Chapter Twenty-Six

I DROVE AWAY from Grind’s church through the town of Bend, Minnesota, population three fifty, when everyone was home for Christmas. There were a few cars at the three Bend hardware stores and a few parked at the Ponderosa Café, but the only busy parking lot was at the Municipal Liquor Store. Every block or two my headlights reflected off newly planted yard signs. “Warren McGerber for State Senate 20—: Boots on the ground to protect America!”

My battered, blue truck kicked up gravel and dust as I wound between paved and country gravel roads. Even in the inky night I could picture the patchwork quilt fields, stands of pines and mixed groves of oaks, maples, birch, and elm trees, and generously placed clean lakes, meandering rivers, and serpentine creeks. I thought about the people of Bend. They’re nice, hard-working people who generally get along with one another on the safe topics: weather, farming being hard, working hard being virtuous, hunting being necessary, and loyalty to all Bend High School Pioneer sports teams. The topics of religion, politics, abortion, and bedrooms generally sparked a polarization that mimicked much of the United States.

If I was right, Warren McGerber was mounting a campaign couched in hate and fear. He wanted to take over the hearts of people in Bend and towns like it. I couldn’t prove he orchestrated the attack on Ricky, but Grind believed me and said he’d fight. I refused to let myself believe the people of Bend could be totally fooled by hate speech.

I was queer and since being outed by my momma a few years back, my place in Bend was strained. I detected some fear that could be dressed up as hate. I survived the uncertainty and took refuge in the air of indifference and polite tolerance and hoped to be embraced someday. Still, the majority of the folks were doing the best they could with what they believed and thought they knew for certain. For certain none of us are perfect.

I had one more responsibility to Ricky. I went to see Russ. I found the big man in his garage working on a car under the shop light. He wiped his hands on a rag as he walked away from the car he was disemboweling. He came over to me.

“How’s Ricky?”

“He can talk now.”

“Oh?” Russ stared at the ground. “He have a lot to say?” He spit a wad of gum into the dirt.

“Yeah, you know he said some interesting things. I think the most interesting thing he said was that he loved you.” It’s strange to declare another’s love, but I saw how it was necessary.

Russ’s back was to me. He trembled through his navy work shirt. Then the big old grease monkey dissolved in tears. “I let him down. I was a coward.”

“Yeah, that’s true and Ricky loves you.”

He cried a while and I let him. After a few minutes, he talked.

“You know we’d all been going to the Lake Tavern since Kenny invited us? Kenny, Ricky, and me. It was fun, you know? We drank, played pool, darts, and pull tabs. Every week I talked with Ricky a little more, learned more about him, and he stopped over here sometimes. I liked talking to him. He’s hilarious.”

“Did Ricky ever do his imitation of the Minions singing the National Anthem?”

“Yes, I thought I’d piss my pants. He is so damn funny, but he was nice, you know? He listened to me. I really came to like him and like him in a way I didn’t expect.”

Russ turned away from me. Not surprisingly, the next part pained him. “That night at the Lake Tavern I told Ricky how I felt, and I asked him if he liked me like that, you know?”

I nodded. I knew.

“We left together. I’d left my truck at the Hollister farm. Ricky said I should drive his car because he had a little more to drink than he thought safe for driving. We stopped at the approach. We were talking and then we were kissing.”

I could only imagine how difficult it was for Russ to tell me these things or admit them to himself.

“When we left, the tavern had about emptied out. There were a few cars in the lot, but it was so late, I didn’t expect anybody to be around. Those guys must have followed us. I looked up from kissing Ricky and all these guys were staring at us through the car windows. Creepy as hell.”

Russ looked at me like there was something I could do to help him tell the story. “What happened next?”

“You don’t know what it was like, Lorraine. They were laughing and yelling stuff. They pulled Ricky out of the car first. They grabbed me and I fought them, but they pulled me from the car too.”

“Sounds like you were pretty outnumbered.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” Russ swallowed hard.

His eyes were pleading with me, but I didn’t rescue him. “Then what happened?”

His breath was shallow and quick like he was picturing it in his mind and searching for a way to explain something about himself.

“I—I should have fought harder. Hell, I was bigger than most of them. The college guys were strong.” Russ rubbed his face with his hands and paced. “Ricky fought.” Russ blinked away tears, shook his head, and breathed out a small laugh. “That little crazy man, he threw back insults and punched at them. I just…I just said I wasn’t a faggot.” He cried and wiped at his nose and eyes with the back of his hand. “I climbed over the fence and ran as fast as I could across the field to the Hollister farm to get my truck.”

Maybe a better person would have soothed Russ. I wasn’t a better person. I was a person who found my friend beaten and alone and strapped to a fence. I stared at Russ and willed him to say the rest of his piece.

“I got my truck and drove home. I didn’t stay and fight. I didn’t go back for Ricky. I didn’t call the sheriff. I went home and picked a fight with Kenny and went to bed.”

“You let Kenny give you a beating.”

“Yeah, I deserved it.”

“Nobody deserves a beating.”

There it was. There was the story. Russ told Ricky he liked him, made out with him, and then ran away when the scared haters came. He’d been hiding, not even going to see Ricky or telling the sheriff who did it. Hiding to protect himself. Part of me wanted to leave him standing there to think about what he’d done. Not like he hadn’t been doing that already. Maybe I should just write down his mistakes in a notebook like my momma’s registry of sin. But I wasn’t my momma and I’d made a promise to Ricky, so I told Russ, “Ricky wants to see you. He’s worried about you and he misses you.”

“How could he, Lorraine? I ran away.” Russ cried more as he stared into his big, callused, grease-stained hands. “I didn’t know they would beat him.”

“Well, you might have to tell yourself that for a while, but it was a crappy Judas-type thing you did.” Shit I sound like Momma or Grind throwing out Bible references. “I doubt you thought they were there to throw Ricky a coming out party.”

He glared at me a couple of beats. He took a deep breath, his fists were clenched, but he couldn’t sustain the lie. “You’re right, I knew they’d hurt him. Part of me thought he deserved it, that I deserved it too. I just ran. I’m a coward.”

“A person, gay or straight, can’t be expected to be brave every day. Maybe all we can ask for is the courage to be brave more often than we are cowards. Maybe that’s all we can hope for.”

“What am I going to do, Lorraine?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do. The college guys got away with pulling you and Ricky out of the car and insulting you. Ricky was shot up with ketamine. He doesn’t remember who beat him. I suspected there were two men from town who were behind beating him. One of the men came after Ricky and I was forced to shoot him. I think there’s another man who got away with provoking the whole thing, but I can’t prove it. He’s probably not careless enough to come after Ricky again.” I kicked around in the dirt. “As far as what to do now, I guess you’ve got to ask yourself what you want. Do you have feelings for Ricky? Are you prepared for the shit storm in your life if you declare you’re gay?”

“Why is it still so hard? Gay marriage passed. I know people voted against it out here, but it’s a law.”

“Don’t expect legalized marriage to stop some people from being afraid or hating. Laws change faster than hearts. If you don’t believe me, ask a person of color if racism still exists in America. Tolerance is helpful, laws are necessary, but it’s not the same as being truly accepted by somebody.”

Russ turned and walked toward the house.

“Where’re you going, what’re you going to do?” I yelled after him.