Chapter Nine

 

ONE day slid into the next, each day informed by a pre-established routine. Breakfast, counseling session, class; lunch, some sports activity, break; supper, group sessions, free time, and sleep.

Of course, I couldn’t attend the counseling sessions, which bugged me no end, and I bypassed some of the sports and classes. That gave me time to do my work, enjoy an occasional swim, and go to my car to make phone calls and check and send e-mails. I’d gotten a number of messages from different guys I’d dated, but none of them particularly interested me. I’d kept my responses short and breezy.

I wedged in interviews when I could, with whom I could. Although each man had his own story, a common thread ran through them all: disaffection with the very core of their beings, which had led to chronic self-reproach.

I quickly realized I couldn’t change the thinking of these guys, certainly not in this environment, and it would’ve been presumptuous and foolhardy of me to try. They were adults, after all. I also realized I had no right to invalidate what some ex-gays felt was their successful adoption of heterosexuality. Kelly, one of the mentors, fully believed in both the wisdom and efficacy of his change. He claimed, quite convincingly, to find his new life supremely satisfying. Who was I to dispute his feelings?

The whole thorny business got me thinking about the nature of human sexuality, how it was sometimes fixed and sometimes fluid. People who managed to switch off their homosexual desires were probably bi—or pan or omni, or whatever the most accurate prefix—from the get go. The more I interacted with the “students” at Stronger Wings, the easier I found it to distinguish strict homos from their more flexible brothers.

I could also tell which attendees were in the greatest danger of being harmed by this experience. They were the guys whose self-esteem had already been seriously eroded by outside forces. If those men failed at purging themselves of same-sex attraction, they’d suffer. They’d suffer so severely, I could barely stand the thought of it.

This whole reeking movement was so senseless. That was my ultimate conclusion. Like water seeking its own level, all the people who’d been sucked into these programs and specious therapies would likely have found their own way, or much more affirming kinds of help, if programs like Stronger Wings didn’t exist. Being hounded by religious dogma or personal prejudice was the last thing they needed.

Why the fuck did so many people despise other people who weren’t exactly like themselves? I’d never understood it. After my stint at Stronger Wings, I understood it even less.

Jude and I continued to spend at least half our free time together. I got the impression he carefully refrained from asking himself why. Grateful for his company, I tried not to proselytize and pressure him. So we just talked about ordinary things—our jobs, our likes and dislikes—and shared anecdotes from our lives.

I found it hard to tell him how accepting my family had always been. My parents and three sisters were easygoing, broadminded people who were willing to give almost anybody the benefit of the doubt. When I mentioned how painless my coming-out had been, I felt as if I were sponging Jude’s psychic lash marks with salt and vinegar. I got off the subject as quickly as possible. 

Often, during these talks, we played cards or checkers. Occasionally, we accused each other of cheating. During one match, Jude pitched a checker at me and almost got it in my mouth. Seeing and hearing him laugh again was well worth my narrow escape from a choking incident.

Some of the program’s organized activities were fun, too—a few of the sports, the short hikes around the Camp—and they were especially fun if Jude and I were near each other. I came to like and respect a number of the other guys as well, but my feelings for them came nowhere near, in nature or degree, my feelings for Jude Stone.

I treasured our time together, whether it was filled with quiet conversation or earnest competition or hilarity. I treasured that time because, I realized, I treasured him. The realization filled me with apprehension.

On Tuesday evening in Jude’s room, after I grumbled a little about Hammer constantly giving me the fish eye, I let slip something about Robbie. It was one of those stream-of-consciousness missteps I wasn’t even aware of… until Jude picked up on it.

“Did your ex-boyfriend enroll in one of these programs?” he asked, perceptively watching me.

The question took me by surprise and put squealing bats in my stomach. I felt the flare of their red-eyed heat in my face.

“He, uh… yeah, he did.”

“While you were seeing each other?” Jude, who was on the bed, rolled onto his side to face me. I was again sitting in the bedside chair.

“Mm-hm.” I hoisted my ankle up to the opposite knee and picked at the hem of my pants. It was a real fucking downer, having Robbie intrude on one of these pleasant interludes.

“What brought it on?” Jude asked. “Did you see it coming?”

I sighed. No way could I tell him, I really don’t feel like talking about it. I’d done plenty of poking and prying into Jude’s life, so I didn’t want to add the label hypocrite to those delightful epithets Barbarosa’s customers had already hung on me.

“Robbie had always been one of those spiritually restless types,” I explained, to myself as well as to Jude. “It began with him deciding to start going to church. He tried out a bunch until he found one he stuck with. Then he got more and more distant and our sex life went to hell. Then he informed me he’d met a woman and couldn’t see me anymore. Then… well, then it was over.”

A Reader’s Digest condensed version was the best I could do. I really couldn’t bear parading out all the details of each phase. First, Robbie’s soul-searching withdrawal. Then, his sudden, frightening animation, as if he couldn’t talk enough, couldn’t mute the flash and clamor of whatever spirit had possessed him. Finally, his eerie disconnection, like a movie astronaut who floats off into space when his lifeline breaks.

I’d never forget how Robbie’s eyes changed as he got deeper and deeper into the remaking of himself. At the end, they had the kind of preternatural sheen Renfield’s eyes had in the 1930s Dracula. Hell, I’d even begun to see him in shades of black and white—a half-toned wraith without color or dimension.

It was during the second phase that we had all our hideous, go-nowhere conversations, as if we were members of two drastically different cultures or even species. Neither one of us understood, much less accepted, a word the other said. My voice bounced off Robbie’s glow; his voice bounced off my glower. We’d become utterly alien to one another. And utterly odious. 

I silently sank into myself as these memories slithered past my mind’s eye. Jude patiently, indulgently let me remember without pressing me to cough up every last piece of dirt. I finally turned my eyes to him. I have no idea how I looked, but it seemed to affect him. 

“How did you react?” he asked gently.

“Oh, I just armored myself with pride,” I said. “I told Robbie to get the fuck out of my life and go do what he had to do, even if it meant hanging himself with a beard. And that’s precisely what he did.”

Jude’s eyebrows were still drawn together. I had a feeling he wasn’t buying my insouciance. “You didn’t try to talk him out of it?”

“Not after a point. I figured that would’ve been akin to groveling, and I refused to lower myself. I knew there were more fish in the sea. So I went about finding them. In fact, I started the evening of the day he ended it.”

Great. I’d just confirmed the rumors of my promiscuity. My bravado had come across as pretty pathetic, actually.

I got off the chair, stuffed my hands in my pockets, and began a slow, directionless ramble around the small room. Goddamn, how did this turn into a dissection of my life?

“You were hurting,” Jude said quietly. “By the time you got that armor in place, he’d already wounded you.”

“Yeah, well. I got over it.”

“Did you?”

I stopped and gave him a direct look. “Yes, Jude, I did.” When he didn’t acknowledge my affirmation, I repeated it. “Honest, I did. Eventually. For the most part.”

He gave me a wan half smile. “Any lingering feelings?”

“No sentimental ones. Sour ones, maybe.”

“So this article you’re writing… is it like payback?”

I had to give that possibility some thought. “Could be, in a way. But I think it’s become more an attempt to understand. Sometimes that’s what closure is all about.”

Jude vacantly traced the pattern on his Indian-print bedspread. I risked sitting on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t chide me. He didn’t even flinch or bend his legs to pull them away from me, just slid them back to give my butt more room.

“I hope I’m not your instrument of revenge, Misha.”

I frowned at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know. They took someone away from you, so you’re trying to take someone away from them.” Jude flipped a glance at me. “An eye for an eye.”

They. Them. The people involved in the ex-gay movement. Okay, I got that part. But did Jude really think—

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not the way it is. I swear on my honor.” I moved back to the chair so I’d be closer to his face. “Or what little honor I have.”

“I think you have a lot more than you give yourself credit for.”

An unsettling current crackled between us. There’d been other moments like this, when we knew damned well we were forging an awkward bond neither one of us could fully accept or define.

Jude broke our brittle silence by asking, “Did you love him?”

“I don’t know.” Damn, I just wanted to fall into his eyes. Dark and warm and guileless, they invited immersion. I had to look away. “Everything that happened sort of… muddied the waters of recollection for me. It’s hard even to conjure an image of Robbie the way he used to be.” 

Jude curled a hand over my arm. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture, and certainly not a suggestive one, but it made my breath catch. His warmth seeped into me. My first impulse was to put my hand over his.

“I’m really sorry for your loss, Misha. It must’ve torn you apart.”

Words I might’ve expected to hear at the death of a loved one. But, then, the Robbie I’d known had died. “Don’t be,” I said. “I’m ready to fight back now.”

“Isn’t it too late?”

I stared at Jude’s hand as he withdrew it. “It’s never too late.”