Crossing Jordan
by Teddy
The greatest crime ever committed is that of the pain we as a species inflict upon our children. Some children manage to rise above it in spite of everything. For them I have great admiration. Others, no matter how hard they try, find themselves broken by it. These are the ones for whom I weep. May God have mercy upon us all.
The following story is principally about one of those children and how his spirit was broken by those who were supposed to nurture and protect him. It is about a child whose love of life was nearly destroyed by a culture that discards as contemptible those who cannot fit into its mould. It is about a boy who believes himself to be rejected by a God whom that culture grossly misrepresents. It is the story of a sensitive, sweet natured boy who grew up in a religious, right wing American family.
Jordan slumped against the headboard of his bed. His black shoulder length hair, still damp from the shower, lay plastered against his dark skin. His eyes, although open, stared unseeing across the room. His world was crumbling and he no longer had the power to stop it. He could feel a blackness pressing in around him as if it were a live thing bent on his destruction. In the past, he'd always been able to fight it off but this time he wasn't so sure. There were too many insurmountable problems in his life and he had no one to help him face them. It would be useless to try talking to his parents. His best friend would freak if he knew, and certainly no one at church would understand.
From each ear there came a white wire. They joined and from there plugged into a small white device he held easily in the palm of his hand. The iPod was a gift from his parents. It was just the latest in a long line of "things" they gave him, he supposed, as a way to assuage their guilt over the way they treated him. Even though they were cool things that every kid would want, each gift only added to the weight that already burdened his troubled life.
The playlist contained only three songs. They played over and over in a continuous loop as tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks. The songs were oldies, but still they spoke eloquently of the pain that was spilling from his heart. It had been there for years in one form or another. Tonight though, all the hurt from all the years seemed to have merged into one, and was overflowing in an unquenchable flood. All the rejection, all the angry words, all the abuse, all the lonely nights lying on his bed wishing, no, longing to feel a loving touch or see a loving smile directed his way, was flowing out through the gaping wound in his very soul.
Everybody wants to touch somebody
If it takes all night,
Everybody wants to take a little chance
And make it come out right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight,
A heartache tonight, I know.
There's gonna be a heartache tonight,
A heartache tonight, I know, Lord I know.
Eagles, Heartache Tonight
Tonight he'd been going to take the chance the song talked about. He'd been going to reach out to someone hoping they would respond to him with the same longing that was in his own heart. But he hadn't gotten to try. He'd been cut off at the pass in a way that had ripped his heart clean out of his chest. He couldn't bear it any longer. Was he never going to feel whole? Was this pain never going to end? Wasn't anything ever going to come out right?
Love. That was the issue. He wanted to love, and be loved. He'd known love once. Long ago he had experienced the hugs and tenderness that only a grandmother can lavish on her beloved grandchild. That was love. It was unfettered and innocent. But she'd died when he was seven years old. That was 9 years ago. They said it was cancer. It all happened so quickly. He didn't even get to tell her good-bye. They said he was too young to see her in that condition. What did they know? The love between a child and his grandma should have been able to withstand the trauma of her illness. He'd never really forgiven them for keeping him away from her. They never considered his feelings about anything regardless if it was important to him or not.
Over the years, he'd tried to make some sense of how his parents dealt with him. He knew they loved him. One has to believe that most basic of facts even if things aren't always the best. To believe otherwise takes you places your heart cannot bear to go. Nevertheless, he was beginning to understand that perhaps they didn't know how to show their love. Certainly, he hadn't experienced what could be considered genuine love from them since he was a small child. Sure, they kept him fed and clothed. They paid a lot of money for his education in a private Christian school. They even gave him lots of gifts and presents, but that was about it. They did the things that were required; the things that would make them look like good parents, and no more.
Now that he really thought about it, he wasn't too sure they even loved him. There were times when they were downright abusive in fact. Especially his mother, but he knew down deep that they didn't mean to be. If he'd only been a better son maybe they wouldn't have been like that. He knew he was not a good person inside. There were terrible things in there that he'd been afraid to face, at least until today, and that had gotten him exactly nowhere. If anything, it'd made things worse.
He'd always been fairly certain God loved him, but lately he was beginning to question even that. He couldn't see or feel God and lately no matter how hard he tried, God didn't seem to answer his prayers. Maybe it was his own fault that God appeared to have abandoned him. He knew it was, if he would allow himself to admit it.
The problem was that he was in love with someone and he knew God didn't approve of that love. He loved them so much that he was sure his heart would break if he thought too much about him. Him. That was it right there. God couldn't love him because he was in love with a boy. He was a faggot, a dirty, rotten queer. He knew God didn't approve of that. It had been engrained into his very soul ever since he could remember. An abomination it was called. It was enough to strike fear to the heart of even the most pious of youth. It they only knew how HE felt they would know REAL fear.
Why could loving someone be such a terrible thing? He didn't understand, and to make matters worse he knew now that it was a love that could never be returned. It just plain hurt. Heart-wrenching, loud, sobbing hurt. Who in their right mind would choose to be this way? He had fought these urges within himself for more years than he cared to remember. It seemed like it had been going on his entire life. He had prayed. He had sworn vows that he would behave differently. He had gone forward in countless altar calls giving his heart to God. He had been baptized because the minister always said in his sermons that it was necessary for a changed life. None of it had ever made any difference. He still had the same problems and he was just as alone as he'd ever been. There was nothing in his life that he could really get hold of, no God, no love from his parents, and no hope of ever having anyone special. There was no hope of anything being any different in his life no matter how much he wanted it to be.
Please lock me away,
And don't allow the day
Here inside
Where I hide,
With my loneliness.
I don't care what they say,
I won't stay in a world without love.
The Beatles, A World Without Love
There really weren't any options, were there? You can't just tell the world to stop so you can get off. He was rather stuck with staying on this rock whether he wanted to or not.
There was no hope. The evening had started with so much, too. Hope that just this one time he would find acceptance rather than rejection. Tonight it had been his plan to tell Jonathan how he felt about him. You see Jonathan was his best friend, and it was Jonathan that he loved. They had been near constant companions since the beginning of seventh grade. That was over three years ago and he was still the only friend Jordan had ever had. Jonathan was the only refuge he had from the loveless void of his young life. But it had all come crashing down. In just one awful moment his world had ended. One gut wrenching moment and the one small flame of hope that remained in his heart had flickered and been snuffed out by the despair that was now parching his soul.
I can't live if living is without you.
I can't live. I can't give anymore.
Mariah Carey, Without You
As the music played, a plan began forming in Jordan's mind. He had considered similar plans before, during some of his darker moments, but he'd always rejected these thoughts. It seemed now though that doing something, anything, was better than continuing in this never-ending cycle of despair. It made little difference anyhow since nobody except Jonathan seemed to give a rat's ass about him, and even that would change when he discovered who Jordan really was.
He remained a while longer considering his options and after a short while rose from his place on the bed to set his plan into motion. He exited his room making his way out to the garage. It was a large garage with four bays, two of which housed his dad's prize-winning hot rods. The door of the nearest bay was up and Jordan could see his father out on the drive working on the coupe. At the moment, he was busy polishing the chrome. It shown bright and sparkling in the light from the setting sun. He paused in the bay door to watch for a few minutes.
It was Friday evening and his dad was getting the cars ready for the show in Gresham tomorrow. Jordan would be expected to go, and as usual, he would not be allowed to ride with either of his parents while they drove the cars in the parade. Nor would he be allowed to go with them onto the reviewing stand if either car won a trophy. He should be used to it by now but it always hurt. It would hurt even more if he saw other kids celebrating with their families if one of their cars won.
"Mind if I help, Dad?" He was surprised to hear his own voice asking the question.
Although Jordan didn't realize it, his request did not come so much from a desire to wax the car as it was a cry for help to a father who'd never been there when he needed him. A plea to the dad who had not felt it important to attend his 8th grade graduation, come to any of his piano recitals, or teach him how to drive. His request was a tentative hand extended to a man who couldn't be bothered with doing any of the things with or for him that most fathers would delight to do for their children.
Jordan really didn't expect his dad to consent to his request and didn't really understand why he'd bothered to ask, especially after he heard his father's reply.
"No," the man said not attempting to hide his irritation.
Jordan knew from the tone of that one word he was in for another of his father's angry rants.
"You know I can't trust you. You don't even care about TRYING to do the job correctly, let alone actually doing it. Last time you helped," he said making sure his son heard the special emphasis placed on the word helped, "it took me half a day to get that scratch out you left on the fender. And do you remember why? It was because you were fricking careless and got grit on the polish pad. When you learn to be responsible, I'll allow you to help, but not before. Why are you out here anyhow?"
Jordan was surprised that the tongue-lashing was over so soon. He knew better than to mention the fact that the last time he'd been allowed to help was when he was eight years old.
"Came out to get a razor knife, Dad. Need it for a school project I'm working on," he said trying to keep his tone neutral.
It wasn't exactly a lie. He had a project for which he would require the use of a razor knife, but that wasn't really why he wanted it. He had learned over the years that he always had to have a plausible explanation for anything going on in his life no matter how insignificant. It was just the way things were. Dad always had to be in control of everything and everybody.
His father stopped his work and directed an icy stare at his son. "You leave all the tools right where they are," he barked.
Jordan did the mental eye roll thing. He should've known he'd gotten off too easily after the first tirade.
"You never put the screwdriver back where it belonged after you borrowed it the other day," his dad continued. "Get out of my way and go play your piano or something. I need to get this car finished so it'll be ready for the show tomorrow." His tone carried an edge that warranted no argument.
"Fuck you, Dad," Jordan muttered under his breath. He didn't bother trying to explain that he HAD put the god dammed screwdriver exactly where he'd gotten it, just as his father had asked. It wasn't his fault dad had been using it at the workbench and that it was HE who hadn't put it away. To do so would have invited swift and painful retribution. Besides, if he HAD put it where it belonged he would've gotten in trouble for not putting it back on the workbench. You just couldn't win with that son-of-a-bitch. And what was the big deal anyway? What could be so fucking important that you had to treat your only kid like shit?
'Asshole.' It was a parting shot heard only in Jordan's mind.
'OK, plan A didn't work out real well' he thought to himself. 'Prolly'd be too painful anyway, and I'd be too damn scared to actually do it. On to plan B.'
As he turned to reenter the house, he stood momentarily in the doorway quietly observing his father working. The deep melancholy took hold once again in his soul, edging out the anger that had been seething within him only moments before. He somehow understood that the anger was the only thing that kept him hanging on. It gave him a way to focus all his emotional pain and frustration. It was something that kept his mind occupied, which in turn kept the pain from consuming him. But he was tired. Tired of the anger. Tired of the constant fight. It was poison to him. It was taking over his entire being, remolding him into something and someone he did not want to become, and he couldn't do it anymore. He was just too worn out.
'Why? Why can't you just love me?' he thought to himself as the tears began to flow down his cheeks. 'Am I that disgusting? What did I ever do to you that would cause you to treat me like this?'
"I love you Daddy." Jordan made one more attempt to see if his father cared at all.
There was a long pause while he waited for a response he knew would never come. He longed to hear just a simple word of kindness or see an understanding smile. His father possessed in that instant the power to heal his son's broken heart. It would have taken only a moment to change the future and stop the nightmare that seemed to be fast approaching.
The silence was louder than a bomb.
He closed the door quietly while the tears continued flowing and made his way toward the master suite. As he passed the den he noticed his mother sitting there watching "American Idol". Taylor Hicks was singing and as usual, he was just a little off key on a few of the notes. How that guy ever made it this far in the competition, Jordan would never understand.
'At least the show will keep mom occupied while I'm rummaging in their medicine cabinet,' he thought to himself. 'Don't want anyone discovering me in there. They'd probably beat me to death and save me the trouble.' He snorted at the irony of the thought, then quietly slipped down the hall, entered their bedroom, and made his way into the master bath.
He quickly located a full bottle of mom's prescription painkiller and stuffed it into the pocket of his cargo shorts. He exited the room making his way back down the hall pausing once again at the entrance to the den.
Mom was still watching TV. This time Simon was berating a female contestant who had probably done a good deal better with her song than Taylor had with his.
He let the thought go and looked back at his mother. "Mom?" he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering.
"What, honey?" she asked with an edge of irritation in her voice, "You know I don't like to be interrupted while I'm watching my shows."
'At least she doesn't slap me around much anymore when I interrupt one of her pet activities,' he thought to himself. Her anger these days was not so much directed toward physical abuse as it was toward making his life miserable in some other way. Sometimes he would rather be hit than to always be looking over his shoulder wondering when the other shoe was going to drop.
"Never mind Mom..." he hesitated trying to decide whether he should say more, "Can we talk, Mom?"
"That's nice honey, don't you have some studying or something to do? I'm trying to watch this." She hadn't even heard what he'd said. Her indifference stabbed at his heart like a knife.
"Sure mom," he answered as he started for his room. As he moved on down the hall each footstep seemed to weigh him down like an anchor.
As he passed the living room, his attention was drawn to his piano. It was a twelve-foot grand and was the only thing that had been left to him from his grandmother's estate. His folks didn't mind having it in the house since it gained them the admiring comments of visitors. It also didn't hurt their image any when they could trot Jordan out to play for said visitors as if he were some sort of trained monkey. Just drop a quarter into the slot, turn the handle, and the monkey performs.
He could still hear the voices echoing around in his head from the last time it happened.
"Such a nice boy you have, don't you think so dear? And so gifted too. Maybe he and our Heather could meet. She's a really sweet girl you know. Loves to sing. They'd make such a cute couple, and with matching talents too."
God, it was enough to make him hurl.
In spite of it all though he loved that piano. It was the only tangible link he had connecting him to his grandmother and he loved playing it. Playing had always been his solace when times were tough.
He moved over to it now, and sitting on the bench he caressed the keys lovingly for a moment before beginning to play Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". It had always been one of his favorites. When he played it he would imagine a full moon shining between puffy clouds as they lazed by in the night breeze. Gradually the clouds would thicken until the moon was covered and soon lightning and thunder would be rending the sky with its fury. Just as gradually, the storm would abate and the sky would clear leaving the moonlight once more glistening off the rain-drenched foliage as the last notes of the song faded away.
This time just as his imagination was bringing the storm to its full fury, Mom came raging into the room and slammed the key cover closed narrowly missing his fingers in the process.
"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. I don't want to be bothered while I'm watching my show!" she yelled. "Now go to your room and stay there. Don't come out again the rest of the night."
He turned to her with tear stained face silently pleading for just one moment of understanding, just a small token of tenderness.
"I love you Mom."
"NOW!" she yelled fixing him in that same withering look of contempt with which he'd become so familiar, and pointing a long finger in the direction of his bedroom.
It made her look just like the grim reaper, dressed as she was in her dark, floppy housecoat. The only thing missing to complete the picture was the fucking hood! The whole thing creeped him out to the point where he could feel himself getting woozy.
Rising from the piano bench, he made his way unsteadily toward his room for what he believed to be the last time. Closing the door, he fell face down on his bed and wept his heart out. His body was convulsing with grief. The last half-hour had done nothing more than confirm to him how alone he really was. It established in his mind once and for all time, that no matter what he did nothing would ever be good enough. It was beyond understanding.
He had no sense of the passing of time. There was only the pain in his soul that would not be comforted. When he was drained and the tears were spent, he rose and made his way over to his desk. It was time, he decided, to implement the next step in his plan. He booted up his computer, and opened the email client. His father did not allow him to surf the Internet from his bedroom. Furthermore, in order to keep from "tying up the phone line" he was required to set his computer so that it would log on automatically at 5:00 AM to send and receive email. That would work out to his advantage tonight. As usual when sending mail, he would put it in his outbox and it would be sent when the computer logged on in the morning. That way the pills he was about to take would have plenty of time to do their work. It probably wouldn't be till around 7:00 AM tomorrow, when he was supposed to be getting ready for the car show, that anyone would discover what he'd done.
The only email address of any significance in his address book was Jonathan's. Just this week Jonathan had established a new email account because his mother had consented to purchase broadband Internet service. Jordan wondered absently why his friend had chosen this particular address. His old one was KingJONthe1st@tvinet.com. That made some sense and went along with his friend's sense of humor, but this new one didn't seem to amount to a combination of anything Jordan could figure out.
He chose Jonathan's address, filled in the subject and began his letter to his friend.
To: eVolNadRojI99@willamette.net
Subject: It's better this way
Hi Buddy,
I came over to see you earlier this evening. I had something really important I wanted to talk about. I didn't get to talk to you though cuz you were otherwise occupied. Ha, Ha! You've been holding out on me buddy. Why didn't you tell me you have a girlfriend? I know you talk about girls sometimes but I had no idea there was anything serious going on. Anyhow you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar this time stud. I was just rounding the corner of your house when I saw you standing just inside your back gate with your body all entwined with some redhead babe, and vise-versa. Wow! Congratulations! Who is she? I don't think I know her. There was some serious huggage going on there Bubba. Anyway, I'm happy for you.
I'm going to be really honest with you here, Jon. I hope you don't mind. As you know, I've been in the serious dumps lately and I've not told you why. It just seems like life is getting to be too much. First of all my parents have never been very supportive of me. I've never told you before, Jon, but they're mean and abusive to me. I've never really even admitted it to myself before tonight. I know it doesn't seem to anyone else that they would be like that but they are. They hide it well.
You remember weekend before last when you phoned and asked me to come over? I couldn't because I was in trouble. While I was cleaning the kitchen I accidentally dropped one of my mom's nice glasses in the sink. It broke and Dad took his fists to me. He beat me on my back and butt. I had huge bruises that hurt so much I couldn't sit or lay on them for two days. Jon, I'm sixteen years old. I wasn't purposely disobedient. Why do they have to treat me like this? I think I'm a good kid. Shit, I play the piano for the worship service at church. The only thing I ever do that could possibly be construed as rebellious is skateboarding, but I only do that to get away. I loose myself in thought when I'm boarding. It's a place I can go where no one can hurt me. A place I can go to put stuff into perspective so that I don't go crazy. So what's the deal? I've never caused them any problem. I've tried my best to do everything they ask without complaint.
For years school was my refuge from it all, but I never had any friends there and I suppose that it wasn't much of a refuge really. I did take refuge of sorts in learning though. Until recently I've always been small for my age and the other school kids picked on me a lot. I was beaten up in the restrooms countless times till you came to our school in seventh grade and stood up to them for me. When we became friends, you became my lifeline. I've depended on you most of the time for the strength I need just to get me through the day. Do you have any idea how much your friendship has meant to me? I don't think I would have survived this long if it hadn't been for you and I thank you for that.
Remember when your mom took us to Disney Land the summer between seventh and eighth grade? We had so much fun together. I think that is when I first realized that you were really my friend; that you weren't just hanging with me cuz you felt sorry for me. I remember the evening we were sitting beside each other on the sidewalk watching the Main Street parade. They played the song from Cinderella. I know you know the one I'm talking about. It sort of became my song that night. I'm going to put down the words here. I hope that in reading them you can get a feeling for the meaning they have to me.
A dream is a wish your heart makes,
When you're fast asleep.
In dreams you will loose your heartaches,
Whatever you wish for you keep.
Have faith in your dreams and someday,
Your rainbow will come smiling through.
No matter how your heart is grieving,
If you keep on believing,
The dream that you wish will come true.
Jon, what I came over to tell you this evening is that you have been that dream for me. You are the wish my heart makes. You take away my heartache. Please don't hate me! Please! I can't help it. You've been so kind and understanding. You were the only one that cared enough to come and cheer for me when I won the state high-school piano competition. You were the one who always laughed at my jokes no matter how corny they were. You were nearly always the one who first spoke to me in the morning, showing me that cute smile that always made me melt inside. You were the one that helped me with my algebra homework when my mathematics professor father refused to. When things got to be too much at home you were the one that let me cry on your shoulder and never pressured me to tell you what was wrong.
You have always been there for me Jon and what I am trying to say is that somewhere along the line I fell in love with you. I didn't mean to. It just happened when I wasn't looking. I love everything about you. I love your cute smile. To me you are incredibly hot, but the thing I love most about you is how when I'm with you I always feel good about myself. You have this incredible power that draws people to you and makes them feel they can conquer the world. Can you blame me for dreaming about you? I would love you with all my heart even if our relationship never changed over what it is right now. Other than my grandmother, you are the only one who has ever cared enough to really get to know and like me.
I know you probably find me disgusting right now and I'm sorry. It really hurts to know that you can never return the kind of love I long to share with you. I don't hold it against you. I was really happy to see you with that cute girl. I truly hope she makes you happy.
What is really bothering me tonight more than all that however is the fact that I've finally had to admit to myself that I'm gay. Jon, I hate it. I hate myself because of it. I just can't stand the fact that I'm like this. I've tried for years to change. Well, you know how it's been with me. We've attended the same church together the last several years. I'm sincere about my religion. I really am, and I know you are too. But why do I feel so abandoned by God? Why hasn't he changed me like I've begged him to? I'm sure he knows I mean it. Why can't I be normal like you?
Do you remember when the gay couples were lined up at the Multnomah County Courthouse waiting to get married a while back? I never told you but the olds went down there and picketed them with an anti-gay group. They wanted me to go too, but I pretended I was sick; otherwise they'd have forced me to go along and carry one of those dammed signs. I'd have ended up on Channel 2 news, maybe even World News Tonight. I just couldn't do it. You know what I mean? Jon, they made me sit and watch them on the news that night yelling "Christian" obscenities at those poor people. I literally got sick and had to leave the room.
Jon, I don't know what to do anymore. I told them both tonight that I love them. Mom yelled at me and my dad didn't even acknowledge that I'd said anything. I don't think they even want me around. They'd throw a party if I failed to come home from school some day. I don't understand it. They talk about love and grace and act so holy at church then when they come home they treat me like shit. And heaven forbid that they use any swear words even when they're mad at me, but they kill me just a little more each day with the things they do to me and the mean things they say. It hurts so bad.
The folks don't know about me yet and I'm not going to tell them, but I'm afraid they're gonna find out. I heard them talking the other night when they thought I was out riding my board. They were discussing something they'd read from Citizen Magazine. You know the one published by Dr. Dobson's organization "Focus on the Family"? I guess it said in there that when a boy doesn't experience a good bonding relationship with his father it could cause him to become a homosexual. I don't know whether to believe that theory, but that's what they said. It's really ironic though isn't it? If what my parents believe is true, then it makes it their own fucking fault I turned out this way. I almost wish it were true so I could rub their face in it when they find out.
I'm afraid it they find out they'll kick me out of the house, which would leave me with no place to go. Shit, that wouldn't really be much different than things are right now would it? I may as well be homeless now for all the love I get inside this house. I'd probably get more love down in Dignity Village with the bums.
Anyhow, even with all of that aside, I guess I'm condemned to hell because of the way I am. Honestly, Jon, I don't think I want to face living the rest of my life dreading the hereafter. I couldn't take it. It kind of robs all the joy, you know? It'd be better to end it all right now and get on with it if that's the way things are going to be, than to spend the next sixty years living in fear. I am so conflicted inside, Jon. I hate myself for the way I am and yet it's the only way I know how to be. I can't help it. Lord knows I've tried. It's who I am and I know it's wrong. That's why by the time you read this I'll probably be dead. I have a bottle of prescription painkiller that I'm gonna take as soon as I put this email in the out box. I'm sorry I couldn't be a better friend. You probably won't want anything to do with me anyhow once you've read this and find out how things really are with me.
Thanks so much Jonathan for being such a good friend. I love you. Enjoy your time with whoever the girl is. I envy her, you know. I was really hoping it would be me you were holding in your arms this evening but I guess that can never be. I hope it lasts with you guys. Kiss her for me will you? I wish I could have been like you, but I'm not. Maybe it would've made my problem with the 'rents easier to take if I'd turned out normal.
I hope you're not too disappointed in me. And please don't think I did this because you can't return my love. It really has nothing to do with that. You have to believe me. It's just with all this other shit going on...
You remember the R.E.M. song "Everybody Hurts"? Jon, I hurt so bad, but I just can't hold on like the song says. I've been holding on so long and I'm so tired. So, so tired... I just can't do it anymore.
Jonathan, you were my prince, my knight in shining armor, and I am grateful to have known you.
Good-bye My Love.
With that he put the letter in his out box and clicked "Send" knowing that a few hours from now it would find its way onto the internet and at some point tomorrow onto his friend's computer. His system clock said 10:17 PM when he switched off the monitor. He sat staring at the blank screen for a few moments working up the courage to do what came next.
Rising from the chair a little while later he grabbed the "Super Gulp" beverage container off the nightstand and stumbled to his bathroom. There he filled it with water from the tap and returned to sit on the edge of his bed. He placed the water on his nightstand along side the bottle of pills.
He lay back on his bed; fingers laced together under his head, and stared up at the ceiling. He had tried so hard to do the right thing, to be the person he should be. It just didn't work out. It only worked out for other people, not him. He no longer had any answers. The problems were insurmountable. He just wished there were someone out there who could hear his cry, someone that could relieve him of his burden if only for a little while. It had become too large for anyone to carry let alone a lonely 16-year-old boy.
He tried to recall the good times in his life, but the good memories wouldn't come. Instead, he remembered a five-year old boy sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, his spilled food scattered around him. He'd only been trying to be a big boy and help get his own food from the refrigerator because his mother was sad and hadn't fixed the evening meal. But he'd spilled it and now she was forcing him to eat it where it was, right off the floor. Mom always kept the house clean, but not that clean. There was cat hair and small pieces of dirt mixed in with it, but there she was, scooping the stuff up and stuffing it in his mouth one bite after another. He had no choice but to try to eat it all, and fast. Even at his age it was disgusting and he could hardly stomach the stuff. The longer it went on the harder it was to keep up with the flow and eventually he threw it up again all over the floor. He didn't do it on purpose, it just happened. He remembered thinking she would give it up after that. But no, she spooned up the mess he'd made and forced him to eat it all over again.
He was horrified and knew that what she was doing to him was wrong. None of his protests would deter her however and when she was finally satisfied with her handiwork, she led him by the hand to his room. There she made him take off his clothes. When he was undressed she made him lay face down on the bed while she whipped his bare little bottom with a belt causing angry red welts from his lower back down to his knees. She finished off the job by making him kneel beside his bed and ask Jesus to forgive him for being a bad boy.
He remembered crying himself to sleep that night, an event that turned out to be the first of many during the years to come. He wondered absently what it was that had changed that fateful day so long ago. Nothing had been the same with either of his parents since, and he didn't understand why. What had he done that could possibly cause them to hate him so?
He remembered an incident a few days later when he was learning to ride his bicycle. It was the first time he'd been able to ride without falling off. He'd come riding up the drive after a short excursion around the neighborhood just as his dad had rolled up the garage door. He was so proud and excited.
"Look Daddy" he called excitedly, "I can ride without falling!"
The excitement of seeing his daddy and calling out to him caused him to be distracted from what was happening and he had gone crashing into the back of the family car shattering one of the tail light lenses. He had blood running down his face from a cut on his forehead, but instead of rushing over to see if he was OK, his father yelled at him.
"You worthless, stupid, good for nothing kid! Why don't you watch what you're doing? Look what you did to my car!"
With that he got in the car, backed over the top of Jordan's bicycle, and drove off leaving his son's wound unattended and his treasured bike a pile of twisted steel. Jordan had tried to staunch the flow of blood without success. It frightened him so much that he phoned his grandmother for help. He was ashamed to tell her the truth so he went out and hid the evidence before she got there. He didn't want her to think badly about his daddy so he thought up a story about how he got cut. She rushed right over and took him to the emergency room. They gave him seven stitches and a small teddy bear. When they were done sewing him up his grandma took him back to her house. There she held and comforted him, not understanding how badly his little heart had been shattered that afternoon. His daddy had never acted that badly toward him before. In his innocence he reasoned that if only he had paid better attention maybe he could have stopped in time and his daddy would still love him.
He wondered again why God had abandoned him. It struck him then that perhaps what he'd been taught about God might be wrong in some way. It just didn't seem logical. On the one hand, he'd been taught that God was full of vengeance toward "sinners", and on the other hand he'd learned that God was supposed to be loving and kind. Jesus hadn't been vengeful when he was here on earth. He'd gotten mighty angry about a few things but the anger was always directed at the preachers and religious leaders. Jesus had spent his time with the people that were looked down on and reviled by the religious elite. He healed them and ministered to their needs.
Jordan wasn't sure how Jesus treatment of people related to his own sexuality, but he was suddenly convinced that it was not an insurmountable problem.
'If Jesus came into my house right now,' he wondered, 'Would he want to spend his time with me or with my parents?'
He wasn't sure of the answer, but the thought brought him just a small glimmer of hope and he decided to try one more time. After all, if God really was who he claimed to be, it had to be possible for him to do something about the pain and loneliness. It must be possible to change the situation somehow so that he could feel whole.
"God," he prayed, "If you're out there somewhere please help me. I've been taught all my life that you care about the very smallest of your creatures. If that's true, then please hear me now and do something cuz I'm in a real mess here. I don't want to die but I don't see the use in living the way things are. God, you walked on water. You raised Lazarus from the dead. If you can do anything with my situation, please do it now."
'Well,' he thought, 'it's up to him now. There's nothing more I can do.'
His thoughts turned once again to his friend, Jonathan. He was tall, very athletic with just the right amount of muscle on his slender frame, and he was kind. He thought about his friend's upturned smile, the wavy blonde hair and green eyes, the cute button nose. The way his black dress slacks accentuated his sexy ass and how his colorful button down shirts with the top buttons undone and the cuffs folded back gave him that oh so sexy, yet innocent charm.
Mostly though he was thinking about his friend's kind spirit and loving nature. Just the other day Jordan had been alone in the house playing his beloved piano. He was working on his own rendition of the song "Unfaithful" by Rihanna. He was quite pleased with how it was coming along and had finally managed to play it through perfectly a couple of times. Just as he was finishing up, he was startled to hear a sound behind him. He turned to discover Jonathan sitting in the big rocker with tears on his cheeks and a big smile on his face.
There was a moment of silence before Jonathan spoke. "Gosh Jore, you're getting really good. You play with such expression. I'm proud of you," he then got up, and coming over to the bench where Jordan sat gave him a big hug. It felt so good. It was the first time since his grandma got sick that anyone had given him a hug that contained the message 'I care about you'.
It was a good memory. How could a person not love Jonathan? Would Jonathan really reject him for liking boys? The more he thought about it the more he realized that it was unlikely. Jonathan had never hated anybody. There were things he hated but people weren't in that category. He had stood up to the bullies at school on Jordan's behalf but he didn't hate them. They'd known he wasn't to be challenged on the issue and he'd earned their grudging respect.
No, he hadn't given Jonathan enough credit and he felt bad about it. After all, Jonathan had chosen him as a friend and not the other way around. The least he could do was to value that friendship. In that moment he realized he couldn't just go away and in the process leave his friend grieving. That would be so unfair after all the things Jonathan had done for him. It would be a hit below the belt like saying to him, "Sorry, Jon, but I don't value your friendship enough to stick around. All the time you have invested in us as friends, all the times you defended me from the bullies, all the time we've spent together having fun or just hangin' is meaningless when compared to my own problems."
To do that would be the ultimate act of self-centeredness, which was the very trait he hated so much in his parents. He would not give them the satisfaction of knowing they had broken him. In a little less than two years he would be 18, and could be free of them if he chose. What was two years when compared to a lifetime?
He shuddered to think how close he'd come to ending it all. In his self-pity he hadn't stopped to consider that in offing himself he would not only accomplish his goal of avoiding the heartache and pain, but he would also be robbing himself of the things he loved the most. He would loose his music, his friendship with Jonathan, not to mention all of his plans and dreams.
One of his ambitions had been to become a concert pianist. That ambition had been helped along when he'd done a guest performance with the Portland Youth Philharmonic Orchestra last fall. It was one of the "perks" he'd received for winning the statewide piano competition. That had been so great. When he'd practiced with them he'd gotten to know many of the kids in the orchestra. They'd accepted him like no one else ever had. He'd always found it difficult relating to his own age group but these kids were fantastic. They treated him as if he was one of them. That had been a new experience for him. The conductor had invited him back for another performance next season, which he was really looking forward to, especially since there were some really cute guys there. The possibilities were intriguing, but it would take a lot to get over Jonathan enough to allow himself the luxury of loving someone else.
Something else he'd thought about was becoming a preacher, but he supposed that was officially out of the question now... or maybe not. He could preach about the real God. The one he was just now becoming aware of. He was certain there were countless thousands of people who couldn't stomach the narrow, vengeful view of God that seemed to be prevalent among so many. The problem with that ambition was he would have to hide who he really was in order to make it through seminary. He wasn't sure he could stomach that.
His mind turned to his relationship with his parents. Things would be different from now on, he decided. There was one thing for certain. Tomorrow morning he was putting them on notice that he would tolerate no more abuse. They could say anything to or about him that they wanted, but they would NEVER touch him again. The first time it happened there would be hell to pay. He would not fight. Indeed he was neither strong enough nor large enough to fight off his father should the man choose to attack. He would however contact the authorities, the leaders of their church, his father's employer, or anyone else he could think of if it came down to that. He would live in the house with them if he had to, but he would no longer consider himself part of the family. He'd never been anyhow. If they made life too miserable for him, he would just plain leave. He had no idea where he would go but that didn't really matter to him at the moment.
It was too bad he'd had to get to such a low point in order to see things clearly, but he was thankful he'd come to his senses. He supposed that everyone ended up in a crisis at some point in their life. Some just didn't make it through to the other side.
He glanced sleepily at the bottle on the nightstand and was thankful it still contained all of its contents. Tomorrow would be a better day.
He reached over and picked up his iPod thumbing through the songs until he found one he liked and started it playing.
I've just closed my eyes again,
Climbed aboard the dream weaver train.
Driver to take away my worries of today,
And leave tomorrow behind.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe you can get me through the night.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe we can reach the morning light.
Fly me high through the starry skies,
Maybe to an astral plane.
Cross the highways of fantasy,
Help me to forget today's pain.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe you can get me through the night.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe we can reach the morning light.
Though the dawn may be comin' soon,
There still may be some time.
Fly me away to the bright side of the moon,
And meet me on the other side.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe you can get me through the night.
Ooh, dream weaver,
I believe we can reach the morning light
Dream Weaver... Dream Weaver...
Gary Wright, Dream Weaver
As the music flowed through and around him, he discovered he was too tired now to do anything more than reach around and pull the comforter over his fully clothed body. As he began drifting off, his mind told him he needed to delete that email from his outbox but he was too far gone to act, and soon he slept.
No thoughts intruded on his rest. At least for a short while there would be no pain, there would be no regret, and there would be no remembering...
