KarMel Scholarship 2004

 

Best Fictional Story

“Losing Lisa”

By Anonymous

 

 

Desciption of Submission: “A fictional story about the effects of the conflict between sexuality, religion, and family for a young teenager.” – Anonymous

Why Karen and Melody Liked It: It was a nicely written story dealing with a friend's homophobic mother.

 

 

 

“Lisa, may I speak with you for a moment?”

I paused uncertainly in front of my Bible teacher’s desk, my eyes following the backs of my retreating classmates as they all filed out of the room to begin their weekend.  “Uh … yeah.  Is something wrong?”

Mrs. Walker’s face was all smiles as she leaned forward in her chair, “Oh, no no no.  I just want to have a little chat.”

“Is this about Sara?”

Sara, my best friend, was also my classmate and Mrs. Walker’s youngest daughter. 

“Oh, no.  I just wanted to talk to you about something that’s been bothering me for a while.  I’m sure it’s nothing, but … well.  Sit.”

I turned and fetched a small plastic chair from behind the nearest desk and positioned myself across from Mrs. Walker.  I felt less nervous once I sat down; Mrs. Walker was my favorite teacher, and there was a closeness between us that went beyond my friendship with her daughter.  She had changed jobs within Liberty Christian School quite often, and I had had her for both third and sixth grade before she progressed to teaching Bible in the high school.  Ever since Sara and I became friends she had treated me as part of her family; we talked even when Sara wasn’t around, mostly about God and religion, and she fed me the kind of junk food that was forbidden to me at home.  Much younger than my own mother, I loved her like an older sister and preferred to go to her with my problems.  Placing my backpack at my feet, I glanced inquiringly at Mrs. Walker’s slightly flushed face.

“Lisa … I’m not exactly sure how to start,” my heart dropped as her hands drifted up to fix her hair, a sure sign that she was nervous, “with anyone else I would have just gone to the parents, but … well, I want to give you an opportunity to speak for yourself before this becomes an issue.”

My alarm must have been evident, “But … what did I do?”  My mind whirled in an effort to recall any offending behavior that might have been the cause of this conference.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just … Lisa, you don’t have a boyfriend, do you?”

“Uh … no … but … I don’t see -” 

“Do you have special feelings for any of the boys in your class?”

I shook my head mutely, bewildered at Mrs. Walker’s line of questioning.

“You have a close friendship with my daughter, Lisa … I can’t help but notice how close it’s become.  Now, as her mother I’m probably a little more sensitive to these things than the rest of the faculty, but …” she paused, bending forward to pick up her grading pen, fiddling with the red plastic while searching for the right words, “I’ve noticed … in every friendship there is a certain amount of physical contact and … intimacy … but … it seems … I’ve noticed … that there is even more than is usual in the case of you and my daughter.  Now, I know that she has normal feelings for various boys in her class from what she tells me at home, but you … Lisa, do you understand what I’m getting at?”  She looked at me intently.

“Mrs. Walker, I …” My voice faded as I felt a hot blush creeping up my neck.   Despite our familiarity, I was unused to talking about anything so personal as this.  I stared down at my sweaty hands as I struggled for words. 

Mrs. Walker leaned across her desk and I could feel her vainly attempting to catch my eye.  “Lisa, I just want to help you.  You can tell me.  Really, I’m trying to be your friend.”

Longing to disappear, I writhed internally as I searched for an acceptable response to this attack.  Tempting though it was to be dishonest, I couldn’t lie – Mrs. Watson was my friend and Bible teacher and besides, I was dismal at fibbing under pressure.  Unable to maintain my silence any longer, I murmured the most prominent thought in my head

“I just … Mrs. Walker, I’m not trying to hurt anybody … I-I just want to be normal …”

Humiliation coursed through my entire body as I acknowledged for the first time the feelings of which I was so ashamed.  I timidly looked up from my clenched hands and saw how Mrs. Walker, obviously not expecting her suspicions to be so readily confirmed, was unable to hide her surprise at my admission.  Her shocked expression cut me to the bone as I searched desperately for words that would mend whatever harm I had done with my confession. 

“I … I don’t know what’s wrong with me … I just … I can’t help these … these thoughts … please Mrs. Watson, I’m so sorry …”

Inhaling deeply, my teacher looked away.  She closed her eyes for a few moments and then turned back, folding her hands on her desk and gazing at me intently.  I became very aware of her penciled eyebrows as they drew together in disapproval.

“Lisa, I don’t really know what to say.  I want you to understand how serious this is - what you’re talking about is a sin.  It’s unnatural.  It is wrong and disgusting in the eyes of the Lord.  This sort of thing is the work of the Devil, Lisa.  He’s testing you, trying to draw you away from God’s word.” 

I tried to suppress the lump growing in my throat and my next words emerged as a strangled moan, “But what do I do?  Despite my best efforts I felt tears begin to leak down my cheeks, and Mrs. Walker’s stern expression melted into something more compassionate.  She reached behind her for a box of tissues and handed them across the desk.

“You need to turn to God, Lisa.  Pray.  Read your Bible.  You’re one of the most God-fearing students I’ve ever had, and with His help I know you’ll be able to get past this evil.”

I sniffed into my tissue and nodded.  Mrs. Walker continued, “How long have you been … feeling this way?”

I shrugged and murmured a noncommittal answer toward the floor.

Mrs. Walker compressed her lips into a thin line, “I’ll think about this during the weekend and come up with a way to deal with it, and we’ll talk about it on Monday.  Don’t worry, Lisa.  You can beat this.”

Taking her last words as a dismissal, I nodded and hurried out of the room to catch up with Sara in the hall.

 

“What were you talking to my mom about?”  She slammed her locker and slung her bag over a shoulder.

I shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Okay.  You ready?” We headed out into the parking lot.

Sara lived only a few houses down from mine, and I would spend the hours between school’s end and my mother’s return from work with her.  We walked the half-mile home together every day.

“What are you going to do your project on in English?”  Today Sara wore her hair in a high ponytail and was walking in an exaggerated waddle so that it swung like a pendulum above her shoulders. 

“Dunno.” I forced the conversation with Mrs. Walker out of my mind and hunched my shoulders against the autumn wind.  “It’s a stupid assignment.  What are you going to do?”

“Dunno.  I think maybe Redwall.”

“Your mom’s not going to let you.  You always write about that book.”

“So?  If they don’t want me to write about it they should have made the assignment different,” Sara flashed me an impish smile and shoved her hands deep into her jacket pockets.  “Mr. Jackson said that we could write about whatever book we wanted, and I want to write about Redwall.”

“They’re still not going to let you.”  Grumpiness must have been evident in my voice because Sara stopped and peered at me intently from beneath her overlong fringe of bangs.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  I just …” I kicked a pebble off the sidewalk and watched it skitter onto the pavement of the road, “don’t want to do this stupid assignment.”

“Yeah.” We walked in silence for a few moments.  “Hey, do you want to play computer games at my house?  Steven has soccer practice so we can use his computer!”

Elated at the prospect of hijacking her older brother’s computer we sprinted the rest of the way to Sara’s house, loaded backpacks jarring painfully on our shoulder blades as we ran.  Our hopes were soon dashed though, when we rushed into the front hall to see Steven’s overfull book bag thrown carelessly against the stairs. 

Undeterred, Sara bounded up to Steven’s room.  I paused to readjust the straps of my bag and followed her up the stairs at a more subdued pace. 

Upon entering the room found myself on the sidelines of a full-blown confrontation between the siblings.  Sara had wedged herself against her older brother, obviously trying to force him out of his seat in an ineffectual bid for his computer.  Steven braced against his desk, hands in a death grip on both its corners.  Both were hollering at the top of their lungs.

“You’re supposed to be at practice!  Get away!”

“Get off!  It’s my computer!  You just made me lose my game!  Get off!”

The yelling went on for several moments before Steven realized that I had come into the room, at which point he lost his grip on the desk and abruptly slid off to the floor as Sara shouldered him aside.

“Hey Lisa,” he got up quickly and with as much dignity as he could muster, “What’s up?  You want to use my computer?”

“Of course she does, you retard.  Now go away.”  Sara was already happily blasting away at cartoon aliens on the screen and giggled as Steven slunk out of his room. “He likes you, you know.”

“Shut up,” I tossed myself belly down on Steven’s bed, wrinkling my nose at its smell, “when can I play?”

“Gimme a sec.  You can get on when I die a few more times.”

I spent several minutes contemplating the freckles on the nape of Sara’s neck before she finally relinquished the computer.  She stood at my elbow as I played, non-too-impressed with my alien blasting skills.

“No!  What are you doing?  Didn’t you see that guy?  Here, let me.” My breath caught in my throat as she grabbed my hand over the joystick.  She lowered her head beside mine and began guiding my hand as to better destroy the alien menace.

“Hey!  What’s the matter with you?”  Sara rubbed her chin where I had banged it as I jumped out of the seat.

“Nothing!” I stammered quickly, blood thundering in my eardrums  “I just thought … didn’t you want to play?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sara glared at me with a mixture of confusion and resentment but chose to let the issue drop as she settled herself in front of the computer once again.

I flopped back onto Steven’s bed, trying to will my heart to stop pounding.

 

Two hours later I climbed the steps of my own house and turned the key to an empty kitchen.  A frantic scrabbling of dog’s nails on hardwood floor met my ears as I entered the alarm code, and soon a familiar mass of yellow fur was hurling itself at my legs.

“Hey Jones,” the golden retriever bounced up and down, throwing himself against my knees and panting happily.  I spent several minutes roughhousing with him on the floor before going to the pantry and pouring his dinner.

I was watching TV when the crunching of tires on the driveway signaled my mother’s return from work.

“Lisa?”

“TV room!”  I didn’t move from my position on the couch as I hollered my greetings.

My mother’s tired face peered around the doorway to the living room.  “Did you feed the dog?”

“Yes”

“And did you preheat the oven?”

I cringed and avoided eye contact.  “Forgot”

My mother rolled her eyes and sighed artfully as she retreated to the kitchen, reappearing moments later with a stern look on her face.

“Lisa, you know your father’s coming home tonight.  Now we’re going to have to eat late.”

Sorry.” I stared fixedly ahead and refused to meet my mother’s disapproving gaze.  She sighed once more and disappeared to her office.

The rattle of the garage door opening a half hour later served as the only warning of my mother’s departure to pick up my father at the airport.  Quickly turning off the TV, I flew to intercept her as she pulled out of the driveway.  She rolled down the car window as I neared.

“Can I come with you to pick up dad?”

My mother clicked her nails impatiently against the steering wheel, “Honey, you know that we like to talk alone when he comes home from work.  Besides, I need you to look after dinner in the oven.”

“Please?”

“I’m sorry sweetie, but I don’t want the house to burn down while we’re gone.  Next time you’ll just have to remember to heat up the oven when I tell you.  Oh no, Lisa, did you come out here without any shoes?”  She craned her neck out the window and screwed up her nose at the sight of my now-filthy bare feet, “Be sure to wash those things before you walk on any of the carpets - I don’t want to come home to a dirty house.  See you in a bit.”

Her last words hung in the air as she finished backing out of the driveway and drove out of sight.  I withdrew to the garage and rinsed my feet before returning to my post in front of the TV, where I stayed until my father’s arrival some time later.     

“Hey, kiddo!”  He stood in the front hallway, suit wrinkled and gray hair in disarray.  He was obviously trying to work up some enthusiasm at seeing me, but his voice sounded flat and tired.  He reached out and rumpled my hair halfheartedly, “How was your week?”

“Fine”

“That’s good.  School alright?” 

“Yeah.”

Yes” My mother paced into the foyer with one of my father’s carry-ons slung over her shoulder.

Yes” I injected as much sarcasm into the word as I could manage.  My mother’s lips compressed with annoyance.

“Lisa, please set the table while we unpack.  I’d like to eat as soon as the meatloaf is done.”  She turned to my father, “I’m sorry Stan, dinner won’t be ready for at least an hour.  She forgot to preheat the oven.”

My father’s eyes reflected his disappointment as he let out a huge sigh, “No, that’s fine.  It happens.”  He shouldered his bags with a grunt and started climbing the steps up to the second floor.  “I’m going to have to head back to Japan on the 5:30 on Sunday instead of the 9 o’clock, Kate.  Will you be able to drive me or should I reserve a cab?”

My parents disappeared up the stairs.

 

“Honey, you need to eat your broccoli.” My mother fashioned her voice into the coaxing, artificially high-pitched tone that I couldn’t stand.

“You know I hate broccoli.  Why didn’t you make something else?” I knew that I was being difficult but didn’t care.  Despite my mother’s valiant efforts at creating a pleasant family dinner, the meal had been a disaster.  My father faded in and out of consciousness, almost falling asleep in his meatloaf, and I was taking peevish delight in foiling all my mother’s attempts at conversation with one-syllable responses.  Most of the meal had been spent in stony silence.

“May I be excused?”

My mother exhaled through her clenched teeth, her breath forming an ominous hiss.  She turned to me with a bitter expression, “Eat your broccoli and then I want you to clean the kitchen.”

“Aw, Mom …”

“I don’t want to hear it.  Your father and I put food on this table, it’s the least you can do to clean it up.”

I slumped back in my chair in a sulky pout.  My mother stabbed at her meatloaf irritably.  My father began to snore.

 

 

“What did you write your paper on?”  The last time I talked to Sara on Saturday she had yet to start the one-page book report that had been due in English that morning.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  Mom loves that book.  Did you get yours done?”

I nodded as we walked into Bible class together and glanced nervously at Mrs. Walker’s desk.  Sara had spent time at my house that Saturday, and I hadn’t seen her mother at all since my confession.  I couldn’t tell if she remembered our conversation though, as she was bent over her lesson plan and oblivious to her incoming students.  At the sound of the bell she snapped her binder shut and walked to the black board.  We bowed our heads for her opening prayer and then flipped our workbooks open to the day’s lesson.

Chalk scratched against the blackboard as Mrs. Walker scrawled the words Sodom & Gomorrah in her large, loopy writing. “Right.  Class, we’re going to depart from your syllabus for today.  I know that we already covered Genesis, but I feel that we might have skipped over some of the more important issues presented in the book.  We’ll catch up on Moses during the double period on Wednesday.  Now, I want you all to turn to Genesis 19 in your Bibles.  Who knows this story?”

Several hands went up.  “Alright.  Zak, what is this story about?”

“It’s where God destroys the two cities because they were so sinful, but spares Lot because he was good, but his wife turns into salt when she looks back when she wasn’t supposed to.”

“Good, Zak, good.  But there’s more to it than that.  Can anyone tell me why these cities were so sinful?”

There was a flurry of activity as students bent over their bibles and combed the pages.  After a minute or two titters filled the classroom, but no more hands waved in the air.  My stomach slowly collapsed as I read the chapter and realized the subject of today’s lesson. 

Mrs. Walker continued, “God sent his angels down to the city of Sodom to see if there were any righteous people there.  Everyone look at Chapter 18 and you’ll see God telling Abraham “for the sake of ten, I will not destroy it” – if he found just ten righteous people he would spare the whole city.  So he sent two angels, who met Lot and his family at the gates.  Now, except for Lot and his family the entire city of Sodom was filled with homosexuals,” Mrs. Walker turned to us with knowing eyes “I trust that you all know what a homosexual is?”

More snickers from the class.

“Right.  These men came to Lot’s house with the intention of sinning with God’s angels - even when Lot offered his own two daughters to the crowd in place of his guests - and then after that … well,” Mrs. Walker’s lips spread into a conspiratorial smile as her tone changed to a more lighthearted pitch, “Sodom isn’t exactly thriving these days, is it?”

Laughter rang out among the students.  A girl in the front row raised her hand hesitantly and Mrs. Walker acknowledged her with a nod.

“It seems … why did Lot offer his two daughters to the crowd?”

Mrs. Walker smiled, “I know it seems harsh to us in this day and age Cathy, but back then the safety of a guest was sacred, even more important than family.  Hospitality-”

“No, I mean …” Cathy’s voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“Mmm?”

“If everyone in Sodom was gay, why did he offer his daughters?  Wouldn’t he know that they wouldn’t want them?”

Mrs. Walker missed a beat.  “I … it was …” she smoothed her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat, “That’s an excellent question, Cathy.  I think Lot was just trying to distract the mob with whatever he could in order to protect his guests.  Even if he knew it wouldn’t work he had to try, right?”  Her eyes brightened again as she regained composure.

“But …”

Yes?”

“Couldn’t have he offered himself then?  I mean … it seems …” Cathy’s voice again trailed away as her race turned a bright crimson.

Mrs. Walker’s smile became rather strained, “If he offered himself to the mob, then who would be left to protect the angels?”  She thumped her Bible down onto her desk with some force and the rest of the class exchanged exasperated looks at Cathy’s obvious idiocy.

Sara leaned over to me, “I wish she would just shut up.  She always asks the stupidest questions.” She quickly righted herself at a warning look from her mother. 

“Now, no one is saying that you should throw rocks at them if you see two men holding hands on the street, but God clearly saw fit to destroy everyone in Sodom for such sinfulness.  Unfortunately, these days we’re living in a society where it’s becoming easier and easier to ignore God’s law,” Mrs. Walker sighed, “but we can still reflect our own values through actions and prayers.”

I never knew if Mrs. Walker tried to look at me directly during the lesson because I had spent it with my eyes were glued to the tops of my sneakers.  After the bell rang and class was over, however, she called me over to her desk. 

I remained standing as she straightened out a pile of assignments.  “Did the lesson help?  I thought that you might need a little more guidance than what I left you with the other day.”

“Oh yes, very much.”  I tried to smile, “I prayed a lot through the weekend and read my Bible, too.”

“Did you find anything that had specific relevance to your problem?”

I shook my head.  “But I found a lot about overcoming temptation and putting my faith in Christ.”

Mrs. Walker nodded and opened her binder.  “I thought you might have trouble, so I wrote down a few verses that you should look at.”  She handed a slip of notebook paper across to me, “They’re a little explicit for me to bring them up in class, but I think that you’re mature enough to handle it.”

“Thanks”

She reached out and squeezed my arm, “The Devil is strong Lisa, but God is stronger.”  Her eyes gazed at me intently, “Through Him you can get over this.  I’m praying for you.”

 

 

The list of Bible verses lay at the foot of my bed.  I sat cross-legged beside it, Bible on my lap and head in my hands. 

“God?” I didn’t bother raising my head. “God, please.  I know that you can take these unnatural desires away from me.  Please.  Please God.  I don’t want to be this way.  Please.  Help me, God.  I need your help.  Help me.”

 

 

“And it’s so much better than Steven’s you won’t even believe it, Lisa.  Seriously, it’s so fast … it’s just … whoosh!

Sara gestured wildly, cocking one hand back to her ear and then rocketing it forward in an attempt to give me some idea of the speed of her new computer, upsetting her lunch tray in the process and spilling cola all over her sloppy Joe.  “I wish that we weren’t in stupid Connecticut for Christmas or I would have already shown you.  After school today you’ll see.  It’s awesome.  I also got three new games for it and this backpack, too.”

The first day back from winter break was already half gone, and Sara had spent most of it rhapsodizing over her new computer.  She went through English class leaning sideways over her desk, describing her new games to me in loud whispers and driving Mr. Jackson to distraction.  The same happened in our next two class periods, until the Art teacher threatened us both with detention.  Lunch was a welcome opportunity for Sara to finally expound on the qualities of her gift as loudly and in as much detail and she wanted.  Already she was entertaining the entire table with her vivid descriptions of state-of-the-art graphics and lightning speed, and even a few at the teacher’s table turned to see the show.

The bell rang all too soon, forcing Sara to cut her description short.  I grabbed both of our trays and deposited them in the kitchen while Sara showed the all the pockets of her new book bag to a pair of curious sixth graders. 

“Do you have any gum?” We were walking back to the locker area to grab our history books when Sara finally touched on a subject not related to Christmas.

“Yeah,” I answered, “it’s in the back of my pants, but you’ll have to get it ‘cause my hands are sticky from the coke you spilled.”

Sara retrieved the gum and popped two pieces in her mouth before returning the pack to my back pocket.  I heard a strangled sound from behind me and when I turned saw Mrs. Walker staring after us with an odd expression.  I smiled at her, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Sara kept up her computer litany through the next two periods, though she didn’t dare talk in her mother’s class.  When the bell rang at the end of the day she looped her hand around my waist and as we walked out of the classroom leaned over to whisper in my ear, “Don’t tell my mom, but I stole Steven’s key to the house so that he can’t get in before us and use my computer.”

“But it’s really cold outside … and all that snow …” I looked back at Mrs. Walker, “Are you sure your mom doesn’t already know?  She looks pretty mad.”

“How could she know?  Come on!”  She tugged at my waist and we darted off to the lockers.

      

The one thing that Sara had not counted on when she stole her brother’s key to the house was his desire for a swift and thorough retribution - she had not even reached her driveway when the cascade of freezing water descended upon her.  Only Steven’s careful aim with the hose and the fact that I was walking several steps behind Sara kept me from becoming just as drenched as she.  As it was, Sara wound up sopping from head to toe, gasping like a fish and too cold even to pursue revenge.  The icy water had soaked through her winter apparel almost immediately, and within moments Sara’s only concern was warming herself as quickly as possible (though she regained enough composure to exchange her stunned silence for outraged shrieking).  Her hands shook so badly that I had to unlock the front door for her and it was all she could do to shiver her way to her room for a change of clothes.

“L-L-L-Lisa?”  The chattering of Sara’s teeth was so pronounced that I could hear it from my position outside her closed door, “I c-c-can’t get the b-b-b-buttons on my jeans.  C-c-can you come in and help m-me?”

Sara’s sodden clothes lay in a heap by the closet as she stood in front of her bed, a forlorn figure in just a bra and jeans.  Water from her bangs ran in rivulets down her face, blanching her complexion and making her blue-tinged lips stand out all the more.  Goosebumps covered her entire body and I couldn’t help but laugh at the pathetic figure she cut.  I began working on her jeans – the water made the canvas stiff and unyielding, and it was quite a job to tug it around the row of buttons.  By the time we were halfway done Sara and I were both giggling hysterically, and neither of us noticed her mother standing in the doorway until an icy voice interrupted our laughter.

“Lisa, I’m sure that you have homework that you should be doing at home right now.” 

We turned, and I hastily stepped back from Sara.  “Mrs. Walker, I -”

Now, Lisa.”

Shamefaced, I crept back to my own house.

 

 

“Did you tell your mom what was going on?”  It had been torture waiting through the school day to talk to Sara, but I hadn’t seen her that morning and I didn’t want to call the night before on the chance that Mrs. Walker might answer the phone.

Sara shrugged, “Yeah.  I don’t understand why she was so mad, though.  She cooled down once I told her about what Steven did and he got in major trouble.”

“Okay.  Cool.”  I tried to sound nonchalant, as if I knew no more than Sara why her mother had been upset.  It felt better knowing that Mrs. Walker had realized that the whole scene had just been one big mistake.  Despite my feelings of relief though, I couldn’t stop my guilty conscience from reminding me about how good Sara’s bare skin had felt under my hands.

“You’re coming over now though, right?  I still need to show you my computer.”  Sara played with the straps of her backpack, mercifully oblivious to the blush that had bathed my features in scarlet.

“Sure.  Yeah.” 

We had just turned to leave when the PA system crackled to life.

“Sara Walker, come to the office for a message from you’re mother”

She looked at me in confusion, “Why didn’t she just say something after class?”

I shrugged, and we walked around the corner to find out.  The receptionist, on the phone and looking particularly harried, handed Sara a post-it and waved us along.

“Weird,” Sara stopped by the pay phones to skim the message “I guess … Mom wants me to help her clean the classroom.  Right now.  Weird.”

“Oh.” I tried to remember if Mrs. Walker’s room had been particularly dirty that day in Bible.  “So … so I’ll just walk home alone then.”

“Yeah, I guess.  Man!  I really wanted to show you my computer!”  Sara kicked the wall in frustration.  “I’ll call you tonight, though.  Maybe you can come over for dinner or something.  Unless … is your dad still home?”

“Nah.  He went back to work on New Year’s.”

“Cool.  Where is he now?”

Germany I think.”

“Okay.  Well, I guess I have to go.  See ya.”

“Yeah.  See ya.”

 

 

“I love her hair, don’t you?”

“Sure.  Yeah.”  I gazed at the model’s long, shapely legs, trim waist and pouting lips and couldn’t have cared less about her hair.  Suddenly becoming conscious of what sort of thoughts I was entertaining, I tried to distract myself by pinching the skin inside my elbow.

“I think I’d look good with this haircut, don’t you?”

“Yeah.  Uh huh.”  I dug my nails into my palm.

Sara and I sat at the lunch table flipping through her most recently acquired fashion magazine.  She turned to me and folded her long hair up in an approximation of the model’s hairstyle.  “See?  What do you think?”

I tore my eyes from the magazine and evaluated my friend’s new look.  The shorter length did make a huge difference.

“I think it looks nice.  You should get it cut that way.”

She nodded in satisfaction and let her hair drop back to her shoulders, “I think so too.  Maybe I can get it done this weekend.”

“Are you going to be helping your mom again after school?”  It had been over a week since I had started walking home alone.

“Yeah.  I’m getting really sick of it.  Pretty soon she’s going to have me grading her papers for her, too.”  She began ticking off on her fingers, “so far I’ve organized the cabinets, alphabetized her books, straightened out the rows of desks, cleaned the erasers, washed the chalkboards, swept and vacuumed, sharpened pencils … and then she makes me do my homework right there in front of her!”

Sara let out a long-suffering sigh and slumped back in her chair dramatically, “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

I took up my white plastic fork and started grinding my leftover French fries into my tray. “Have you been getting bad grades or something?”

“I don’t think so” Sara began playing with her hair again, “I dunno.  I haven’t gotten back my last book report from Mr. Jackson.  Maybe he told her something.  Do you have a mirror?”

“Nope.”  I turned back to the magazine while Sara rummaged through her backpack for something reflective.  She finally resorted to borrowing a compact makeup kit from the next table.

“You think I should do it?”  She tilted her head from one position to another as to admire the effect from all angles.

“Yeah.  It’d look good.  You’ll have to ask your mom, though”

“Duh” Sara’s eyes were glued to the compact as I flipped through the magazine. 

“Hey … what are you doing?  I looked up to see Sara staring at me, wide eyed.  I followed her gaze to the hand in my lap, where I had been drawing the prongs of my plastic fork across the flesh on the inside of my left wrist.  I dropped the fork in shock at the sight of large drops of blood oozing to the surface of my sensitive skin. 

“I … oh my gosh, I didn’t even realize …” I reached over and grabbed a paper napkin from the dispenser.

“That … is … so … gross …” Sara managed to look sick and fascinated at the same time, “Lisa, what’s wrong with you?”

I stared at the bloodstained napkin at my wrist, “I don’t know … oh lord, I don’t know” 

 

I walked home that afternoon on the verge of tears, glad for once that Sara was back at the school with her mother.  I pleaded to God under my breath, barely aware of what I said but knowing only that I needed help, oh lord I needed help.

“Hey Lisa!”  I turned in surprise to see Steven waving at me from his front porch.  I hadn’t even realized that I was so close to home.  I stopped, and he jogged up to me.

“Where’s Sara?”

“Uh, she’s helping your mom back at school.”

“Oh.  Wow, it’s freezing,” He started jumping up and down and rubbing his hands up and down his shoulders as if to prove his point. “Hey!  Have you seen Sara’s computer yet?”

I shook my head and Steven smiled widely, “Well here, lemme show you.  I’m bored out of my mind sitting home alone.” He turned and strode back to his house, glancing behind him every now and then to make sure I followed.  He paused after entering the house to let me lead the way up the stairs to Sara’s room.  Once there he leaned over her computer and jiggled the mouse to cancel the screen saver.

“Shit!”  I recoiled at the vulgarity, but Steven didn’t seem to notice, “She must have password protected her computer.  I don’t know how to get in.”

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, thanks anyway.”  I turned to leave, but Steven put a restraining hand on my shoulder.

“You know, her new games work on my computer too.  You want to check them out there?”

There was something about Steven’s overeager grin that made me uneasy, and I squirmed inside as I struggled to find a way to decline without being rude.  “I don’t know, I think that I should just go home …”

“Oh come on, it’s no big deal.”  He grabbed my hand and led me to his bedroom.  Sitting me down in front of his computer, he loaded the game and looked eagerly over my shoulder as play began.  Moments later I felt his hand graze my back and come to rest possessively on my neck.  As the minutes ticked by his hand crept further down my shoulder, finally cracking my studied indifference when it grazed the shirt over my bra. 

I flew up from my seat as if burnt, “Ah!  Uh, Steven, I uh …” words failed, and I stood gaping for a few moments before heading for the door.  I could feel my skin burning red from embarrassment.

“Sorry!  Wait!  I’m sorry!  Please, please don’t go!”  Steven grabbed my wrist, “I’m sorry, please wait.  Please.”

Before I could respond his tongue was in my mouth, writhing its way past my lips and between my teeth.  He kissed me desperately, painfully, holding my head with both hands and maneuvering until the backs of my knees were pressed hard against his bed.

Thoughts thundered painfully through my head.  This felt wrong, so wrong, yet this is what normal people wanted to do, wasn’t it?  The scratches on my wrist served as an all-too-present reminder as to how sick I was … could Steven be some kind of cure?  We toppled onto his mattress and I began returning his caresses awkwardly, hoping to feel something, anything that could be considered normal.

Minutes passed and his kisses became more urgent.  One hand clenched my right breast in a painful grip while his other groped at the zipper of my pants.  Overwhelmed, I squirmed out from beneath him, tipping myself off the bed and landing painfully on my knees.

“Uh …” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand “I … I have to go … I’m sorry … … I have to go …” I grabbed by backpack and fled.

 

I lay awake that night, tormented and miserable from the events of the past twelve hours.  I tried to forget that I had been more aroused by the two-dimensional pictures in Sara’s fashion magazine than I had been by full body contact with her brother and that no amount of praying or Bible verses had changed the fact that I had felt nothing but embarrassment at Steven’s touch.  I desired only one thing - the wrong thing - and I hated myself forr it.

 

 

The next few weeks passed in a haze of self-denial.  I had decided that my only option was to refuse to acknowledge what had occurred and so ruled over my stray thoughts with an iron fist, relentlessly squashing anything that could be considered unnatural.  Determined to exorcize any abnormality from my mind, I ignored the havoc that my constant vigilance wrecked on my nerves.

“Lisa, what’s wrong with you?” Sara leaned against the locker beside me, eyes narrowed with accusation, “you’re acting so weird.”

“What do you mean?  I’m fine.” I grinned broadly to prove it.

“I dunno … you’re just so different lately.  One minute you’ll be super energetic, smiling and crazy and bouncing off the walls, and then next thing I know you turn into some sort of zombie and don’t notice anything going on around you.  It’s kinda scaring me.”

The tears that suddenly filled my eyes took me completely unawares.  I leaned deep into my locker as if searching for something so that Sara wouldn’t see.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sara shrugged. “Whatever.  Are you coming over this weekend?”

“I’ll have to ask.  Dad’s coming home.” My weepy spell contained, I removed my head from the locker, “Are you staying after with your mom today?”

“Yeah,” Sara sighed and began picking at her cuticles, “I think she’s finally run out of stuff for me to do, but she still makes me finish my homework with her.  It’s really annoying.”

That afternoon I walked home from school using the new, longer route that I had discovered several days ago.  I told myself that walking this way had nothing to do with avoiding Steven, that the fact that the route came up the opposite end of the street than the Walker house was just coincidence, but my powers of self-deception were rapidly deteriorating.  Sara was right - my behavior over the past few weeks had been fluctuating between manic and despondent, and the incident at my locker hadn’t been the first time that I had spontaneously broken into tears.

That evening my mother came home and found me in the TV room.

“Have you been watching that thing since you came home from school?”

I shrugged.  She drummed her fingers against the doorframe.

“I’m going to pick up your father in a half hour.  I want you to stay here with Jones.  Okay?”

“Fine.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

I turned my head and stared petulantly.  My mother’s expression was sour, and I could tell that she had had a bad day at work.

“I’m picking up takeout for tonight.  Do you want General Wong’s or Taco Loco?”

“Pizza”

“Lisa …” My mother’s voice had a dangerous edge to it.

“Fine.  Taco Loco.  No … Yes.  Taco Loco.”

My mother turned on her heel and withdrew to her office.  45 minutes passed before the telltale sound of tires crunching on gravel signaled her departure.  The phone rang moments later.

“Hello?”

“Lisa?”

“Hey Mrs. Walker!” It had been ages since the last time I had talked to my friend’s mother, and I was happy to hear from her again. “How are you?”

“Fine.  Is your mother home?”  There was a steely edge to Mrs. Walker’s voice that wiped the smile from my face.

“No, she’s not here right now … is something wrong?”

Silence.

“Can … can I take a message?”

Mrs. Walker’s words were clipped.  “No Lisa, you’ve done quite enough already.  I’ll call back.”

The dial tone rang in my ear as I stood, bewildered, wondering what had just happened.

 

My parents returned from the airport some time later, and after the requisite family dinner both disappeared, my mother retreating to her study and my father collapsing into bed.  The rest of the weekend passed in an uneventful blur of television and homework with uncomfortable stretches of forced family bonding scattered in around mealtimes.  I had waited uneasily for Mrs. Walker to phone, but after Friday’s chilly discussion she had apparently forgotten her pledge to call again.

I returned to school on Monday in low spirits but looking forward to seeing Sara.  She wasn’t waiting for me in the hallway, however, so I deposited my books in my locker and walked to homeroom alone.  Spotting her in the back corner of the classroom, I skipped over and placed my bag on the desk next to her.

“Heya!” 

Sara looked at me with a mournful expression and greeted me in a flat, emotionless tone that stopped me dead.

“Sara … what’s wrong?”

With a furtive look around she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the classroom, leading me down the hall and into the girl’s bathrooms.  We crowded into a stall and before I had a chance to vent my confusion Sara mutely pulled off the woolen hat that had been covering her head. 

“Oh my … wow.  What happened?  I stared at her inexpertly cut, closely cropped hair with bewilderment.  Sara burst into tears, and through her sobs described how she had attempted to mimic the haircut that she had seen in the magazine the month previous.

“I … I tried to cut it in the mirror, but I kept making mistakes and it just got shorter and shorter,” she wailed, “and then my mom came in and saw me and got so mad and she tried to fix it but … but but look at me!”

She burst into a fresh wave of tears as I struggled to say something reassuring.

“It’s … not that bad.  No, it’s really not!  Besides, you have the hat … maybe if you talk to the teachers they won’t make you take it off … I bet your mom’s already made an appointment at a professional place and they’ll make it look great, just like the girl in the magazine,” I continued on the same vein for some time, hugging my friend as she bawled as if her life were over.  As the sniffs subsided Sara looked up at with red-rimmed eyes and an exceedingly somber expression.

“Lisa … my mom said some pretty weird things when she was yelling at me.  Things about you … like it was your fault or something.  I didn’t really understand most of it, but … did you do something to her?”

I felt as if the floor had been jerked from under me.

“No … no, I don’t know what she could have been talking about.” The conversation paused awkwardly. “What … what did she say?”

Sara strode to the row of sinks and began splashing water on her face, “I don’t really know … stuff about you being bad influence, about contaminating me or something.  I can’t think of where she got that from though.  I mean, you’re the one that’s always been so perfect.  You always sing the loudest in chapel.”

 

I entered Bible class full of dread and expecting the worst, but nothing prepared me for the reception I received from my friend’s mother.  The resentment and revulsion in her eyes as she looked at me struck me like a punch in the gut.  Indeed, though unaware of its source my classmates must have also felt the tension that saturated the room; the period was spent in near universal silence on the part of the class, and like them I spent the time staring at my desk, fled as soon as the bell rang and didn’t risk so much as a glance in Mrs. Walker’s direction as I darted from the room.

I walked home in a state of confusion that was only heightened by the sight of my mother’s car parked in the driveway.  Crossing into the kitchen with trepidation, I saw my mother’s rigid form sitting at the dinner table.  I treaded over and hesitantly touched her shoulder.

“Mom?”

She turned to look at me and for the first time in my life I became keenly aware of her age.  She had been well over forty when I was born, and now her skin was gray and the lines etched around her eyes and mouth were pronounced.  The expression on her face was one of acute exhaustion.

“I got a call from your school while I was at work.”  Her voice was cold with repressed fury and my heart descended into the depths of my stomach.

“What … what did they say?”  My fear was apparent even through artificially conversational tone that I adopted.  I felt sick.

“That you were embracing a … lifestyle” she spat out the word with disgust, “contrary to the value system taught at your school.  That you were corrupting fellow students.  That you … you … Lisa, this is unacceptable.  Do you hear me?  Absolutely unacceptable.”

I said nothing and my mother continued, venom dripping from every syllable. “You have a meeting with your principal tomorrow after school.  You will go to this meeting, and you will deal with this.  Understand?  I don’t want to hear anything more about this sort of behavior.  Ever.”  She stood, “Now I am going back to work.  You are not allowed to watch TV.  You are not allowed to use the phone.  You will go up to your room and you will stay there.”

She strode out of the kitchen.

 

 

Mrs. Walker gripped my shoulder and guided me forcibly to the principal’s office as if she thought that I might try and run for it.  Though the idea of bolting had crossed my mind more than once, my thoughts were too chaotic and anxious for me to do more than stumble numbly toward the meeting.  The day had passed in a haze, with the minutes sometimes creeping by with tedious slowness and sometimes leaping forward in huge chunks.  I had locked myself in the bathroom before school and during lunch to avoid seeing my classmates, and after Bible class Mrs. Walker had met me at my desk to accompany me down the hall to the principal’s office.

We entered, and to my surprise the school counselor was sitting in a chair behind the principal.  Mrs. Walker pulled another chair to the side of the desk and turned it so that all three of them were facing me when I took the last remaining seat in the room.

“Well Lisa” the principal broke the silence with a hearty cough, “we might as well get to it right away.  Now, ordinarily we’d ask the parents to be at this sort of meeting, but your mother has made it clear that neither her or your father’s schedules are flexible enough for them to join us.  There should be no problem with us dealing with this rather serious problem on our own, however, and I hope to have your full cooperation on the matter.”

I nodded mutely.  The principal continued.  “Now, Mrs. Walker has told the faculty what she knows of the situation, and I want to make it clear that no one is judging you today.  We’re here out of a sincere desire to help you past this difficult phase that you’re going through and to guide you back to God’s path.”

He paused again, obviously expecting me to say something, but I just rubbed my sweaty hands against my jeans and continued to stare at my feet.  The principal cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Well, I think it’s only fair to let you know exactly why you’re here.  Mrs. Walker has informed the faculty that you had made an … admission to her several months ago, and that she had tried to guide you on her own rather than involve the administration.  Actually,” He turned to Mrs. Walker, “why don’t you tell Lisa this part.”

My teacher smoothed away her startled look and raised her hands to pat her hair as she turned to me, “Well, Lisa.  Well … I admit that at first I had thought that you and I could work through this by ourselves, without involving any additional faculty members.  Honestly, you always seemed one of the godliest students here at Liberty, the most open to the Word … plus, you’re one of Sara’s closest friends.  I just thought that you’d be willing to put the effort into overcoming this temptation.  You seemed so eager to get past this.”

“But I -”

Mrs. Walker talked over my protests, “It was only when I started seeing this … behavior spreading to my own daughter that I realized how mistaken I was not to include the administration from the beginning.”

I interrupted once more. “But Mrs. Walker, Sara’s not … I didn’t do anything … Sara’s not like me.  I never tried to make her like me!”

Mrs. Walker’s eyes flashed with annoyance and her voice held a note of hysteria.  “Oh?  How do you explain this haircut, then?  I came home and she had lopped all her hair off, like those lesbians on TV!  And I’ve seen you, you …” her voice faded to a harsh whisper “touching each other!” 

“What?  No, we didn’t!  I’ve never … I’ve never, Mrs. Walker!”  My voice caught in my throat as I felt the familiar lump of tears rising, “She saw the haircut in a magazine … I didn’t do anything … I didn’t do anything!” My eyes welled with tears, and as they began spilling in earnest the school counselor leapt forward to present me with a box of tissues.  I sniffed into the Kleenex, “I’ve been trying … I’ve been trying so hard …”

Mrs. Walker sat back, anger still flashing in her eyes, as the principal and the counselor exchanged glances.  “Now, Lisa” the counselor sat forward in his seat and clasped his hands together, “we want to give you options.  I’d like to give you and your parents the names of some very talented psychologists who specialize in this sort of thing.  If you’re willing to enter counseling, there’s no need for the school to take this issue any further.”

The principal cut in. “Unless, of course, this becomes a problem with other students.”

“And … what if I don’t want to be … counseled?” The tone in the counselor’s voices had indicated that a large ‘but’ hung at the end of his statement.

“Well …” the principal shifted in his chair, “well Lisa, we hope - we obviously hope - that it won’t come to that, but you’re oonly other options would be to either withdraw voluntarily from Liberty or be expelled.  We just couldn’t allow you to continue with a lifestyle that so blatantly rejects the values that we teach here.  And I’m just going to add something here, on a personal note.”  The principal rested his weight on his elbows and looked over his desk with a severe expression.  “I’m very disappointed, Lisa.  We were all so proud of you, the way you seemed to embrace God’s word and His plan for your life.  To see you indulge in this sort of behavior, choosing to entertain these impure thoughts … why, we all thought that the Spirit was stronger in you.  And to try and convert your friend, your Bible teacher’s daughter no less, to this sort of sinful lifestyle … it’s disturbing to see a promising young disciple fall so far.”

Hot tears dropped to my lap, and I murmured something conciliatory while trying to ignore Mrs. Walker’s emphatic agreement to the principal’s personal note.  I held out my hand for the counselor’s list of names and had already stood to leave the office when the principal spoke once again,

“Of course, we’ll be keeping an eye on you.  We want to be sure that this sort of behavior can’t spread to the other students.  You should know that the faculty has been told to notify me if you act in any way that might be considered inappropriate, especially with respect to your classmates.  God bless, Lisa.  We’ll be praying for you.”

 

 

Word about my talk with the principal spread through the school more quickly than I had thought possible, partly due to the faculty children who heard from their parents but mostly because of a confrontation with Sara the morning following the meeting.

I spotted her at her locker and noticed that her hair, though decidedly shorter, had been professionally cut into a fashionable bob.  I approached with congratulations, but my smile of greeting was quickly cut off by the furious expression that clouded her face when she saw me.

“Hey … Sara, what’s-”

“Don’t talk to me.”  She turned deliberately away and buried her head and arms in her locker, only to whip violently around when I hesitantly tapped her on the shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!”  Reeling back with shock, I couldn’t have been more stunned if Sara had slapped me full on the face.  She turned toward me, features contorted with rage, and continued her attack in a harsh whisper.  “I can’t believe you, Lisa.  Were you having disgusting, perverted thoughts about me the whole time that we were friends?  That’s why you made me cut my hair, isn’t it?  You wanted me to become all dyke-y like you.  Yeah, well you know what?  Even with the haircut, I’ll never be gross like that.  I’m not going to go to hell like you, you … you lesbian!”

“… I … Sara … I …” words soon failed me and I stood gaping in front of my friend for a few moments before backing off, turning and fleeing to the refuge of the women’s bathrooms. 

Locking myself in the stall farthest from the door, I sat on the tank of the toilet with my feet on the basin as a flood of conflicting emotions made war inside my head.  The hateful words that had poured from my best friend devastated me, but the tears that clouded my eyes were just as much from anger and humiliation as from despair.  I wrapped my arms around my stomach, hugging myself and bending down to put my head between my knees to stifle the hiccoughs that threatened to overwhelm me.  Despite my efforts one or two managed to escape, echoing pitifully along the tiles of the bathroom, but to my great relief no one knocked on the door to investigate.

I stayed in the bathroom for the whole of first period, and when I walked out I heard whispers follow me down the hall.  When I turned into English the first laughing chorus of “dyke!” rang out, and I slunk away, shamefaced, as the jeers of my schoolmates chased me into the classroom.

 

 

“Lisa?” my father peered into my room, where I lay curled silently on my bed.  “Lisa, your mother and I want to talk to you.  Come into the living room.”

I sat up slowly and paced after my father.  The spring sun shone brightly through the living room’s large windows, and both parents had positioned themselves in the only two chairs in poses that artfully created the impression of parental concern.  I was left to sink into the plush white sofa directly across from them.

“Lisa, we want you to talk about what happened.” 

That past Monday a group of classmates had ambushed me with sticks, rocks and chanting insults during my walk home from school.  Their aim with their hurling projectiles was off for the most part, but several of the stones had struck home and managed to leave bruises.  I had been able to cover them up with a turtleneck and long sleeves, however, and the only reason that my parents even knew about the incident was because a neighbor had seen my desperate rush from the hail of stones and had called my mother the next morning.  It wasn’t until the school had phoned her with news that I had skipped the past week of classes, though, that my parents had decided it was time to talk.

I stared resentfully from my position on the couch and maintained a stony silence.  This was the first time that my parents had spoken to me in several days and I felt no obligation to explain myself to them.

My father tried a different approach, “We know that you’re going through a hard time, Lisa, but we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.”

I snorted and muttered under my breath, “when have you ever helped me, even when I did talk to you?”

Excuse me?” My mother’s back became rigid with indignation and I realized that I had spoken far too loudly.  She leaned forward, index finger and thumb pressed tightly together and pointed accusingly in my direction, “Listen here missy, your father and I bend over backward to give you the things you want, to send you to the best school in the area, to replace all the things you break or wear out.  This little sulk that you’re having is not our idea of a thank you!”

My father leaned forward, placing a hand on my mother’s shoulder and whispering softly to her, “Kate, honey, it’s okay.  The psychologist told us about this.  She’s just acting out.  It’s normal.”  He turned to me and spoke in a conciliating tone, “Lisa, we know that you’ve been having trouble at school because of this phase you’re going through, but it’s really not acceptable for you to cut classes.  There are more constructive ways to deal with your emotions.  Now, your mother and I realize that the therapy hasn’t been going as well as we had hoped, but that’s no reason to think that it won’t ever work.  You just need to try harder.”

“I don’t want to go to therapy any more.”  I grated at the condescension that saturated my father’s comments and did not attempt to hide the fact that I was feeling increasingly nettled.

My mom and dad exchanged knowing glances and my father continued.  “That’s not an option, dear.  If you don’t go to the counseling sessions here we’ll have to send you to one of those … those camps places that specialize in Reparative Therapy.  In fact, if you keep refusing to talk to Dr. Walter that’s what we’ll do for sure.  We can’t just let you to just sit there for an hour, wasting his time and ours.”

A heavy quiet filled the room, and my mother soon began to fidget.  Before long her composure evaporated completely and she broke out into a fresh, angry outburst.

“I’m telling you Lisa, we’re not going to tolerate this sort of behavior for much longer.  There are hundreds of boarding schools that would be happy to take our money, and with everything that we’ve done for you over the years … I’m telling you, I won’t have my only daughter turning into a les-”

“Stop.”  The word burst from my lips with a quiet force that surprised even me.  My mother cut short her diatribe as my father touched her shoulder, and my dad settled back with satisfaction at having persuaded me to talk.  I ignored his smugness and continued deliberately, choosing my words as best I could, finally putting voice to a small fraction of my feelings. 

“Stop it.” I stood up, enjoying the impression that I was looming over my parents.  “Stop treating me like something that just happened to you.  I’m a person.  I’m your daughter, I mean … I mean I’ve been living with you for fourteen years and you don’t even know me.  Not even … you’ve never even tried to get to know me!” I turned to my mother, words tripping over each other in their rush to fly from my mouth “You treat me like some sort of … some mix between a servant and something nasty you found on the bottom of your shoe.  And, and … and you always tell me how much money I’m costing you like I’m supposed to be grateful that you’re allowing me to live with you, like … like I came in to this family on purpose looking for a free ride.  And you” I switched my gaze to my father, and to my shame felt the hard lump of tears rising in my throat, “you treat me even worse, like a … like a puppy who you can pat on the head or, or punish for peeing on the carpet or ignore whenever you want.  Well, I’m not a slave and I’m not a pet, and I’m sorry if I ruined your lives by being born but it wasn’t my fault and stop acting like it was!”

My parents looked up at me as I stood staring at them defiantly.  I felt elated, exultant that I had finally managed to articulate a tiny portion of the sentiments that had been festering almost since I was born.  I imagined the dawning comprehension on their faces, apologies, reconciliation, promises to change, promises to treat me with value and respect, to make it all up to me.  I imagined tears and self-recrimination, forgiveness and renewal.  Images of a happy family floated through my mind as my parents sat beneath me in silence.

The self-satisfaction had faded from my father’s demeanor as he listened to my outburst.  He now sat with his hands to his temples, looking up at me with an expression that I couldn’t read.  After deliberating for a moment he turned to my mother and sighed mournfully.  “Well Kate, we tried.  I don’t know.  Maybe boarding school isn’t such a bad idea.  I hear there are some places on the west coast that can deal with this sort of thing.”

 

I returned to school the next day depressed and despondent, unable to work up the energy to worry even when I was summoned to see the principal during lunch.  When I walked up to his office he gestured me inside and sat for a while tapping the thin side of a large office folder against his desk.  I took the chair across from him, and presently the tapping ceased.

“Lisa,” He looked at me with a grave expression, placing the folder in front of him and folding his hands over it, “I have the reports from your therapist here.  You haven’t been doing very well at your sessions, have you?”

I stared at him in petulant silence.  He cleared his throat nervously and shuffled the papers on his desk, ultimately removing some pages from the folder.

“Now, it says that you have spent the past few appointments doing … well, doing nothing.  Saying nothing.  Things were going so well too, at the beginning.  Your therapist told me that he expected you to be an in-and-out case.  And then … what happened?  Tell me Lisa, honestly, how do you think God would view this lack of effort?  Did his son bleed and die on the cross so that you could sit there and be immoral?”  He went on, “And that’s not all, Lisa.  We’ve gotten complaints from parents who object to their children being in classes with an acknowledged homosexual, even one who is participating in therapy.  You haven’t been making any friends these past several weeks, and I’m afraid that I’m going to have to ask you what you have to say for yourself.”

“Well …” I looked up at the principal and felt one last surge of defiance, “I-I’m not hurting anyone, am I?  I mean, I know that I’m not like my classmates here, these good Christians here at Liberty, who chase people down and throw rocks at them, who hurt them and call them names.  I’m not like them, but … but what’s so wrong about being … about being gay?  I mean, isn’t God supposed to love us all?” 

The principal chuckled indulgently, “With that logic, Lisa, you’re saying that murderers and thieves should all go unpunished.  And I think you’d agree that-”

“But see, with killing someone or stealing from someone, there’s a victim.  There’s someone who gets hurt.  With … with what I do … who gets hurt?  What’s wrong with it exactly?  Honestly, I’ve been trying to figure it out and I just can’t find a reason why it’s supposed to be so evil.  Please tell me … I want to know … why is it wrong?”

“It’s wrong because …” he grew visibly flustered as he paused to search for a reason.  “Well, it’s wrong because the Bible says so! There are some things that we as God’s children just need to take on faith.  Lisa, we are very sorry that things have come to this, but we’ve been having far too many complaints from parents and students who are uncomfortable with your presence here.  We’ve also noticed that there have been some … unpleasant … episodes with your classmates, and we think … maybe you’d just be happier at a different school.  The faculty has decided that you will not be invited back to Liberty for the next academic year.  We’ve tried to help you, Lisa.  We’ve given you every opportunity to come back to the path that God set out for you, but you just don’t seem interested in changing your sinful behavior.”  He leaned forward in his chair with a pitying expression.  “Now, your parents will be notified by phone, and let me just tell you that you’ll lucky we’re letting you finish these last few weeks.  I was at the faculty meeting where we discussed this, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that you were just a hairsbreadth from having an expulsion on your record.” 

He sat back and flipped the file in front of him closed with a measured air of satisfaction. “Now Lisa, you may go.”

 

I did not bother to return to class after my meeting with the principal, and I walked home in quiet contemplation.  Upon crossing into my empty house I retreated silently to my room.

Upon entering, my eyes fell on the Bible sitting on my bedside table.  Blue leather bindings with my name embossed in gold on the front - it had been a gift from my parents on my 10th birthday.  I picked it up gently, running my fingers down the smooth cover and appreciating the earthy smell of the pages.  Though worn, the Bible was in excellent condition, an indication of how lovingly I had cared for it over the years.  Mechanically turning it over in my hands, I contemplated the delicacy of its paper and the bright swirl of calligraphy that had been used to spell out my name.  I handled it for several minutes, then with a sudden, furious resolution I wrenched it open and recklessly began snatching out its tissue-thin pages, tearing out the glue that held them and mutilating the leather bindings by twisting them in my hands until unrecognizable.  Animal grunts tore from my throat, and before long I was on my knees screaming my anguish and confusion to the world.

“Why?  Why?  What did I ever do to you?  I believed, I truly believed, and for what?  What?  Answer me, dammit!  If you’re really there I want to hear you to fucking explain yourself!

“I spent my life following you, I did everything they told me to and this is what happens?  You sadistic bastard, I hope I go to hell because if I ever see you I’ll fucking spit in your face, I swear I will!”  Furious sobs racked my body and hot tears flowed down my cheeks unchecked, “I worshiped you!  I prayed to you!  I trusted you and you, you … how could you do this to me?  How dare you?  How dare you?  You lying asshole, is this how you get your kicks?  You cruel fuck!  You sadistic bastard!  I hate you!  I hate you! 

“This is my life you’re screwing with!  Do you understand?  This is all I have, and you took it all away from me!  You took everything!”

I keeled over and pressed my forehead against the floor as I dissolved into hysterics.  I could feel snot and tears running into the fibers of the carpet and ground my face against their dampness, hugging myself, rocking my body back and forth.  For a while I couldn’t speak and my breath came in ragged gasps between sobs.  The throaty hiccoughs eventually subsided, however, and I knelt exhausted on the carpet, face rubbed raw but still buried in the rough fibers.

“They told me you loved me.  They said that you were love.  And I believed them.  I believed them … I believed them …”

 

 

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