Ray of Sunlight (7 page)

“Yep,” he answered succinctly but then continued. “Dad literally threw Marshall out… took him by the shoulders and pushed him down the hallway and out the front door. I was running along behind them the whole way, begging Dad to listen to reason but also trying to give Marshall his shirt back. Once Dad had him out the door, he saw what I was holding. So, he opened the door again and threw the shirt at him where he had fallen on his butt on the ground.”

When I made a “go on” gesture, he continued.

“It was the only time Dad ever laid a hand on me, but once that door was closed a second time, he turned to me and beat the shit out of me. I tried to fight back, and I can’t help but think I would have done a little better a few weeks before, but I had already been feeling weak and run-down for a while at that point. Looking back, I’m sure that was the start of the cancer. At the time, I hadn’t even told my parents about it. I had been really active that summer and not really sleeping well, so I just thought it was that.”

“Do you have a mom?” I asked. “Where was she during all this?”

“She’s the only reason he stopped when he did. I wasn’t sure he wasn’t just going to beat me to death. He was so angry, he used about every derogatory term for ‘gay’ that he could think of, and punctuated all of his very short sentences with his fists. Mom kept yelling at him to stop and threatened to call the law. Dad was all about appearances, so he surely didn’t want the cops at the house. But he no longer wanted
me
at the house either, for the same reason. How would it look if he had a gay son?”

CJ took a breath and seemed to be gauging my reaction. Wondering if I wanted him to stop would have been my guess. But then I nodded, encouraging him to go on.

“Well, he told Mom to go pack my things and told me he wanted me out—right then. No explanations, no pleading, no ultimatums or second chances. He and I had never gotten along. He always cared more about his status in the community than about us kids really, but everyone else conformed, so he didn’t have a problem with them. I didn’t conform.”

I could see that about him. It was one of the reasons I liked him, and one of the very few ways he reminded me of me. He did what he thought was right and didn’t really ask anyone for their opinion first. I respected that. But, if his dad was anything like Allen—which it sounded like he was—I could see that he wouldn’t like it at all.

“Mom tried to argue with him,” CJ said, continuing the story, “but he yelled at her, and she went to pack the bag. She always gave in to him like that. I was kind of surprised that she even tried to stand up to him in the first place. But it didn’t last long, and I
wasn’t
surprised by that. I had never really seen him hit her, and except for a few times, which she explained away, I never saw any bruises, but I had always thought he abused her… physically. He certainly did emotionally. Us kids too.”

“So, where did you go?” I finally asked, because I wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Didn’t have anywhere
to
go,” he answered. “I just walked, with the one small bag of clothes Mom had packed for me. Somehow, I ended up downtown.”

“Around here?” Once I said it out loud, it sounded like an obvious question, but kids came here from all over the country, so it wasn’t really.

“Yeah.” He nodded as he spoke. “Parents still only live like… a half hour away, or so. As far as I know, though, they don’t even know where I am.”

He paused his story, but I wanted to know more, and told him as much.

“Inquisitive today, huh?” he asked, then continued. “I happened to have fifty dollars in my wallet at the time—early birthday money—so I knew I’d be able to eat for a little while, as long as I rationed it out and it didn’t get stolen. I didn’t have the first idea about shelter, though. I found a mission,
quite by accident, but the first thing they asked was who and where my parents were. I just said ‘thanks anyway,’ and ducked back out. I found a deep doorway to sleep in that night but was run out of it come six o’clock the next morning when the owner got there to open up the business. I kept going back to it, though. The owner didn’t seem to mind, and I had to sleep somewhere.”

I couldn’t believe CJ had to go through all that just because he was gay. Of course, part of me had always known that kind of reaction from parents was possible… probable even. That’s one of the many reasons I had always decided that I didn’t want to act on the gay aspect of my attractions. I asked what happened next, and he went on.

“I was only on the streets about six weeks. The owner of my doorway found me one morning, and I wouldn’t wake up. Apparently, he called the police to come get me, but they couldn’t wake me either, and took me to the hospital. I was a mess, blood work all screwed up, low blood sugar, low blood pressure. I was dehydrated and malnourished. The attending physician noticed something, though. A mass in my head, so he wanted to do more tests. I had given my parents’ names for the insurance information. As far as I knew they were still covering me. The hospital staff called them and told them where I was. Dad apparently came down and signed for the treatment I needed right then but never stopped in to see me. He told them he wouldn’t sign for any tests and that I was going to be without insurance soon. He had started proceedings to give up parental rights but social services had told him he had to produce me for a hearing first. I guess they wanted to make sure he hadn’t just killed me and stuffed me under the porch or something?”

I didn’t know how CJ was telling me all of this without tearing up or something. I was, and it wasn’t me who had lived through all that shit in the first place. Of course, it had been over a year ago, but still….

“Social Services visited me after that,” he continued. “We had a court date scheduled. I was sixteen by then, so they went for emancipation instead of putting me in foster care, which was good and bad. I was going to take the GED. I knew I’d pass that, no problem. And they got me a job… set me up with an apartment in the low-rent district, as part of the terms of emancipation. But I only lived there for a week and worked two days before I got sick again. I wound up in the same hospital, this time without insurance, but they still did tests that the other guy had wanted to do the first time. It proved what the first doctor had thought.”

“Cancer,” I said needlessly.

“Stage-three Alveolar Rhabdomyosarcoma, metastasized to a large percentage of the body,” he said almost proudly. “Even sounds ominous, doesn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure what else to say to him. How does a person respond to any of that? I wanted to fix it. I wanted for it to have never happened. I wanted to hold him and never let him go. I wanted to make sure nothing ever hurt him again. But, for now, all I could do was make sure he knew I was interested and listening.

He continued. “The social worker visited again. The doctor said there was no way I was going to be able to hold down a job with enough regularity to pay for an apartment and such. Plus I needed immediate chemo. They weren’t sure what to do with me at first, but there happened to be a nurse there whose husband worked here…. Dr. Dunlap. He pushed it through with the board and social services both, to let me live here, since I’d need extensive treatments and most of the kids here stay long-term anyway. Social Services got me disability income which—at least on paper—pays for my stay here, and otherwise everything is provided. Dr. Dunlap does all the paperwork for me and is my contact person for anything I need—as well as being my primary physician, but technically I’m still emancipated—so I’m pretty much on my own.”

“Do you go to Dr. Dunlap’s for holidays, then?” I desperately wanted to take that look of loneliness off his face. I wanted to know he had
somebody
.

“He’s offered, but he has his own family to worry about. He doesn’t need me tagging along. He’s done enough for me. Without him and his wife, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Grandparents? Siblings?” I was getting desperate.

He shook his head. “I didn’t have any grandparents, and my siblings are all still under eighteen, so still living with Dad, so there’s no way they would risk even contacting me, let alone trying to get together with me.”

“How would you like to spend Thanksgiving with me?” I blurted out before remembering I hadn’t even asked the prison guards yet.

His eyes lit up but then dulled way too soon. “Your parents wouldn’t mind?”

I hesitated but then told him the truth. “I haven’t exactly asked them yet, but if they don’t agree to have you come there, I’ll come here!”

I meant that too. CJ was
not
going to spend the holidays alone… ever again… if I had anything to say about it.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Russ.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I stay in trouble, CJ,” I admitted. “Some of it because I do things especially
to
get in trouble. That’s not what I’m doing this time, but I certainly don’t mind getting in trouble for this. It’s important to me.”

“Why?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Because
you’re
important to me.” I would never have thought I’d say that to another living soul. “Take care of number one” had always been my motto. But it was true in his case. He
was
important to me. I couldn’t have explained why or how, but he was.

His eyes lit up again. “I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you,
if
your parents say it’s okay. Either here or there. Whatever they’re more comfortable with. But, I won’t have you getting in trouble for it. You’re important to me too.”

I had no idea why it felt so good to hear him say that. I had precious little of that in my life—people who
said
I was important, or even people who
thought
I was important. Something was telling me it wasn’t only that, though. It was because it was
him
saying that. I just didn’t know why.

T
HAT
NIGHT
,
I broached the subject with the ’rents.

“I was wondering something,” I started, after clearing my throat. They got silent and just looked at me. “My friend CJ from the Children’s Hospital doesn’t have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving. I don’t know if his doctors will agree, but if they do, could he come here for dinner?”

“Why doesn’t he have anywhere to go?” Mom asked. “Where is his family?”

I didn’t want to get into that. I knew it would lead to the fact that he was gay and that would lead to trouble. “He’s emancipated.” I tried to leave it at that.

“Then he made his choice,” Allen put in. “He’ll just have to live with it.”

“He didn’t have a choice. He was kicked out of his house.”

“Why?” Allen again. “I’m sure they must have had a good reason.”

“No, they didn’t. They caught him with another guy, one time. They didn’t even talk to him first.” I was getting annoyed. “And even if
they
thought they had a good reason, no one should abandon their kid when they’re dying.”

“Again….” Allen was at his jerky best. “His choice. You can’t engage in sinful acts and then cry and complain when God punishes you.”

My mother actually agreed with that nonsense. “AIDS is God’s way of ridding the Earth of those abominations.”

“He doesn’t have AIDS, Mom.” I was just barely holding my temper. “He has
cancer
!”

“God can work with any disease,” Allen added. “The result is the same.”

“You will never convince me that God gave that remarkable kid cancer because he happens to be gay.” I was still not shouting but not much shy of it. “What about all the other kids there? What is God punishing them for?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Mom answered in that condescending voice she used to tell me I was being ridiculous. “But God does. There’s always something those kinds of people are being punished for.”

“Those kinds of people?” I could feel myself losing it. “What kind of people, Mom? Little kids who have been burned—sometimes beyond recognition? Sweet little children who have been fighting cancer for their whole lives? Kids with neurological disabilities? Are
those
the kinds of people you’re talking about, Mom? You think they have these conditions because God is punishing them? When did they have a chance to sin? In the womb?”

“In some cases, it’s punishing their parents,” Mom said, like that made any kind of sense. Mom wasn’t even especially religious. Allen either. They didn’t even go to church for God’s sake. Pete had to catch a ride with a friend or drive himself. The only time they got “religious” was when they wanted to be self-righteous. Spare me from people using God to justify being assholes.

“That’s not what we’ve been learning in church, though,” Pete chimed in. “We talked about this just last week. There was a man that was born blind and someone asked Jesus if it was because the man sinned or because his parents did. Jesus answered, ‘It was neither that this man sinned, nor his parents, but it was so that the works of God might be displayed in him.’ That’s John 9:3.”

“Don’t contradict your mother, son,” Allen scolded. “Being blind is something different. That verse is obviously not talking about cancer or AIDS and that man was put there so Jesus could heal him. That’s not the same thing.”

“Why isn’t it?” Pete seemed confused.

“Because this boy brought it on himself.” Mom added more wisdom. “All gays will die of AIDS, or—”

“He does not have AIDS!” I lost it.

“If you’d let me finish,” she snipped, “I was going to say ‘or something else, like cancer.’ Because gays are an abomination.”

Pete tried again. “But Jesus never said—”

“This doesn’t concern you, Peter.” His father tried to shut him down.

“But I’ve met CJ. He’s incredible. He—” I had to hand it to Pete for trying. It would never have crossed my mind that he and I would ever be on the same side.