#i'm too impatient to put the page breakers where i originally had blank spaces so that's what y'all get

[theotpeffect]

Day 8 - Secrets/Forbidden

SFW

Trigger Warning: homophobia (no slurs were used but one was implied)

This is inspired by/loosely based on a music video, Son of a Preacher Man. (Heaven by Troye Sivan also gets an honorary mention cause I listened to it a lot while writing this).

Jean sat in an apple tree, strumming his guitar and waiting for Marco. The cicadas were chirping and adding their own chorus to the soft chords Jean played with. He could always find peace there on a Sunday afternoon. This was his home. A home he shared with Marco.

           He absently checked his phone and saw it was getting later -- nearly two o’clock. They would usually be together by now. Jean considered texting him, but they had a rule. It was unbreakable and so far, it had worked. Their parents knew they were friends, but they knew nothing more. Which was exactly how Jean wanted it. Sometimes, it could be suffocating but it was safer this way. For both of them.

           Jean tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The words of the pastor, Marco’s father, still rang in his head.

           First Corinthians, 6:9-10. It talks about the things that prevent people from entering the kingdom of God. It talks about all kinds of immoral behavior. But right in the midst of that passage, right in the middle of that verse, it says “and those who are homosexual.”

           Those words made him sick. He was sick of the church, sick of God, sick of himself. He remembered glancing at Marco and wishing he could embrace him and kiss him, right there in front of everyone. Every day, he wondered how everything he felt could possibly be sinful. Every day, he wondered if Marco’s father could see the pain in his eyes as clearly as Jean could when he spewed his hatred in a place that was meant to be accepting. He wondered if the pastor could hear himself when he preached that accepting homosexuality meant being un-Christian and then turning around and claiming to love them.

           But this is about love. It would be unloving not to tell someone when salvation is at stake.

           The sound of an apple being kicked caused Jean to raise his head. Marco leaned against a tree much smaller than the one Jean was sitting on. He was still wearing his church clothes but he had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves so his forearms were exposed. Jean sighed. He didn’t need salvation, at least not from the people in his church. This was his salvation.

           “You look good like that,” Marco said.

           Jean looked down at his own outfit, unbuttoned so his white undershirt showed. His shoes and socks were in a pile below him. It was almost funny, he had never thought of himself as good-looking. For his entire life, he forced himself to think like a straight man and it hurt. His mind told him he was too skinny, swayed his hips too much, spoke in too high a voice, liked floral printed everything too much to ever be loved. By a woman. In the Bible Belt, going to church, getting married to the opposite sex, and creating a hoard of grandchildren were all that mattered. He felt as if it were the end when he thought he could never have it. But now, he knew he would never have that because he was in love with a boy. And suddenly, everything that seemed to matter when he was straight didn’t anymore. Marco made him feel beautiful.

           “I look homeless,” Jean said, but he was smiling and he could feel the compliment nestling next to a warm fire in his chest. “You’re the one who looks good.” His voice got quiet when he complimented Marco like that. He felt a bit ridiculous, acting as if he were a grade school girl talking to his crush. College was mere months around the corner, should he be feeling this giddy over a boy?

           Marco smiled and wandered over to Jean’s tree. Their tree.

           “Come down.”

           Jean swung his legs over the branch, stuck his feet in Marco’s face and wiggled his toes. “Get me my shoes?”

           Marco rolled his eyes but gathered Jean’s things anyway. Just as Jean was about to trade Marco his guitar for his footwear, Marco began rolling one of his socks over his foot. When he was done, he kissed Jean’s ankle and moved on to his other foot. Then he put on his shoes for him.

           “My mom hasn’t even done that for me since I was five,” Jean commented.

           Marco hummed and reached for Jean’s guitar. Once his hands were free, Jean jumped to the ground.

           “Hey, handsome,” Jean said.

           “Hey.” Marco smiled and tugged at Jean’s hand. They inched forward slowly until their lips met in a tentative kiss. They had barely brushed together before they were pulling away. Jean tried his hardest not to blush. Marco really could just look at him with those deep, brown eyes of his and Jean would start fighting off the butterflies.

           “We should go to the river,” Jean said. He was always more comfortable when they went deeper into the woods. The orchard was a good place to hide for a little while, but these trees weren’t reliable cover. At least, Jean always felt that way. Marco always liked it here better. This was their paradise -- their Eden -- but even an abandoned orchard wasn’t far enough sometimes. Jean wished he could go even further than the river, but he would wait until they went to college, got a job, saved enough to live on their own. Then he would risk extracting himself. It wasn’t the right time. Sometimes, Jean wondered if it was ever going to be the right time. Just how much longer did they have to wait until they could be themselves?

           Marco nodded. “We should go the river.” His easy agreement broke Jean’s heart. He always wanted to go to the river after a rough sermon. Going to the river for Marco meant the same as it did for Jean, except more. The river meant that even his favorite place in the world wasn’t enough. Jean didn’t even know why he suggested the river now. Maybe he hoped that Marco wanted to stay. Maybe he was hoping that things could feel normal after this morning.

           That was naive. They both felt tattered. Jean couldn’t even bear to think of his parents nodding along to Pastor Bodt’s little speech. It must have hurt Marco even more. His whole family was there. His father was leading the charge and his younger siblings, some barely old enough to read, were sitting in the pews and witnessing it all. Jean never asked, but he wondered if Marco thought about the future with his siblings. What would they say if they ever found out their eldest brother was gay?

           “Let’s go to the river,” Jean said.  

           For the rest of the afternoon, they played in the water. They skipped rocks and chased each other around the bank. They even rolled up their pants and submerged their feet. They splashed each other until they were soaked. They didn’t care that their mothers would throw a fit and ask them what they had been doing. Jean thought that he would just tell his mother what she always said when the other boys roughhoused without an ounce of love between them.

           Boys will be boys.

           Jean reached for Marco and brought him so close they were breathing each other’s air.

           Boys will kiss boys.

           He smiled and melted into Marco’s eyes, freckles, dimples, all of him.

           Boys will fall in love with boys.

             Summer was a dream. It alternated between nightmares and the kind of stuff someone in love dreams about. Once, Jean’s mother commented on how much time he and Marco spent together. She laughed and said it was almost weird how often they met up. They didn’t see each other for a week. But another time, Marco told Jean he loved him for the very first time. After that, they met every day and stopped caring so much when their parents cornered them whenever they were meeting again.

           “It’s the part of summer where we’re bored all the time,” Jean said one day.

           His mom huffed and said, “Don’t play in the river so much anymore.” She didn’t bother him so much after that.

           Soon though, an afternoon rendezvous wasn’t enough for either of them and Marco took to sneaking Jean out of his house for midnight bike rides. They were almost caught once. Marco was old enough so they bought a pack of cigarettes at the drug store and threw away two just so they had an excuse if they ever were caught. Smoking was a forgivable sin. Being gay was not.

           They began becoming confident in their forbidden relationship. No one suspected anything. From the outside, they were best friends and the old ladies at the church even cooed about how nice it was for two young men to be so close. Jean knew if they ever found out just how close he and Marco were they would faint. Being friends was okay. Being gay was not.

           Soon, it all became a good dream. The bad parts faded into the background and Jean could forget just where they were and what God judged them. They blatantly grew closer in front of their families very eyes. Marco would wrap his arm around Jean’s shoulders for a picture, and they would sit next to each other for the weekly post-service barbecue the town put on. They touched each other as often as they inhaled. A playful shove here, a pat on the shoulder there, and the brush of their knuckles everywhere.

           They kissed each other away from the river and outside of the orchard.

           Sneaking away for a moment was easy they found. Their families always clustered together in specific areas and left Jean and Marco free to explore one another behind the church, behind a house, behind a tree. The thrill kept them from hiding again. It was a taste of freedom. Jean didn’t care what he had been taught his entire life. This was heaven. Being gay was okay.

             Their lives crumbled on a Sunday.

           It had been a good day; the service didn’t hold any messages that sent them both hiding near the river. In fact, the sermon focused on genuine love. The kind of love that Jean could identify with. They had been embracing their families and their neighbors and treating one another as if they were all the same. Jean was walking on the clouds and he wanted to kiss Marco.

           Marco was the one who brought them away. When Jean was playing tag with the neighborhood kids, Marco pushed on his shoulder and give him the smile. His lopsided, boyish smile always meant he wanted to kiss Jean once they found a place to hide.

           Jean told the kids he was done and ran after Marco, who had sprinted behind the church. His heart was full, he couldn’t wait until they were properly hidden. Jean tackled Marco and they both fell to the ground. Jean could hear and feel the wind getting momentarily knocked from Marco’s lungs.

           “Sorry,” Jean muttered. He buried his face into Marco’s neck for just a moment and pulled away. They were right in the middle of the lawn. They were behind the church, yes, but they usually found extra cover so they wouldn’t get caught. They were in the middle of the lawn, anyone could round the corner and see them lying on top of one another. Marco flipped them and all thoughts flew from Jean’s head. He almost wanted to be caught just so they could have this every day.

           “Missed you,” Marco whispered.

           Jean laughed quietly. “We’ve been together all day, and most of last night too.”

           “Missed kissing you,” Marco amended.

           The joining of their lips was slow and nothing more than a touch. They’d had deeper kisses but something in Jean screamed for intimacy. He loved Marco. He loved him so deeply. Jean reached up to bury his fingers in Marco’s soft hair but suddenly, Marco gasped and he was gone.

           When Jean finally opened his eyes, he couldn’t see what was in front of him. It was unreal. Suddenly, what he had wished for was standing before him and he could feel everything he and Marco had built together crash and crumble at their feet. The sound was deafening, Jean couldn’t even hear Pastor Bodt’s voice.

           He was standing and the pastor’s hand was dangerously close to his neck. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten in this position. Everything was spinning and the screaming voices of panic in his mind were too loud. Too loud. Pastor Bodt shoved him and Jean could feel spittle landing on his face. He was being yelled at, he realized.

           “Dad!”

           Marco’s hand appeared over the pastor’s shoulder and sound returned. Jean zeroed in on Marco’s face. His eyes were wide but his mouth was set in that almost-grimace he wore when he was absolutely livid. Jean only saw that grimace after they had endured two hours of being condemned to hell by the church. Jean opened his mouth. He didn’t know why, because even though he could hear again, his throat was closing and his breath was being stolen from him and the world continued to tilt erratically. He didn’t think he could speak, but he felt he needed to say something to Marco. He felt like these would be his last words.

           Pastor Bodt reeled around and did not hesitate for one second to strike Marco across his face. Jean wished he still couldn’t hear. The sound pained him and the choked sob that followed soon after pained him even more. Pastor Bodt grabbed both of them by the wrists. His grip was like iron -- like shackles.

           They were dragged to the Bodt’s family car. Jean was shoved into the back, his head pushed down by the pastor’s rough hand. They were locked inside and watched as the Pastor stood in front of Marco’s mother and Jean’s parents and ranted. Jean watched his hands wave erratically before he simply buried his face in his fists.

           “Jean?”

           “Yeah, Marco?”

           “I love you.”

           “I love you too.”

           Jean wished they didn’t have to be so quiet when they spoke. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But then he saw his mother fall to her knees and even hear her wails through the closed car door. He felt ashamed again. So ashamed, he almost wanted to take back what he had just said to Marco. He sucked in a breath of air and closed his eyes. Now, he was ashamed for even thinking something so despicable. He loved Marco more than he loved himself. More than he loved his family. Why did he have to feel so wrong? What was so wrong with them? Why couldn’t they love each other?

             Pastor Bodt lectured them for over an hour and every time he rounded on Jean and loomed over his desk, Jean wondered if he wanted to kill him. Good thing he was a merciful man of God.  

           By its end, Jean was numb. He barely registered when his parents came to collect him. His mind was working in Polaroids. Tears streamed down his mother’s face. His father stared resolutely at the ground. Pastor Bodt was shaking his head. And Marco...

           Marco was staring at Jean as he was being taken from Pastor Bodt’s office. His eyes held steadily onto Jean’s and Jean was struck with the distinct realization that this might be the last time they would ever see each other again. Like a man being sent to his death, Jean tried to memorize all of Marco’s face before it was too late. He tried to memorize the curve of his cheeks and the way the light caught on his eyes and made the brown a little lighter, a little brighter. He tried to memorize every pattern of freckles on his face and the way his mouth moved, especially when he smiled. He tried to memorize the look of his arms and tried to recall how it felt to have them wrapped around his hips and swinging him around as they laughed and shed all worries. He tried to remember his smell, his taste, that particular way he rolled his eyes and the heart-bursting feeling he got when they were within ten feet of each other.

           The office door closed and he was truly alone.

             Jean’s family quarantined him. His father wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t even look at him from the corner of his eye. Isolation was his new best friend. His parents had taken his phone away from him and they wouldn’t even balm his loneliness by so much as saying a word his way. What was worse is that Jean hated himself for wanting their approval.

           Nothing could ever be simple for him. Not his sexuality, not his relationship with God, not his feelings toward his parents. He had been doomed from birth, his misfortune had probably been told in the very stars. If there was a God, at least Jean knew exactly where he stood with him.

           Nearly a week passed and Jean only sunk deeper into his grief. Marco hadn’t come to his house at all for a midnight walk. Jean wasn’t sure he would have gone with him if he’d shown up anyway. But he wanted to see Marco. More than anything, he just wanted to see him again. He wanted to hold him and kiss him, just one more time. One more time.

           Jean gathered his jacket. If he left now, his parents might not ask what he was doing. The night was young enough for him to leave without much suspicion and late enough that by the time he made it to Marco’s house, they would be under the cover of darkness.

           He made it all the way to the front door before his mother saw him.

           “Where are you going?” she demanded. She stood up and placed her Bible back down on the table.

           “The store,” Jean said.

           “I’m coming with you.”

           “No,” Jean said. He was too quick to deny her. It was easier to look at the floor instead of her face. She was glaring at him, her eyes squinted and her hands curled into fists. “I just want a bag of chips.”

           “Night is when temptation is at its strongest,” his mother said. She shook her head. “I don’t trust that you will fight it.”

           There was nothing to fight. Even though he was drowning in his own shame, there was a small part of him that knew what he felt for Marco could never be a sin. Jean grabbed the door handle.

           “Don’t come with me,” he said. He opened the door before his father stopped him cold, with a single sentence.

           “Don’t you dare go out that door.” He came up behind Jean and shoved it closed. “Sinners are meant to be punished. If we let you go out on your own it would only be encouraging you.”

           Jean could only stare at the door as his hands dangled limply from his side. He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to hurt anymore, he just wanted to love Marco. Was what they were doing really that bad? He knew what he had been taught since birth but his soul called out for a different world. He already knew he would never be able to stop. Marco’s heart had begun to change him and his own had done the rest. This Christian world would never be his. But the one he had found with Marco was.

           “I need to get out of here,” Jean whispered. He looked his father in the eyes and said louder, “I need to get out of here.”

           “It no longer matters what you want,” his father said. “This is what’s best for you.”

           Jean curled his upper lip. He hated that his father was doing the same. “It’s not.”

           “You’ve proven more than enough that you don’t know what’s good for you.” His father stormed off. “I can’t believe my own son is a f--”

           His mother cut him off. “Robert, don’t you dare say that word in this house.”

           Jean’s father shook his head and looked over his shoulder. “Isn’t it true?”

           Jean looked away. He had never said it to anyone, not even to Marco. Sometimes, when it was late at night he would try to whisper the words to himself but he always felt guilt clinging to them. He could never say those words more than once, they felt too heavy. They scared him.

           “Yes.”

           His father punched the wall hard enough to smash a hole into it. Jean jumped and felt his heart seize in his chest. He could barely breathe. He needed to say this, needed them to understand but for a second he worried what his father would do to him. Anger pumped through the Kirschtein’s veins faster than it did for other people, Jean didn’t know just how much was boiling under his father’s skin.

           “Why do you insist on doing this?” his mother asked. “You’ve ruined our lives, Jean. We can’t show our faces at the church while you continue to cling to your sin. Our friends will turn their backs on us. We’ll be outcasts.”

           His father turned around and pointed at him. “What you’re doing is disgusting and we all know it.”

           “You’ll find a nice woman and marry her. You’ll find more friends in town and you’ll forget this ever happened. God will forgive you, we will forgive you if you change your ways now.”

           Jean shook his head. He didn’t know anymore, he didn’t know where he stood with morality. He didn’t know whether he was right or wrong. He only knew one thing. “I can’t just forget this.”

           “You can and you will,” his father roared.  

           “But I love him!”

           The house went quiet. Jean’s words lingered in their ears like the last note of a song. Fear pulsed through him, but he felt as if the world had been lifted from his shoulders. This was the very thing he had wanted to do for so long. He dreamed that his parents would come around. He dreamed that his family and Marco’s could merge under a common love, that they could spend Christmas and New Years and Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July under one roof. He dreamed that he and Marco could stand under the alter without opposition. He dreamed that they could be happy.

           Instead, his father lunged at him with his fist raised and a rage so primal Jean briefly imagined himself lying in a hospital bed, beaten into nothingness.

           His mother jumped between them.

           “Robert! Robert, no!”

           While his parents tousled, Jean ran out of the door.

             He didn’t go to Marco’s house. There was nothing he wanted more than to see him but he kept seeing his father’s fist whenever he so much as thought of holding Marco’s hand. Instead of seeing him, he went to their orchard and stood under the tree.

           The future had never seemed so hazy to him before. He hadn’t particularly thought of it too much, but he always imagined they would keep everything secret until the summer ended. Then they would go to college together, somewhere far away, and finally be themselves. They would get jobs, support themselves and then maybe tell their families.

           Jean hugged himself. Now what would they do? He couldn’t stay here if he did he knew he would do something stupid, but he couldn’t go anywhere else either. He was stuck.

           Crouching on the cold ground, he suddenly wished he had never been born.

           He was sick of the hurt.

             Jean slept on a park bench that evening. Summer wasn’t over and the evening air was almost refreshing, but when he woke in the morning, his back hurt and he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. He didn’t feel prepared to go back to his house, but there was nowhere else to go. All morning, he sat on his bench and wondered where he could go for breakfast. He likely smelled but at least he had money saved from working. He could buy food and rent a hotel for a few days while he thought of what to do next. He didn’t want to do any of it without Marco, but he also didn’t want to pull him away from his family. They had always been important to him. He didn’t know what to do.

           A pair of shoes entered his line of vision and Jean looked up. He half expected the worst. Maybe his father had come to finish what he had started the night before, or maybe some of his classmates had decided they needed to punish him for his sin themselves. But who stood in front of him was one of his neighbors. He was a kindly old man who Jean had often done yard work for. Out of everyone in this town, Jean believed he was the only one that truly cared about anything God had to say about love.

           He set himself beside Jean on the bench. “Are you going to church today?”

           Jean didn’t want him knowing what had happened if word hadn’t gotten to him. Which was likely, he kept to himself most of the time and wasn’t known to have any close friends in town.

           “No, I don’t feel so well today,” Jean said.

           “Sleeping in a park will do that.”

           Jean laughed. “I didn’t sleep here.”

           “I was walking around before you woke up.”

           “Oh.” Jean looked to the sky. “I guess I just fell asleep on accident.”

           The old man stared and Jean fidgeted with his fingers. He could hardly take this. When did it become so hard to speak to everyone?

           “You should come to church today,” he said.

           Jean shook his head. “I really don’t feel well.”

           “I know. But someone else will be there that I think needs to see you.”

           Jean turned to his neighbor. He wasn’t giving any indication that he knew what happened. If he knew, he surely wouldn’t be sitting next to Jean and speaking with him like this.

           His neighbor smiled at him and placed a kindly hand on his shoulder. “Marco’s family wants to pray for him with everyone in town. They announced it during Wednesday’s service. I think you should be there.”

           “Oh.” He couldn’t say anything else. “Oh.”

           “Listen, Jean,” his neighbor began with a squeeze to his shoulder. “I’ve been alive a very long time and I’ve seen many people in pain. Marco is now one of them.” Jean squeezed his eyes shut. What was he supposed to do? No matter how much he wanted to, there wasn’t a thing he could do anymore. “You know, young men are sometimes bad at expressing themselves but I heard Marco loud and clear. He doesn’t want to do this.”

           “So, I’m just supposed to sit and pray for him?” Jean knew he couldn’t do that. Marco didn’t need to absolved of sin.

           “No.” His neighbor stood and smiled. “Go to him and he will do the rest.”

             Marco was surrounded by his family. They all had their palms pressed against him. His parents’ eyes were screwed shut -- he didn’t think he’d ever seen them pray this hard before. Marco closed his eyes too, for appearance sake. He wasn’t praying as he had been instructed to, at least, he wasn’t praying for what everyone else was. He could care less that his parents and everyone in the pews behind him were praying for his homosexuality to go away. It never would. He only wanted one thing.

           Please, God, let me see him again. Let me see Jean one more time. I can live without your love, I can live without my parent’s love. As long as I have his.

           Gasps from the crowd gave pause to the pastor’s prayer. Marco whipped around, hardly daring himself to believe.

           Jean stood in the aisle, beautiful as he always was. He was staring directly at Marco, straight into his soul. Pulled toward him, Marco broke away from his family.

           “Marco!” his father hissed.

           He didn’t turn to look at him once. Instead, he walked calmly to where Jean was standing. This was his divine providence.

           He flung his arms around Jean’s neck and pulled him as close as he could.

           “I missed you,” he whispered amidst the rising murmurs around them.

           “I missed you too.” Jean pulled back and smiled. It nearly blinded Marco, how radiant he was. “Let’s get out of here?”

           Marco nodded.

           As they walked out of the church, they intertwined their fingers. Marco couldn’t stop looking at him. He was his future. He could see them together, living in an apartment far away from here just as they’d planned. Jean would be a musician and maybe Marco would counsel LGBT youth. The world was theirs. Finally, the world was theirs.