Authors: Brent Hartinger
Father Franklin stared at me.
"That was a joke," I said.
He completely ignored my attempt at humor, which kind of sucked. "Russel, your parents are just concerned about you. Once you go public with something like this, there can be real consequences."
"All my friends already know," I said. "My whole school knows. I started a gay-straight-bisexual alliance. My parents were the last to know. And there
were
consequences. But the way I see it, the only way things are ever going to change is if people take a stand for what they believe. I actually think that's kind of the moral thing to do. Don't you?"
Father Franklin shifted in his seat. I was making him nervous. I hate to admit it, but I was enjoying this.
"Well, you may be right," he went on. I think he knew he needed to try a different approach. "You probably think that the Catholic Church doesn't have any guidance to offer someone in a situation like yours."
That was
exactly
what I thought. But I didn't say it out loud.
"But the Catholic Church is two thousand years old," he said. "It's lasted that long for a reason. I'm not saying the church hasn't made mistakes. It has. But I believe that the reason it's lasted as long as it has is because it's been charged with certain unchanging truths."
"Like what?" I said.
"Like on the subject of human sexuality. That sex is a gift from God. But one that comes with certain responsibilities. We can't just go around having sex with whoever we want. Actions have consequences. That's the basis for all morality."
"I totally agree with that," I said. "Sex is a big deal. Most people take it way too lightly."
Father Franklin smiled and sat up in his seat. He was relieved. He had found common ground with me at last.
"God gave us sex," the priest said, "but he put limits on it too. First and foremost, he asks that we save sex for the sacrament of marriage."
Here we go, I thought to myself. At the same time, it seemed like the incense was growing thicker. Sickly sweet too. Suddenly I could hardly breathe.
"But gay people can't get married," I said. "Where does that leave us?"
He coughed quietly. "Well, gay people have a special calling from God. The Church teaches that God calls gay people to be celibate. That means to refrain from sexual activity."
I knew what it meant. Yes, that was a "special" calling, wasn't it? Sort of like God calling houseflies to eat dog crap.
I didn't say anything, so there was a silence. The purring of the electric clock sounded like someone clearing his throat, but in a way that never made it any better.
"Why?" I said at last.
"What?" Father Franklin said.
"I'm sorry, but that just doesn't make any sense to me. Why would God treat gay and straight people so differently? It's not fair."
"I know it seems that way. But God places limits on heterosexual people too."
"Yes," I said, "but if straight people don't agree to those limits, you'll marry them anyway. And most Catholics
don't
agree with those limits." I knew this for a fact. I was no fool. Before coming here, I'd done my research.
Father Franklin was back to shifting in his seat. "Russel, I'm not just making these things up, you know. There are traditions. These things come directly from Scripture."
"There used to be a tradition to keep slaves," I said. "The Church used to say that came from Scripture too, until they decided they were wrong. Maybe you're wrong about this too. Back when the Bible was being written, no one had any idea what homosexuality was, just like they had no idea that the earth revolved around the sun."
Father Franklin held up his hand. "I'm sorry, Russel, but sex between two men just isn't a part of God's plan."
This annoyed me. "Who said anything about sex?" I said. "I never told you I was having sex. I never brought up sex at all. You did, twice now. I'm talking about love. And it seems weird to me that the Church would say that two people falling in love is, like, this big, horrible thing, all against God's plan. I just can't believe God would demand that all these people be miserable and alone their whole lives. Or that they marry someone they can't ever really love."
To his credit, Father Franklin just listened. I think he knew I had a point. The air seemed to have cleared a little too. I think the housekeeper had opened a window somewhere.
Father Franklin leaned forward in his chair. "Russel, I can tell you're very smart. So can I be frank?"
"Yes," I said. "Be frank."
"I know that human sexuality is a little more complicated than the Church sometimes admits in public. When it comes to sex, things aren't always black and white."
Here we go, I thought. Back to sex again. And they say we gay people are obsessed with it?
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, I wasn't born yesterday."
I thought, Oh, God, now I have to hear about Father Franklin's "gay" phase again!
"Yeah?" I said.
"I know the Church can seem uncompromising," the priest said. "And out of touch. But the Church also says that ultimately we have to decide these things for ourselves. That they're a matter of personal conscience."
"So you're saying that if I disagree with you, that's okay?"
"I'm saying that none of this means there isn't still a place for you in the Catholic Church."
Okay, so now I was thoroughly confused. What happened to Unchanging Truths? God's plan? And why hadn't he mentioned this right when I came in? Why did he bring it up only when he realized that I wasn't an intellectual pushover? Were the truths unchanging only for stupid people?
"If the world isn't black and white," I said, "why does the Church talk like it is?"
He thought for a second. "I think some people in the Church think that if we admit we could be wrong about any one thing, then some people will think we're wrong about
everything
. One of the things that people really like about the Catholic Church is the idea that it's solid. Ageless. Something to cling to in times of change."
"So your stand on gays is really more of a PR decision?" I said.
Father Franklin looked at me. Then he laughed out loud. This time, I hadn't meant to be telling a joke.
"Father Franklin," I said, "now can I be frank with you?"
He looked surprised, like a baby who had just touched a hot lightbulb. "Of course."
"The Church teaches things," I said. "People like my parents hear those things, and they believe them. And then they freak out when they learn their son is gay. And other people hear those things, and they beat up gay people. Or they vote for politicians who write laws that make us second-class citizens. And now you're telling me that the things the Church teaches might not be right after all?"
"What's your point?"
"Actions have consequences, Father. That's the basis for all morality."
"Ah, yes," Father Franklin said. "I see what you mean. Touche."
I stood up. "I'm going to be leaving now. Is that okay, Father?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. Of course." He stood up too. "You probably don't want to hear this, but the Church could use more people like you. I hope you'll still give us a chance."
"Well," I said. "Let's just say I wouldn't wait by the phone."
Needless to say, the air outside the building was fresh and clean.
* * *
The next day at school, Monday, Min met me in the hallway.
"Hey!" I said.
She asked how it was going with my parents, and I told her. I felt guilty I hadn't kept her up-to-date on everything that was going on with Kevin. She was one of my best friends. And if she called me on my shit, well, maybe I needed my shit called on right then.
"I have a confession to make," she said when I was done. "It was an accident, but I still feel really bad."
"Yeah?" I said. "I've got something I want to tell you too." I
would
tell her—everything.
But before Min could say anything more, a voice stopped us both dead in our tracks.
"Did you hear?" someone said. "Kevin Land came out! He's gay!"
So Kevin Land really had come out of the closet.
Wow, I thought, standing in the hallway with Min. Good for him.
Good for him, but bad for me. Because as long as he was in the closet, I didn't have to choose between him and Otto. Now I did. He'd also proven that maybe he wasn't quite as weak as I'd thought. All this was what he'd been impishly grinning about on the movie set on Saturday. He knew by coming out, he would change everything.
Suddenly I wasn't so sure I wanted Min calling me on my shit.
* * *
Otto IMed me that night.
OttoManEmpire: Hey, you! How's it going with your parents?
I told him about my encounter with Father Franklin the day before.
OttoManEmpire: Oh man! I wish I could have heard that!
Smuggler: It was oddly satisfying. What's going on with you?
He told me how he and his friends Jan and Will were doing volunteer work at a "no-kill" animal shelter. It was interesting, but to be honest, I didn't know any of the people he was talking about. So it wasn't that interesting.
There was a pause. Neither of us typed anything. It probably wasn't that long of a pause, but it seemed long. I guess it was symbolic or whatever.
OttoManEmpire: Oh! I forgot to ask. Have you reminded your parents that I'm coming for a visit since they found out about you? I'd hate to get all the way there, and then have them send me back home again.
Otto was right. I really didn't know how my parents would react to my having my boyfriend visit, even if they didn't know he was my boyfriend. It wasn't fair to put Otto in such an uncomfortable position.
I needed to talk to my parents again.
* * *
My mom was in the kitchen making dinner. It wasn't until she noticed me in the doorway that she started banging the pots and pans.
"What?" I said.
She slammed a cookie sheet onto the counter. "Russel, you could have at least
talked
to the man!"
"Who?"
"Father Franklin!"
"I
did
talk to him!" I said. "I went to see him at his office, just like you said."
"Oh, I heard about that little office visit. He said there wasn't anything he could do to help you if you didn't want help."
So my mom and Father Franklin had been in contact. I'm not sure why I was surprised.
"It sounds like you didn't just want me to talk to him," I said. "It sounds like you wanted me to let him talk me out of being gay."
"Russel, that's not it at all." But from the way she bumped against the fruit basket, I knew I was right.
"Look," I said. "I wanted to remind you that my friend Otto is coming for Thanksgiving. Remember, my friend from camp?"
"Yes, I know," my mom said quickly. "Wednesday through Saturday."
"Okay," I said, and suddenly I couldn't get out of that kitchen fast enough.
"Wait," my mom said.
Against my wishes, I turned to look at her. It was like I could actually see the activity inside her head, the wheels turning and clicking into place.
"This Otto, he's more than just a friend, isn't he?" she said. Her eyes looked up at mine, boring into them like titanium drill bits.
My parents were nothing like me, true, but they definitely weren't stupid.
Now I had a choice. I could tell the truth and have to deal with their inevitable wrath, and also maybe screw up any chance I had of their letting Otto come visit. Or I could lie, and potentially avoid the whole issue, but risk having them be even more furious if they found out I was lying—and possibly take their fury out on Otto once he arrived.
"Maybe," I said to my mom. Once again, it didn't seem fair to make Otto have to deal with something that was my responsibility. Besides, like I said before, I didn't lie to my parents. I was a good kid. You might even say a
sickeningly
good kid (my classmates had said that often enough). I didn't drink or swear or take drugs or lie to my parents, except for the being-in-the-closet thing, which obviously doesn't count. This is part of the reason why their whole disapproving-of-me-for-being-gay thing was so upsetting. It was like my being gay completely overwhelmed everything else about me.
"
Maybe
?" my mom said to me, meaning my answer to the question about Otto being my boyfriend.
"Okay, yeah, he is," I said. "But it's not like it sounds. You're just hearing the word
boyfriend
. He's a really great guy."
"
You have a boyfriend
?" Those wheels that I'd seen turning in her head? The whole cuckoo clock was suddenly exploding, with springs and gears blasting everywhere. "Russel, that is
completely
out of the question! I absolutely
forbid
you to have anything to do with this boy!"
Okay, this was not going well. I'm not sure what I was expecting—my parents to take out a same-sex wedding announcement in the local newspaper? But it never occurred to me that Having a Boyfriend would be as upsetting to them as Being Gay. I mean, weren't they basically the same thing? In retrospect, I saw just how naive I had been.
"Wait! Stop!" I said. "You haven't even met him yet! Just wait till you meet him, okay? He's a really, really, really great guy!"
My mom stared at me with this bewildered look, like she didn't recognize me—like I was someone who had just wandered in off the street, someone she'd never even seen before.
Fair enough, I guess. Because I'm sure the look on my face as I stared back at her was one she'd never seen anywhere before.
* * *
That Saturday we had another full day of shooting, which meant another 8 A.M. makeup call. Apparently the student body had already started its gradual transformation into zombies, because the makeup artists gave all our faces a yellow tint. They also put dark circles under our eyes and messed up our hair, which they then locked into place with hairspray. (Who knew zombies were so glam?)
Once we were all gathered in the hospitality suite, they said they were going to divide us into two groups, each one working on a different set of scenes.
"That'll be first and second unit," said Gunnar to Min, Em, and me.
"What?" Min said, sounding panicky for some reason.
"Second unit is when they shoot shots that don't include the main characters," Gunnar explained. "Like exterior, identifying shots. Or background shots for special effects. It's called 'second unit' because the director doesn't need to be there, just the second unit director, who's usually a nobody. They'll probably use half of us for the second unit work, and half of us for work with the real director and the stars."
I didn't really care what "first and second unit" meant, but I didn't want to end up in Kevin's group. I guess it's like what they say about alcoholics: if there's booze around, they'll drink it. Kevin was my alcohol, but I didn't want to drink him (okay, that came out really, really wrong).
Needless to say, Kevin and I ended up in the same group. I saw his eyes scanning for me like the sweep of a lighthouse.
I ignored him and hurried over to a production assistant.
"Um," I said to her, "would it be possible to switch units?"
"Sorry," she said. "We need exact numbers."
"How about if I switch with someone?" I pointed to Min, who had been chosen for the other group. "She's my friend. I'm sure she'll switch with me."
"Why do you want to switch?" the production assistant asked me.
I had to think fast. "I'm epileptic," I lied. "But it's okay because my other friend Gunnar knows how to administer my medicine. Thing is, he's in that group." I pointed to the Kevin-free group, the one I wanted to be in.
Her face immediately shifted to sympathy. "Sure, sure, that's fine."
Next I pulled Min aside. "Do you mind if we switch groups?" I asked.
"What?" she said. "
Why
?" She looked put out, which confused me.
I leaned in closer. "I'm trying to avoid Kevin."
"I don't think that's okay with the producers," she said. "Switching, I mean."
"No, it's okay," I said. "I just asked."
"Bu
t—
" Min said.
"What?" I said.
She thought for a second—about what, I had no idea. What difference did it make what group she was in?
But finally, she said, "Well, then. Okay."
Tragedy averted, I thought—for a few hours at least.
* * *
Halfway through the morning, they gave us a break, and we all headed back to the hospitality suite. But I wanted to explore the school a bit (and I needed to use the restroom), so I veered off on my own.
It was an older school, churchlike, with echoing hallways and a polished stone floor. But it had been "updated" in the sixties, slathered with industrial green paint and given a horrible white cork ceiling, which was now yellow with water stains. It desperately needed the renovation that was taking place beyond the sheets of milky plastic that draped down over so many of the hallways.
It also needed more bathrooms. It took me forever to find one. But finally I did, a cavernous concrete chamber at the bottom of a small flight of steps (apparently in the previous century, disabled people didn't need restrooms). The wall to my left was nothing but a long row of white porcelain urinals—the tall kind that go all the way down to the floor, so that you can't miss, no matter how lousy your aim. There had to be thirty urinals in all. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever all been used at the same time.
As I stepped toward the urinals, I caught sight of someone over to my right, by the long row of porcelain sinks.
It was Declan McDonnell, the star of
Attack of the Soul-Sucking Brain Zombies
. He'd been washing his hands. My first thought was, What if I'd come in two minutes earlier? Would I have had to pee next to Declan McDonnell? At least with thirty urinals, I could have put a whole bunch of them between the two of us.
"Oh," he said, turning, surprised to see me. "Hello."
I started to say something, but then I remembered how they'd warned us not to talk to the stars. Could I talk to him now that he'd talked to me? The producer hadn't said anything about that.
"Uh," I said at last. "Hi."
"Something wrong?" Declan McDonnell said.
I grimaced. "It's just that they…"
"Ah, right. You're not supposed to talk to the stars. The first movie I did, I didn't know that they always tell the crew and the extras that. I just thought everyone was being stuck up." Declan McDonnell's voice rang in the soaring cathedral that was this particular men's room.
But right then, I noticed that Declan McDonnell had forgotten to zip his zipper. (It is
not
that I was looking at his crotch! It's just that I'm observant, remember? His underwear was black, if you must know.)
"Um," I said. "You..." I nodded at his crotch but was careful not to stare.
"Huh?" he said. He looked down. "Oh. Thanks. Sorry."
He zipped up.
Seeing Declan McDonnell up close was strange. I'd never seen any face so perfect. It was nice, but it was also a little off-putting. It was like being in the presence of an angel (despite the previously unzipped fly).
"Don't you have your own bathrooms?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Yeah. Sometimes I just need to get away. But I should get back to the set."
"Right," I said. I nodded to the urinals. "And I should, well, pee. Hey, do you think you…?"
But when I turned back to look at him, he was gone, just like an angel having flown right back up to heaven.
* * *
I left that bathroom in a daze. It all seemed so unreal. I had actually talked to Declan McDonnell!
I spent the rest of the day avoiding Kevin and, yes, looking for Declan again. It was a disorienting experience, made even worse by the fact that I never did see Declan, but I kept spotting Kevin everywhere I turned.
We worked until six that night. It was a long day, but it's not like I particularly wanted to go home to parents who thought I was "disgusting." I wasn't even annoyed when Gunnar and Em wanted to stay late to watch the cinematographer clean the camera lens (or whatever).
I went out to wait for them in the parking lot. It was already dark, which meant I'd spent the whole day indoors, but it was somehow comforting too, like the whole world had pulled up the covers. The fresh air was nice, especially after so much time inside.