE POISON.I lay still, hardly breathing, as though a heavy weight were bearing down on me, while my mind replayed the sight of Manuel in the movie, the parking lot, the hospital...Dear Jesus, I prayed. Heal Manuel. Please? And help me to deal with all this.Only by praying was I able to finally pull myself out of bed. When I shuffled into the kitchen, Abuelita was sitting at the breakfast table, reading the morning paper. Immediately, she got up and embraced me. "Buenos dias, mi amor."It felt so good to be held by her. She gestured to the paper on the table. "It's in the news." I grabbed the Reporter-News and read the article, headlined TWO

ARRESTED FOR ATTEMPTED MURDER.Two seventeen-year-old males were arrested and charged with attempted murder yesterday for the near-fatal attack of Manuel Cordero. Police have withheld their names due to their ages.190While walking home on December 29 at approximately 10 p.m., Cordero, 17, a senior at Longhorn High, was attacked and severely beaten with a tire iron. He is currently in critical condition at Abilene Regional Medical Center.Attempted murder?

My stomach wrenched. Were the two seventeen-year-olds in fact Jude and Terry? What would happen to them?Abuelita set a plate of eggs and crisp bacon in front of me, but I told her I wasn't hungry. More than anything I wanted to get back to Abilene and see Manuel. Although there was nothing I could do besides pray and wait, I wanted to be with him--even if he didn't know I was there.Abuelita wiped her glasses with her apron and sighed. "Pablito, you have to eat. Come on."I must have been hungrier than I thought, because I ate everything on the plate. I had finished brushing my teeth when Pa phoned from work: "Did you get some sleep?""Yeah, but I'm going back to see him. He's in ICU."Pa became quiet, as if thinking. "Okay, but I want you home early.

It's New Year's Eve--too many drunks on the road. Understand?""Yes, sir."It was still raining off and on during my drive to Abilene. I tried to keep to the speed limit, though I wanted to hurry. I was thinking about Manuel's parents and what I wanted to tell them, when suddenly my cell rang."Thank God you're okay," said Eric. He was the last person I expected a call from, especially since I had never phoned him about the ex-gay meeting. "I heard on TV that a boy from your town was attacked. I was afraid it might've been you."191"No. He's a friend of mine." "Oh, yeah?

Was he gay?"It made me feel creepy that Eric said "was"--as if Manuel had died. Maybe I just heard it that way. I braced my arms against the steering wheel and replied, "Yeah, he's gay.""The lifestyle isn't safe." Eric exhaled an audible sigh. "If you want God's protection, you've got to get right with him."I should have predicted that response. Would he have said the same if Manuel had been straight? Why wasn't he blaming the attackers instead of Manuel? I clenched my jaw, wanting to tell Eric, "Go screw yourself.""When are you coming to our fellowship?" he asked."I don't know." That was the farthest thing from my mind right now. "Look, I've got to go.""Okay,"

Eric said. "Call me if you want to talk.""Yeah, sure," I said, and hung up. I had no intention of calling. And even though it was cold outside, I turned on the AC to help cool my anger.By the time I arrived at the hospital, I'd managed to get Eric's phone call out of my mind, and I hurried into the visitors' lounge, eager to find out about Manuel."How's he doing?" I asked his parents.

"Any news?""No . . ." His mom forced her lips into a pale smile, as if trying to be hopeful."But the doctors say it's good that he's stable," Mr. Cordero offered.I nodded in agreement and fidgeted with my wristband, thinking what I had rehearsed to tell them. "Um, I'm really sorry... for not giving him a ride home. I thought he had his car."Mrs. Cordero nodded forgivingly. "I know. He could have called us."192"He's always been so headstrong," Mr. Cordero said. "We've had our share of arguments because of it."Mrs. Cordero smiled a little more easily to me. "He said once he wished he could be more like you... accepting and patient."Accepting and patient? Me? I sure didn't think of myself that way. More than anything I wanted Manuel to wake from the coma and be well now\ Today! This instant!"He cares a lot about you," Mr. Cordero added."I care about him, too," I said feebly, feeling like a fake. If I truly cared so much about Manuel, why had I freaked out when he turned to kiss me in the theater? If I'd kissed him like I'd wanted to, would we even be in the hospital now?The remainder of the day I stood looking through the ICU

window at Manuel lying bruised and broken.I tried to picture his mischievous brown eyes beneath the bandages. In my mind I traced my fingers across his cut and swollen lips, remembering how tender they'd felt when I dabbed them with ointment. Once again I now imagined kissing them, but this time I tasted the dried blood on his face, bitter, like acid.Over and over that day I prayed, God, Jesus, please make him well.During my drive home that night I felt so exhausted that I rolled down the windows to keep me alert. The cold winter air blasted into the car, whipping around my head. Thunder rumbled far off in the west, along with low flashes of lightning, and my thoughts returned to God. Why had he allowed Manuel to get hurt so badly?

How could he allow such suffering and still claim to be loving and good?It wasn't the first time I'd had such doubts--or at least started to. Sometimes, while watching news reports of wars or disasters, I'd asked myself, Why does God allow it? But I changed the TV channel or turned the page, not wanting to dwell on it too long. It193was simpler to accept Pastor Jose's response: "It isn't our place to question God's wrath; instead, be grateful for his kindness and mercy." That was a lot harder to do when the hurt and confusion hit so close to home--as with Manuel...or with my ma'sillness and death. Except that then I had been a child. As a boy I accepted what adults told me.Now, as I looked out over the vastness of the empty plains, I prayed, "Why do you allow it, God? Help me to understand. Where are you in all this, Jesus? Where are you?"Only the wind answered, whistling in through the windows. By the time I reached our town limits sign, I was nearly frozen.On Main Street the cross atop the church I'd gone to as a child caught my attention, lit up for the holidays. I slowed the car and pulled over to stare at the faded stucco building. The place seemed a lot smaller than when I was little.Without any particular plan I turned the engine off and got out of the car. I strode up the walkway, climbed the front steps, and tried the church doors. Naturally, they were locked. I walked back down the steps and over to the Sunday school building. Cupping my hands on the window of my boyhood classroom, I peered inside.The light from the streetlamp barely illuminated the room. Across the child-sized desks and chairs the once larger-than-life Jesus mural now looked small and dim. He seemed so distant.In my memory I pictured a Sunday morning long ago, the room crowded with kids. Sunlight streamed in the windows. My ma waited patiently in the classroom doorway for me until I ran to take her hand, excited to tell her the Bible story I'd learned that day.Now a million questions taunted me. What if all those Bible stories are merely that, just stories? What if all the miracles were made up? What if Jesus was a mere mortal, or just another made-up story? What if there is no eternal life? What if it's all a lie? What if my prayers are just talking to myself? What if there is no God?194I folded my arms tight against my jacket, thinking back over my life since the days in that classroom: the loss of my ma; how much I'd missed her; my frustration at my dad's drinking; having to be strong for him when I was the one who needed him; my shame over the attraction I felt toward other boys; my loneliness, year after year, unable to voice my secret; my guilt with Angie; and now all my confusion about Manuel...As I stood in the cold dark night, peering into that building, something broke inside me. Maybe it was the hope I had tried so hard to sustain all those years: that I could be different from what I was. Or perhaps it was my heart, which I had given so trustingly to Jesus.What would become of me? Should I be honest about who I was--and end up like Manuel, in a hospital bed and possibly destined to hell for giving in to sin? Or should I continue living a lie, feigning unquestioning faith and happiness outside while fighting and hating who I was inside?Neither choice seemed fair. Was there another possibility, one that I had never dared consider?I had always been taught that the mere thought of suicide was a sin. God gave us life, and it was only for him to take it away. But now I no longer cared if I went to hell for it.

How much worse could it be than the torment and despair I'd felt all these years? Wasn't I already in hell?I recalled a schoolmate during freshman year who had done it. Late one night he sat in his car in the garage with the engine running, till he asphyxiated. I could do that. Nobody had ever found out what made him do it. Should I leave a note? Would I have the guts to admit my reason?

What about Angie, and Pa, and Abuelita? Could I do that to them?I turned my collar up against the wind, but it didn't stop the dark chill that pierced through me. Slowly I returned to my car and195climbed inside. Bending my head over the steering wheel, I told Jesus, "I'm begging you.

If you truly exist, you've got to help me. Because I can't do this anymore."Then I turned the ignition and drove home.196

EVEN THOUGH IT WAS NEW YEAR'S EVE,I COLLAPSED INTO BED, TOO WIPED OUT

AND DEPRESSED TO DO ANYTHING BESIDES SLEEP. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE

NIGHT, MY CELL RANG."Happy New Year," Angie said."Um, you too," I mumbled, barely awake. "Thanks."At some time the following morning, I was still half asleep when Pa came into the room. He stood at the foot of my bed, but he never said anything; he just looked at me. I guess he figured I needed the rest, because he went back out, and I returned to sleep.The sound of more rain finally woke me up at nearly noon. But for all my sleeping, I felt more empty than rested.

The only thing that drew me out of bed was Manuel. Even in a coma he was still pulling at me.When I got to the kitchen, Abuelita wrapped her arms around me. "Happy New Year! I was about to wake you.""Happy New Year," I said, noticing her suitcase by the door. I'd forgotten she had to leave today. Now I wished I'd spent more time with her.197Abuelita asked about Manuel while making me a breakfast of chorizo, piping hot eggs, and beans. Pa had already said good-bye to her and gone to run errands. After I finished eating, I carried her suitcase to the car, stepping over dark pools of water on the pavement. They seemed like mirrors of the mood I felt inside.Halfway down the highway to Abilene I turned to Abuelita. "Can I ask you something?

Have you ever wondered if God exists?""Of course." She shrugged, as though it was the most natural question on earth. "But what difference does it make? What matters is the courage and strength that I get from believing in him. Whether he exists or not, he's real to me today."I didn't think her answer made much sense. "How can you believe in him if you doubt he exists?""Mi amor, we have to believe in something--in some power--otherwise we'd have no hope. Believing gives us hope. God is hope."I pondered that, feeling my own lack of hope."I've had days,"

Abuelita continued, "when I didn't think I could go on." She gave me a long, searching look, as if she'd guessed the thoughts I'd had last night at the church. But how could she? I hadn't told her about it."Days when that power, that hope for something better, was the only thing that got me out of bed in the morning."Was hope the pull I had felt from Manuel since first seeing him? Hope in answer to all my confusion?Abuelita let out a weary sigh. "And besides, if there was no God, who would I get mad at? Better to turn that ire at God than at myself."I laughed a little nervously, recalling the times I'd come home and found Abuelita shouting at God. I had never allowed myself to198get angry at him. Maybe I had felt too guilty."God is great, Pablito. Don't be afraid to be angry with him. Let him know what's in your heart--all of it. He can take it. He can take more than you could ever give him. Just don't give up."I stared out at the roadway, not exactly comprehending everything she said, but what mattered was that she seemed to understand--even the things I hadn't told her.At the airport I carried her bag to check-in and said good-bye, hugging her tightly, and watched till she passed through security. Then I drove to the hospital.As the hours went by that day, I sat outside Manuel's room, and my mind rambled all over. I thought a lot about how much it would hurt Abuelita, Pa, and Angie if I did give up, if I ended my life. But what if I just couldn't go on?It felt like the only thing keeping me going was the hope that Manuel would recover. Yet, what if he didn't? I remembered the afternoon we'd been in his room, listening to his big band music, and he'd reached for my hand, inviting me to dance. "If I were you," he'd said, "I'd take me up on this invitation. You never know in life if you'll get a second chance."If only I'd known then how true his words were and I had taken him in my arms, like I'd wanted to.I thought about the stuff he'd said to me in the mall parking lot, about putting myself in a box. Was he right? Had I? Was I even capable of love?"Please don't die," I now whispered to him from behind the glass of the ICU window. "I need you so much. I want to love, but what if I can't? What if I don't know how? You've got to teach me. I need you to teach me."I let my forehead drop onto the window as tears trickled down my cheeks.199