Thinking Straight (22 page)

So, head cleared (as it were), I sit at my desk to do my MI. First, the damp tissues go into one of my drawers this time until I can take them to the bathroom. I sit there quietly for a few minutes, eyes closed, picturing the green-ink message I'd been forced to destroy, the one that still exists in my mind. I can call it up whenever I want. And I want it now.

 

When Charles appears at the door to our room before dinner, I'm at my desk. At first, from where he's standing, all he sees is the sticker on my shirt. He leans on the doorjamb. “Taylor, what happened? No—sorry. No, don't write, Taylor!”

I tear a sheet off the pad so that only the hard desktop is under it and no one could see an impression of what I write: “It's okay. I know they take these pages. I'll destroy this one.” I hold that up for him to read and then write again. “Evidently I was too full of myself last night. I'm being humbled. My boldness is being harnessed. Some such sh—.”

The look on his face tells me he understands what's happened, and maybe also that he doesn't like it.

Feeling boldly unharnessed, I add, “I'm not feeling very humbled. And look at the room.”

He's been so intent on my altered state that he hasn't taken in the state of the room. His eyes go from the piles on my bureau to the ones on his, and then he wheels toward his desk. I'm watching to see if maybe they were after something of his, but it's hard to tell. He puts a hand to his forehead for a second, like he's trying to remember something, and then he sits down hard on his desk chair. He's relaxed again, so I have to assume there was nothing.

“Wow. You know, I've heard about this happening to some of the residents, but it's never been done to my room before.”

I write, “It must be me.” And suddenly I
know
it must be me. And it must have something to do with John McAndrews. He's the one who'd pulled me out of Laundry and into Kitchen where he could keep an eye on me!

Charles says, “Was there, um, do you think they found anything you didn't want them to?” I shake my head; I don't know where to begin about John. Charles's voice is thoughtful as he adds, “It's interesting that there was no attempt made to leave things the way they were. They want us to know they were here.”

In the kaleidoscope of moods I've had since seeing this, that thought hasn't occurred to me. We contemplate the room silently for a few seconds. The message I see is that they're not afraid of us, but we'd better be afraid of them. And if that's it, they've picked on the wrong impenitent.

Just before we leave the room, I grab my used tissues and stuff them into a pocket, and I crumple in one hand the page I've been writing on. Charles follows me to the bathroom but stays outside, I guess so he won't witness what I'm doing with the paper, and I manage to wet the page while pretending to wash my hands, and then I flush the tatters of it, and the tissues, down the toilet. And I wash my hands again, just in case.

Dinner feels weird. We sit alone off to the side to avoid having to explain to anyone. At Fellowship, Charles sticks with me. He barely talks to anyone else, and together we spend a lot of time watching the room from the corner, moving away if it looks like someone might be headed toward us. His loyalty to me is really something. I'd never have expected it.

Nate finds us at some point. “Hope you enjoyed Kitchen, Taylor. Believe me, you missed nothing in the laundry room today!” He claps Charles on the shoulder and wanders off again.

Whew. No Will today. Otherwise I'd have had to murder John.

Prayer Meeting is surreal. Charles and I select chairs in as inconspicuous a place as we can find. He doesn't volunteer anything the whole time, so we just watch the show. Tonight it's Monica, who's falling apart about how ungodly her life has been, what with her tendency to steal things. All kinds of things, evidently. At first I think how weird it is that she'd do this, confess to the group so willingly and make a scene, but then it occurs to me that stealing is probably a way to get attention that she has some control over. Note to self: be aware of your pockets if she's anywhere nearby. As she finishes, there's one of those group hugs. Charles and I stand so we won't be the only kids who don't, but we don't get into the hug, we don't cry, we don't even smile. I just want this stupid thing to be over so I can find a quiet way to follow Nate to the laundry room for the circle meeting. But Harnett keeps looking at me, and I do my best to look humbled rather than outraged; not sure how well I do.

Not well enough, it seems. Because toward the end of the meeting, even though we've already had our participatory drama for the night, she stands up and calls my name.

“Taylor Adams. Please stand.”

Charles is trying not to look at me, I can tell. I can also tell that he's worried.

“Brothers and sisters, as you can see, brother Taylor is in SafeZone once again. I bring your attention to him not to embarrass him, but to enlighten all of you about the reason.” I hold my chin up and look right at her. “Brother Taylor has a great deal of potential. One day he will be capable of bringing great glory to God. But first he is learning humility.” She pauses, and looks around the room. “Does anyone have any advice for him on this score?”

There's a bit of a lull as we wait to see who will cast the first stone. Last year in school we read a story called “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson about this community of people who select one member to die every so often, and everyone else hurls stones at them until they're dead.

I'm going to disappoint them. I'm not going to die.

Maybe it's too bold of me, considering what I'm supposed to be learning, but I look around the room, offering myself as a target. I settle my gaze on Marie. And sure enough, resistance is beyond her. Saints above, forgive me; I've tempted her. She stands. Take your best shot, sister.

“Jesus warns us against assuming that the place of honor should be ours. We should take the lowest place.”

I'm thinking, Is that the worst you can do? when, true to form, Nate goes next, not quite but almost coming to my rescue. “Brother Taylor, humility is always advised. Jesus is our best example. If you're humble, you couldn't ask for better company.”

Well, I think to myself as I bow my head, I'm not sure I'm up to the example of Jesus—after all, he was humbled to death, and didn't I just refuse to die?—but I could learn a thing or two from Nate. He always manages to walk that line between caving in to the Harnetts of this world and remaining true to God.

Then the room is quiet. I glance up at Harnett, who's looking around at everyone. When there are no volunteers, she tries prodding. “Anyone else? This is an important lesson for all of us to learn. Is there no other advice for brother Taylor?”

Silence. As I look around the room again, I see a variety of expressions. Some eyes fall rather than meet mine, but other faces have tiny smiles, almost secret ones.
For
me, not against me. Dawn isn't smiling, but she looks defiant. It's almost like she's saying, “I'll be damned if I'll humiliate brother Taylor.”

I'm just starting to get high on the idea that no one wants to drag me through the mud. And then, to my horror, Charles stands.

“The book of James tells us humility can come from wisdom. When brother Taylor begins to use his wisdom in humility, he will be a formidable soldier for God.”

I'm still blinking at him as he sits down again. This may not be having quite the effect Harnett wanted. It's praising with faint damnation. Then something occurs to me, and I turn to face her.

She's not doing this just to humiliate me. She's doing this to test the others, too. Who will stand? Who will say what? Who understands the lesson
I'm
supposed to be learning? Her eyes and mine lock, and there's this electric shock of recognition. She knows I get it. She knows that I know what she's doing.

She smiles, and it's a real smile. I almost want to smile back. But I don't quite do it.

C
harles is hard to shake when Prayer Meeting ends. I think he's expecting me to feel vulnerable, or weepy, or something. But I don't. I feel an odd mixture of happiness, wonder, and—yes—humility. Charles starts in the direction of our room, expecting me to go with him, I guess, because when I hang back he looks at me.

“You aren't ready to go back?” I shake my head. “Shall we go to the chapel and pray together?” I smile and shake my head. “Do you want to go to the library?”

Hmm…that might work. But before I can decide he asks, “Do you want to be alone?” That's it. Nod. “Okay. Are you going to the room?” I shake my head; I don't want him going someplace like the library and come back to the empty room before my circle meeting is over to find that I'm not there.

He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “I understand. I'll see you later, then.” He starts to turn away, but then, almost panicky, he looks at me again. “You're not going to the chapel alone, are you?”

Is he worried I'll pull a Ray on him? I smile and shake my head. I feel almost guilty; he's trying to be so accommodating, and I'm trying to escape to a secret meeting I can't tell him about. I hug my Bible to my chest, lower my head like I'm deep in thought, and walk slowly along the hall, doing my best to look contemplative but not inviting. Nate walks by without acknowledging me in any way, and I follow, doing my best not to attract attention.

This seems to work, because by the time I start down the hallway that leads to the laundry room, there's no one in sight. Except Nate, who's waiting for me at the door. We go in, and like last time, he takes the key and locks the door from the inside, then goes with me to the corner where there are five kids sitting on the floor.

He says, “Anyone else coming that we know of?”

Jessica—Jessica!—says no. I look around the semicircle, which is how they're arranged on the floor, to see who else is here. Jessica is on my left, and next to her is Dawn, and then Dave. There's another girl and one other guy I don't recognize. The girl is holding a pad of paper and a pen out to me, so I take them. She smiles. Nate stands between me and Jessica.

His tones hushed, he says, “Taylor, you know Jessica, Dawn, and Dave already. This is Danielle, and this is Jamie. There are only two other members. I'm sure you'll meet them soon.”

I start scrawling immediately. “Are you Charles's Danielle?” I hold it toward the girl who'd given me the pad and pen.

She smiles. “In a way, I guess. I know what you mean.”

Nate sits on my left and pulls me to the floor with him, so Jamie is on my right. “Taylor, is there anything you want to write about why you're in SafeZone again?”

I think for a minute. Then I write, “Is there anything you need to know that you don't?”

Nate turns to the group. “For those of you who aren't in our prayer group, Taylor made a public apology last night, introducing his points with scriptural references. And, it seems, we are not the only ones to have recognized his leadership potential.” He looks at me. “Taylor, am I right in assuming Mrs. Harnett thought you'd overextended yourself?”

I nod and write, “Too bold. Need to be harnessed.”

A few kids chuckle. Dawn looks disgusted, and I love her for it. I smile at her, and then I notice she's holding hands with Jessica. Ah. So. Who else is gay, I wonder? Or, who isn't? Before I can dwell on this question, Nate opens the meeting.

“Welcome to the circle, Taylor. You've accepted a sacred trust in joining. It means you must maintain total secrecy about the group and who its members are. Do you understand this?” Nod. “Do you agree to undertake this trust?” Nod twice. “Does anyone here have any questions for Taylor, or want to express any concerns?”

To Nate, Dave says, “What about Charles?”

“What about him?”

“He watched Ray like a hawk. What if Taylor can't manage him?”

Nate turns to me. “Taylor, we all know lying is a sin. But if you had to, could you lie to Charles to maintain the circle's secrecy?”

Nod. I write, “I had to do that already. I hated doing it, but it was necessary.”

“What do you think Charles would do if he found out about us?”

I write, “Not sure. Our room was tossed this afternoon, and I wrote to him so we could talk about it. He let me destroy the paper, as long as I did it out of his sight.”

There's a silence so big I almost fall into it. Then Nate says, “Your room was searched?” Nod. “Do you think they found anything?”

Shake. I write, “Nothing to find.” I hold it up and look right at Nate's face.

Nate asks, “Do you think they expected to find anything?”

Well, if he needed to ask that, then no; he would have been their source of information. I shake my head and write, “I think it was supposed to be a humbling experience.”

A few kids are nodding; I'm glad this makes sense to them, too.

“Okay,” Nate says, “so Charles is willing to bend a little. But do you think knowing about this group would be too much for him?”

I think for a second and then nod.

Nate looks around the circle. “Let all of us be alert. If Taylor needs help with Charles, we'll do what we can.” And to me, “Taylor, we'll need to rely on you for good judgment. If you're planning to come to a meeting and it will make him too suspicious, you may need to sacrifice attending for the good of the group. Are you willing to do that?”

I nod, and then I write, “I understand how serious it is.”

Nate looks at Dave. “Any other concerns?” Dave shakes his head. “Anyone else?” No stones are cast. “Very well. Then let's begin the meeting.”

There's quiet while everyone seems to focus. Finally Nate speaks again.

“What must not fail?”

In unison, they say, “Understanding that the path to God is love.”

Nate asks, “Where must we start?”

In unison again, “From where we are and from who we are.”

“What must we do?”

In unison: “Establish and maintain loving connection in everything we do.”

Then Nate says, “This must seem like a church service to you, Taylor. In fact, it is a church service. After Jesus died, people would meet in small groups, in secret places, to talk about what he'd said and what it meant to their lives. That's what we're doing.”

He looks at the group. “Does anyone have a struggle they want to bring to the circle?”

“Yeah, I do,” Dawn says. “I don't like that Taylor was put into SafeZone again. He was a terrific example last night of exactly what we should be doing, and he gets slapped down because he was brave enough to do it. I'm struggling to feel love through that. I'm angry.”

I smile at her; thanks.

Nate says, “Taylor, are you angry?”

I blink. Am I? I write, “I was.”

“And now?”

I write, “I guess it's changed. The way everyone acted tonight, I felt love there. Anger faded.”

“So what do you feel now?”

I look at Nate, and I look at Dawn. I write, “Humble.” It surprises me.

“Do you feel love?” Nod. “Giving, or getting?”

I write, “Both.”

Nate looks at Dawn. “Does that help you at all?”

“It will. I need to let it set a while.”

Nate says, “Anyone else?” Silence. Then, “I have a topic tonight that Taylor will be able to get his teeth into. Is everyone okay with that, or does anyone have something they really need to suggest?” No one says anything, so he goes on. “Great. Here it is. Lots of times we hear someone say that because Jesus never said anything about homosexual love, it's not the sin that Moses and St. Paul would have us believe. Let's look at it from the other viewpoint: Why
didn't
Jesus say anything about it? If he knew everything God knows, why didn't he mention it in some other way either?”

Well, this is heavy stuff. No one speaks for a minute, and then Jamie says, “Well, first of all, I believe God is in all of us, really. Jesus was enlightened, and maybe he knew everything God knows and I don't, but God is in all of us.”

Nate responds, “Great job pinpointing that assumption. What other assumptions are in what I just said?”

Assumptions?

Jessica goes next. “You're assuming that everything Jesus said is in the New Testament. But there were lots of other writings.”

Dave: “You're assuming that what's in the New Testament is correct and complete, when we know lots of stuff has been changed since the originals were written down.”

I write, “You're assuming it's not a sin.”

Nate grabs my pad and holds it up. “Do you see what Taylor has written? You're all right. Those are all assumptions. But look at this one.” He turns the pad slowly so they can all see it. “Is it a sin?”

“No,” from Jamie and Dawn simultaneously.

Dave asks, “What is sin?”

Jessica: “It's the opposite of loving connection. Anything that stops love or makes it difficult to love.”

Nate gives me the pad back and says, “It means missing the mark, literally. And what's our mark?”

Two or three voices at once say, “That which must not fail.”

“So,” Nate continues, “sin is anything that prevents us from getting to God, and we believe that path is love. Or sin could be something we do that prevents someone else from loving, which really prevents both parties. And do we always know what that is?” Silence. “Did Mrs. Harnett sin when she put Taylor back into SafeZone? She made him angry, which made him and others like Dawn struggle with love, but then he found even more. Did she know that would happen? If she did, was it not sin? And if she didn't, was it sin?”

Danielle has been very quiet, but here she says, “She thought she was doing it out of love.”

Nate looks around the group. “It can be pretty difficult to tell sin, can't it? We know that Leviticus declares it would be sin for us to wear clothing with mixed fibers or to plant different kinds of plants together. And we eat things the ancient laws say we shouldn't, and Danielle's father could have sold her as a slave to someone from Canada because she's a girl and Canada is a different nation from ours. Today, we'd think that was sin, wouldn't we?”

Everyone agrees with that, of course. Jamie is persistent. “Homosexuality is not a sin.”

Nate: “If you had lived two thousand years ago and you'd refused to marry a woman and have kids because you're gay, Danielle's children would have to take care of you when you got old. No pension plans. No social security. No retirement homes. Would she love you for that? Would her kids? Or would you be endangering the community by setting that example? If seven percent or more of the people in a community deliberately didn't have kids, what then?”

Dawn says, “Then why didn't Jesus say anything about it?”

Jamie: “Because it isn't a sin.”

Nate: “What could Jesus say? Even if God loves gays, and even if Jesus knew that, if he'd said it to people two thousand years ago they would have thought he was crazy, because it would have made no sense given where they were. Given what their lives were like. Jamie said a minute ago that he's not enlightened. Not many people are. Not many people were when Jesus was here, either. So he might tell them things that cut into their hearts about love, but he couldn't say things that made no sense at all. Who were his original disciples? What did most of them do before they became disciples?”

Danielle: “They were fishermen.”

Nate: “And how many times does Jesus talk to them using fishing examples?”

I'm trying to follow this, but they're going round and round. It's hard to take it all in. Plus I'm not used to this kind of freedom, of being in a group where you can just say “Homosexuality is not a sin” and not have someone jump down your throat. To try and clarify things for myself, I write, “Homosexuality
was
a sin.”

Almost as soon as I've lifted my pen, Nate grabs the pad again. “Look!” he says in a hoarse whisper. “Look! This is key.” And again he holds it out and turns so everyone can read it. “Where must we start?”

Danielle says, “From where we are and from who we are.”

“Where are we, in terms of time?”

“The twenty-first century.”

“Where were we when Jesus was crucified?”

“The first century.”

Nate lowers his arms and says, “A lot of things have changed in two thousand years. Do we have retirement funds today? Will it make any difference to Danielle's children if Taylor and Jamie live right next door to her and don't have kids? And is that different from how things were when St. Paul was writing?”

Dave says, “That was then. This is now.”