Chapter Six

 

“SORRY to barge in.”

“No you’re not.” Jude was sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up, writing in a notebook that rested on his thighs.

He wasn’t surprised to see me this time. Why should he be? He’d again left his door open, a tacit invitation.

“Okay, I’m not. But Hammer gave me the go-ahead, so I’m going ahead. I’m allowed to talk to you.”

“Me in particular?”

“Any of the attendees. As long as they agree to it.” I stepped up to the bed. “Please don’t turn me away.”

Sighing, Jude slapped the notebook closed. I caught a glimpse of printed musical staffs dotted with handwritten notes. Leaning against the headboard, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I wish you’d try to get your ‘insights’ from somebody else.”

“I will, but I want to start with you.”

“Why?”

“Because we know each other. I feel comfortable with you. Why are you being so damned difficult?”

“Because I don’t feel comfortable with you.” He tossed the notebook toward the foot of the bed.

“I already told you I won’t try—” 

“Just ask me what you want to ask me,” he said abruptly.

I sat in the bedside chair. Jude’s pinstriped shirt was draped over the back, and I could smell it—the fading deodorant, the hint of fabric softener, the more primal scent of Jude himself. I liked this odd blend, this rare perfume. It suited the man who sat beside me in a sleeveless undershirt, the kind Stronger Wings insisted men wear. Only now, without another piece of clothing over it, the undershirt displayed the very assets it was meant to conceal—the peaked shadows of Jude’s nipples, the smooth skin and curving lines of his bare arms. A raised vein, delicate and almost imperceptibly blue, ran over the hump of each of his biceps. 

“This is all confidential,” I told him. “I won’t use your real name.” I switched on my recorder and laid it on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what prompted you to enroll in this program.”

Jude lifted and dropped his folded arms. “I don’t need any of the crap I’ve been dealing with. Not any of it. I just want to live a normal life.”

“Define that.”

“A life I can be open about, even proud of. Maybe one that includes a loving, stable relationship. And certainly joy.” He slid me a self-conscious glance. “I just want to be at peace with myself.”

Shit, this was going to be tough. I already felt out of sorts. “Why can’t you have those things the way you are? There’s nothing wrong with you, Jude.”

“Tell my parents that.” He stretched out his legs and dropped his hands to his lap.

Fuck your parents! I wanted to yell, but that would hardly have advanced my cause. “Their attitude toward you is their problem. Can’t you see that? It’s a result of their own fear and ignorance. All bigotry stems from fear and ignorance. You’re certainly not to blame.”

“Their religion shaped how they feel,” Jude said.

I couldn’t tell if he was defending them or not. “Do you share their convictions?”

Jude tapped his pencil on his thigh. “Only… on a basic level, I guess. You know, belief in a higher power and living by the Golden Rule. I haven’t been much of a church-goer since I got into my mid-teens.” The pencil-tapping slowed as he fell into thought. “Still, I can’t help but wonder why so many religions view homosexuality as—” 

“Don’t even go there,” I snapped. “You know as well as I do that organized religion can’t exactly be lauded for its reasonable, compassionate treatment of human beings. Or its consistency, for that matter. Hell, there’s even squabbling within denominations. So don’t try to tell me there’s something wrong with us when we’re not hurting anybody and, especially, when there’s love involved in our relationships.”

“You obviously haven’t read the Bible,” Jude said drolly. He tossed the pencil toward his notebook and folded his hands on his flat belly.

“Actually, I have. But who wrote that book and why they said what they said is another issue entirely. And a very complicated one.”

Jude stared down at his interlinked hands. He kept pressing his thumbs together and pulling them apart. “You can’t discount the procreation issue.”

Scoffing, I blew air through my lips. “Of course I can. Homo sapiens sure as hell isn’t facing extinction due to a lack of breeding pairs and viable offspring. Just the opposite, in fact. So don’t go there, either.”

Now Jude’s thumb-wrestling was accompanied by lip-nibbling. It went on for a good ten seconds. “Misha, I spend five or six days a week around teenage boys. I have to help them hone their performance technique. That could mean improving posture and breathing. Or working on proper hand placement on the body of an instrument, proper finger placement on strings or valves or keys, proper embouchure on a mouthpiece. It can literally be a touchy job sometimes.” He shot me a warning glare. “And don’t make any smarmy comments.”

“I wasn’t going to. But how is that different from a straight teacher working with teenage girls?”

Instantly, Jude was stymied. “I suppose it isn’t,” he said grudgingly.

“Of course it isn’t. Jesus, Jude, sexual conduct doesn’t have a goddamned thing to do with orientation. You know that. It has to do with an individual’s moral compass and overall character.”

“Some parents and administrators don’t see it that way.”

Uh-oh. “Did something happen?”

Jude pulled his lips between his teeth, as if determined to keep his silence.

“Please tell me.”

He lifted and dropped in arms in resignation. “I was dating this guy, Chad, for a while. Somebody associated with the high school—a parent or teacher or flippin’ janitor, for all I know—saw us out together one night. Could’ve been one of us had his arm around the other or we were holding hands or maybe kissed briefly. But something obviously gave me away. A few days later, the chairman of the school board told me in no uncertain terms not to be demonstrative in public. Now I feel like some potentially lethal virus that’s being watched under a microscope.”

“God, Jude, I’m really sorry.”

I wanted to give him a soothing touch, hold his hand, hold him. But the camp’s damned injunction against physical contact was something Jude took seriously. Besides, he was wary of my motives, and I didn’t want to spook him and lose his trust.

“I’d never step out of line with my kids,” he said fervently, his color rising.

An ache went from my heart to my stomach. “I believe you.”

Jude tried to give me an appreciative smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “What makes that whole incident such a bitter pill is that Chad turned out to be….” He looked away again, his embarrassment almost palpable.

“What?”

“This is really personal stuff, Misha.”

“I have plenty of personal stuff myself,” I said. “So don’t think you’re alone.”

Jude’s fingers locked together more tightly. “He was abusive.”

Outrage and sorrow simultaneously filled me. “What did he do to you?”

“Shoved me around. Slapped me a few times. Threatened to break my hands, my jaw.” He looked out the window. From where he sat, there was nothing to see but a rectangle of dimming sky.

“I really want to hold you,” I said. My voice was shaky and barely audible, but I had to tell him.

My seemingly boundless stash of cynicism must’ve finally run out.

He swallowed hard, making his Adam’s apple bob. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with wanting to hold someone?”

“You know it’s….” Jude stopped himself. He probably assumed I’d blow up at any reference to the camp’s rules. “Here and now,” he went on more gingerly, “under these circumstances, it would be… counterproductive.”

“Counterproductive of what, for God’s sake?” I almost got on the bed with him. Control prevailed, and I merely turned toward it. “Jude, those things you want—you can have them, all of them. Exactly the way you are. I fucking promise you that. None of this shit that’s made you miserable has any bearing whatsoever on your quality as a human being or your potential for happiness. You need to live your own life—for you, according to your perfectly sound standards; not for other people according to their capricious, hateful standards.”

“I haven’t done a very good job of that, Misha.”

“You haven’t even tried. Not really.” I muted the stridency in my voice. “You’ve felt defeated from the start because of your parents. That’s probably why your choice of partners has been crap. You’ve been living a self-fulfilling prophecy: ‘I’m shit; therefore, I deserve shit’.”

My mouth just kept running. Although I knew the message I wanted to get across, I wasn’t sure I was putting it together well enough to make sense. That, however, didn’t stop me. “Don’t, please don’t let this so-called ministry twist you out of shape and then bind you into that shape. Don’t try to deny your true nature and become something and somebody you aren’t meant to be. That’s going to eat you up from the inside out for the rest of your life.”

I wished I could’ve said to him, Come away with me. I’ll help you rediscover joy. But I sure as hell couldn’t do that for someone so utterly convinced joy was beyond his reach. I wasn’t sure I could do it at all, for anybody. Besides, Jude thought I represented gayness at its worst.

Maybe I did.

Maybe I needed him a lot more than he needed me.

The thought jangled my nerves. I’d never expected to start believing I should change.

“Damn it,” I whispered. I grabbed my recorder and got up from the chair.

“Where’re you going?” Jude didn’t exactly sound frantic, but he sounded anxious enough to get my attention.

I didn’t turn to face the bed. I stood with my hands on my hips and looked at the floor. “I should just leave you alone. I hadn’t intended….” Finally, I was at a loss for words.

The bed creaked behind me and made my heartbeat accelerate. I didn’t think for a second Jude would grab me, pull me back there, and engage me in a passionate tangle. And he didn’t.

His hands slid up my back, raising goosebumps on my arms, and then closed over my shoulders. “Thank you, Misha,” he said quietly. His chin moved against the top of my spine; his breath caressed my nape. “You’re welcome to come back.”

As I pivoted toward him, my arms were already rising, preparing for an embrace I’d craved for three years… even if I hadn’t realized I’d craved it. Jude gave me a wistful smile, the kind I imagined a spirit giving a loved one as he departed for the final time. My arms sank back down to my sides.

I left the room. I didn’t know what to expect anymore, from myself or anybody else. I just knew I couldn’t let Jude go.

Maybe he was my source of salvation.