“Family’s family, and you gotta love them even if they’re nuts. I have more than one relative who takes meds—heck, I was on Ritalin for years—and I still love them just the same. They’ve all been pretty cool with me too. You know, about me being queer.”
“Not all families are so accepting.”
William hadn’t intended to sound wistful when he said it, but something must have shown in his voice because Colby slipped an arm around his waist. It was a strong arm—not bulky, but solid. “You’re not out to your people, Will?”
William couldn’t look at him, so instead he gazed past the low iron fence and into the patch of weeds and grass where an unknown number of people lay buried. “When I was fifteen, there was this boy I knew. Michael. We were in the church youth group together and sometimes we’d hang out. I guess… I guess I’d had a crush on him for a while, but I didn’t realize it. I just told myself we were buddies.”
Colby snorted softly. “Sounds like a classic case of denial, Dr. Lyon.”
“Pretty much. Anyway, one day we were over at his place. We were playing a video game and we got to roughhousing over the controls, and then… he kissed me.” William could still remember the shock of Michael’s chapped lips against his, the way the other boy tasted like Doritos, the blare of tinny PlayStation music in the background.
“Did you get caught?” Colby leaned against him, speaking quietly.
“No. But… everyone had been telling me for years that homosexuality was wrong. A sin. And I believed them. I spent days terrified that I was going to hell. So I went to my parents and told them what had happened. I begged them to help me.” So what happened afterward was William’s own fault and nobody else’s.
“I knew kids…. When I was in San Francisco, I knew a lot of kids who got kicked out of their homes for being gay. It was so sad. The lucky ones found someplace safe, but even then some of them hurt themselves. Drugs, cutting, risky behavior.”
William had heard stories like those before, and they always made him feel guilty. “My parents didn’t kick me out. They tried to help, in their own screwed-up way. They made me talk to Pastor Reynolds. He said I could still be saved if I tried hard enough.”
A jay landed in a nearby tree and began to scold them, cocking its head this way and that and twitching its tail. Maybe it was opposed to painful confessions. William could relate.
“Did you try hard to be saved?” asked Colby.
“I did.” William sighed. “But then I was sixteen and there was another boy at camp. Leonard. Jeez, what kind of parents name their kid Leonard? That time someone saw us kiss.”
“And?”
“My parents sent me to a therapist.”
The jay flew off, but only as far as the next tree. It wiped its beak on a branch.
Colby was still hugging him, putting enough pressure against William’s body that William allowed himself to slump back, just a little. His parents had rarely hugged him when he was a child, and he and Lisa had rarely even held hands. This felt good. Comfortable. Comforting.
“One of those ex-gay freaks?” asked Colby.
“Yeah. He told me to pray. But he believed in backup, so he used behavior mod techniques too. Painful ones.” He closed his eyes and pushed away the memory of Dr. Eastman’s lizard-like stare, his dry raspy voice, the little room containing the electrodes and VCR and—
William pulled away from Colby but didn’t walk far, and when he stopped underneath the jay’s tree, Colby caught up and embraced him again, this time with both arms. “I’m sorry,” Colby said before releasing him. “Bastards. There’s nothing about you that needs saving or praying away or curing—you know that, right?”
William did. At least, he knew that in his head. He just wasn’t quite sure he believed it in his heart. “I let them think I was cured. I told myself I was too. Or at least really close. And I met Lisa and
“Not all families are so accepting.”
William hadn’t intended to sound wistful when he said it, but something must have shown in his voice because Colby slipped an arm around his waist. It was a strong arm—not bulky, but solid. “You’re not out to your people, Will?”
William couldn’t look at him, so instead he gazed past the low iron fence and into the patch of weeds and grass where an unknown number of people lay buried. “When I was fifteen, there was this boy I knew. Michael. We were in the church youth group together and sometimes we’d hang out. I guess… I guess I’d had a crush on him for a while, but I didn’t realize it. I just told myself we were buddies.”
Colby snorted softly. “Sounds like a classic case of denial, Dr. Lyon.”
“Pretty much. Anyway, one day we were over at his place. We were playing a video game and we got to roughhousing over the controls, and then… he kissed me.” William could still remember the shock of Michael’s chapped lips against his, the way the other boy tasted like Doritos, the blare of tinny PlayStation music in the background.
“Did you get caught?” Colby leaned against him, speaking quietly.
“No. But… everyone had been telling me for years that homosexuality was wrong. A sin. And I believed them. I spent days terrified that I was going to hell. So I went to my parents and told them what had happened. I begged them to help me.” So what happened afterward was William’s own fault and nobody else’s.
“I knew kids…. When I was in San Francisco, I knew a lot of kids who got kicked out of their homes for being gay. It was so sad. The lucky ones found someplace safe, but even then some of them hurt themselves. Drugs, cutting, risky behavior.”
William had heard stories like those before, and they always made him feel guilty. “My parents didn’t kick me out. They tried to help, in their own screwed-up way. They made me talk to Pastor Reynolds. He said I could still be saved if I tried hard enough.”
A jay landed in a nearby tree and began to scold them, cocking its head this way and that and twitching its tail. Maybe it was opposed to painful confessions. William could relate.
“Did you try hard to be saved?” asked Colby.
“I did.” William sighed. “But then I was sixteen and there was another boy at camp. Leonard. Jeez, what kind of parents name their kid Leonard? That time someone saw us kiss.”
“And?”
“My parents sent me to a therapist.”
The jay flew off, but only as far as the next tree. It wiped its beak on a branch.
Colby was still hugging him, putting enough pressure against William’s body that William allowed himself to slump back, just a little. His parents had rarely hugged him when he was a child, and he and Lisa had rarely even held hands. This felt good. Comfortable. Comforting.
“One of those ex-gay freaks?” asked Colby.
“Yeah. He told me to pray. But he believed in backup, so he used behavior mod techniques too. Painful ones.” He closed his eyes and pushed away the memory of Dr. Eastman’s lizard-like stare, his dry raspy voice, the little room containing the electrodes and VCR and—
William pulled away from Colby but didn’t walk far, and when he stopped underneath the jay’s tree, Colby caught up and embraced him again, this time with both arms. “I’m sorry,” Colby said before releasing him. “Bastards. There’s nothing about you that needs saving or praying away or curing—you know that, right?”
William did. At least, he knew that in his head. He just wasn’t quite sure he believed it in his heart. “I let them think I was cured. I told myself I was too. Or at least really close. And I met Lisa and
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