Thinking Straight (14 page)

“You need to stop.”

I wanted to write, “Are you going to report me?” But instead I just lowered my head like some kind of humble martyr. When I looked up again he was still standing there, embarrassed, uncomfortable, not knowing what my response was, really, and probably knowing he'd have to report something. I knew he wanted me to nod and let him know I'd understood and had agreed to behave myself, but I just smiled gently. Finally he left, and I sat down to do my second MI for real.

1. Yesterday I masturbated. During Contemplation. It was after I'd sealed my MI, so I'm putting it into today's instead.
   
2. Today I shouted at Nate. Sheldon and I had been folding sheets, and we'd been doing it for so long that we got into a flow. But then one of us [I opted against having this fall on Sheldon] dropped a corner and the whole thing fell apart and landed on the floor, and it was funny. We laughed so hard we fell on the floor, too. Sean came over, and then Nate, and Nate told us how much waste we'd caused. This may sound like I'm criticizing Nate, but he shouldn't have done that. He didn't understand how the sheet had fallen or that it was already on the floor by accident. He judged us, and I don't think he should have. Sean already knew what had happened, and if he felt it was a reportable incident, he would report it. We didn't need Nate telling us how sinful we were. And that made me angry, and so as he was walking away all I did was shout “Hey” at him. That's all. So I admit I spoke, and I know I shouldn't have. But I don't think it's fair that Nate was allowed to make me so angry when he knows I'm in SafeZone. [If Nate wanted to take this place so seriously, then he could be held to its rules, too. Besides, I was kind of hoping that if I could spread the blame around a little, maybe I could avoid getting another day of SafeZone piled onto my sentence, which I really didn't want despite the advantage I'd considered in Sean's office.]
   
3. I've been abusing the emergency writing rule. It's supposed to be when something really important needs to be communicated by someone in SafeZone. But I have to say that at the times I did it, the times I wrote something, it felt pretty important to me. Now I see that it wasn't. [I didn't put why; I didn't put that I'd been taking everything seriously and that now I was going to stop doing that.]
   

I probably could have dug up some more stuff, but these were the highlights of the last twenty-four hours or so. And they were big enough: masturbation, talking in SafeZone, abuse of rules. Nothing had been said about my having to put in here why these things were wrong, or how I promised on somebody's grave never to do it again, so I didn't go there. I just signed my name and put the thing into its envelope. I didn't even read it over first.

S
o, here it is, the end of the second day. And only forty more to go. And here I am contemplating Expulsion like it's some kind of option. Which it isn't. I'm here for the duration, but not a second longer. I'm gonna have to just toe the line. And think of Will.

Charles comes to get me for dinner. He doesn't speak, he doesn't check the wastebasket, he just stands there. I nearly forget to bring my MI, but he picks it up and hands it to me, and we take a detour past Harnett's office so I can drop it off.

This time we sit at a table with two guys, neither of them with yellow stickers. I don't remember seeing them before. They're not in our prayer group. Charles says, “Rick Caruso, John McAndrews, meet Taylor Adams. Taylor is my roommate, and as you can see he's still in SafeZone.”

Rick nods and smiles and goes back to his dinner. John, who seems like he's a few years older than me, looks right at me. He's smiling, but his eyes are so intense it's like they're in someone else's face, or coming from some other world. In a voice that sounds unusually deep and rich, he says, “So this is the brave young man who shouted at brother Nate today.”

Well, now, this is weird. How the hell does he know that? And what does he mean by calling me brave when everyone else has been falling over each other to chastise me? Damn, but I want out of SafeZone. I try to let my eyes speak for me, to ask those questions.

John laughs. At first I think he's laughing at me, but the way he looks at me makes me smile, too. “Are you puzzled?”

Nod.

John chuckles. “I won't criticize Nate. He means well, I'm sure. But sometimes I think he takes an awful lot onto himself. And tell me this: if he hadn't spoken to you the way he did, would you have said anything at all?”

Negative shake.

He just smiles, like he knows he doesn't need to add, “He tempted you.” Instead, he says, “Taylor, Rick here and I have decided not to ask companions to this Friday's barbeque dinner. Now, I know Charles will be with Danielle, so I'm wondering if you'd be willing to come with us. What do you think?”

I'm thinking two things. One is whether Charles had already set up this little meeting with John before he brought me here. The other is that I'd been waiting until I could speak so I could ask Dawn to go with me; I'm sure I'm not supposed to ask a boy. But this is my first week, and it might not do to stick my neck out. Maybe it would be better if I go with these guys, with John, who at least seems to understand what happened to me today. So I nod.

“Great! You'll be out of SafeZone by then and we can talk. I'm looking forward to that.” His smile lingers on me for a few seconds before he turns it to Charles. “And you, brother, I heard about what happened in your Prayer Meeting last night. My heart went out to you.”

“Thank you, brother.” Charles looks like he wants to smile.

John is watching his face. “As we all know, I can't speak for God. But I feel sure that if he hasn't rewarded you yet, he will. He knows the courage it took, and it's obvious how much you love his Word.” We all eat in silence for a few minutes, and then John says, “Charles, you look troubled. Are you still holding onto last night's pain?”

Charles shakes his head. “No. I'll be all right, really.”

Chewing thoughtfully, John watches him, and I can almost see thoughts flash behind his eyes. “You know I wouldn't push you, brother. But when I see you so unhappy I can't help but want to change that. And you do seem to be holding on to something that hurts you. Why do that, when we're right here to help? When you can release that burden to Jesus through us?”

I steal a glance at Charles. Is he in pain? He's been awfully quiet since last night, it's true. And he hasn't said a word to me about my little exchange in the laundry room this afternoon. Hey, maybe that's it; he's holding back from saying anything so he won't tempt me to—

“It's tonight.” Charles's voice is sharp, like he was trying to keep it inside but it got out through some tiny crack, and coming out through that narrow space makes it pointed. “It's Leland. He's going to read his Public Apology tonight.” He looks like there's more to say, but he clamps down on the words, gets them safely back inside again. He pushes the overcooked green beans around on his plate without eating anything.

“Charles.” John waits. Charles takes some time before he finally looks up. John says, “Let it go, brother. Stop playing tug-of-war with Jesus. He will take this burden from you, but you must allow it. If it would help, you know we can talk about it. Why don't we see how things go tonight.”

Charles nods and attempts to wipe his eyes surreptitiously, and Rick starts telling this supposedly inspirational story about something that had happened to him “on the outside.” It doesn't have anything to do with anyone else I know, and I can't make much sense out of it, but John keeps laughing like Rick is quite the comic. It would have been intolerably boring except that John's laugh is so nice to listen to.

As for me, I'm still focused on what Charles said about Leland: he's going to read his Public Apology tonight. What did Leland have to apologize for? It was Ray who'd killed himself. Am I right about them being lovers, and are people trying to lay this on Leland? I'm getting angry already. And even though I realize I'm not doing a very good job at not taking this stuff seriously, it's hard not to get angry.

During Fellowship, after dinner, I manage to move away from Charles pretty early on. I edge around the room, sticking close to the walls, watching, and catching snatches of conversation. It's about like last night, really: kids talking loudly about their epiphanies and chastened hearts.

I see Monica Moon huddled in a corner. She looks at least as glum as ever. Maybe it will cheer us both up, or at least give us someone to be glum with together, if I go over there. I nod at her. She looks at me with something that's almost a glare, and as soon as I lean against the wall a couple of feet from her, she leaves.

I stare after her, not quite sure what to make of that.

“What are you doing all alone here in the corner, Taylor?”

It's Marie Downs, smiling for all she's worth, looking like she expects an answer. I point to my yellow sticker. She laughs.

“Oh yes. I know. Monica's not very friendly, is she?” Marie's eyes look toward where Monica disappeared into the crowd.

What's she getting at? She knows I can't answer, so I don't.

“I heard you yelled at Nate Devlin in the laundry room today.”

Christ! Is there anyone who hasn't heard about that? Then I think, Devlin? His last name is Devlin? It has a Satanic note to it.

“Were you sticking up for Sheldon?”

I just blink at her. Sheldon had nothing to do with it. It was between me and Nate.

“You don't want to answer? You can just nod, you know.”

I almost nod, to say I do know that, but I don't want her to think I'm answering her other question. I retreat into SafeZone. I point at my sticker, turn, and walk away from her. As far as I'm concerned, what she's doing is trying to tempt me to speak. I'm thinking about this, walking along the wall again, when I remember what she said yesterday. That she'd been trying to—how had she put it?—reach out to Leland. And Charles had basically told her to leave him alone. She'd done something, something that Leland might not think was for his own good, if I remember Charles's words right. Well, she's not doing anything to me. I won't give her a chance.

I catch sight of Monica again. Not in a corner this time; she's with Dawn, shadowing her like a dancer. Then suddenly everyone starts to disperse, just like yesterday. Man, this place is creepy.

I find my own way to Isaiah for our group, not waiting for Charles, and I take a seat near the back this time. No more front-and-center for me, thank you. And Charles, bless him (sarcasm alert), appears beside me. Perhaps he wants to hide tonight, too, given how scared he seems to be about Leland's True Confession, or whatever it's supposed to be.

“Up,” Charles says to me. “Stand up, remember?”

Oh yeah. So we go through the same ritual as last night, waiting for the girls and Mrs. Harnett to sit first, hearing Mrs. Harnett pray again just as sincerely, just as practiced, and just as spontaneous as before. Same message: we're all sinners for our own reasons, and my love for Will is wrong. She doesn't move me as much tonight, even before the bit about Inappropriate Love.

She smiles at everyone again, even me. And then she bows her head for just a moment. No one else does, so I don't either. Then she looks around the room.

“We have a very important mission this evening. We have a brother in trouble, and we must help him. He's had some time to consider his relationship with God, to understand his trouble, and to prepare his confession. Open your Bibles, please, to James, chapter five, verse thirteen.”

Most everyone in this little group knows the Bible so well that they don't need to be reminded where in the New Testament the book of James can be found. I know where a lot of the books are, but James is tiny, and I can't remember anything from it. So I watch Charles, who of course knows the exact page number it's on in his Bible, and I'm able to figure out that it's right after Hebrews.

I expect Harnett to ask someone to read, like she did last night, but she reads the verses herself. The Prayer of Faith. It talks about people who are in trouble or sick or have sinned, and how we must all turn to each other for help. How we must confess our sins to each other and pray for each other to be healed. How these are the prayers of the righteous and are powerful.

She closes her Bible. Then she says, “Brother Leland, please come to the front.”

Nothing happens, except that everyone looks toward where Leland is rocking back and forth in his chair. Slowly, Harnett walks over to him and holds her hand out. When he doesn't take it, she puts it on his shoulder. He curls forward a little and then stands, wobbly but on his feet, paper clutched in one hand. Harnett walks him to the front, one hand on his shoulder and one on his elbow. She strips the yellow sticker off his shirt and then sits in an empty chair where she can watch.

Leland, who would be tall except that he's hunched over and miserable, doesn't look up. He does manage to raise the paper so he can read, clutching each side, and it rattles with the shaking of his hands. He's thin, so the shaking makes it look like he's cold, but I can tell it's fear. He stands there, eyes tight shut for a moment, and then he starts to read. His voice shakes, but you can tell he's doing his best. He reads slowly, each word hanging in the air as he releases it, like each one takes a special effort.

“I have sinned. I allowed myself to feel Inappropriate Love for a brother, and I encouraged him to feel it for me. We were discovered, and we were reported. He is gone now”—and his face crumples a little here before he forces himself to go on—“to be judged by God. To you, my brothers and sisters, I make my confession. I beg forgiveness.”

He lowers his arms slowly and looks for all the world like he's about to follow Ray into the Great Beyond. I scour every inch of him that he presents—anguished face, clenched hands, trembling legs—for a sign that he doesn't really believe what he's just said. That's not sinning! I want to shout at him. That's not evil! Jaw clenched, hands in viselike grip on the seat of my chair, I manage somehow not to say anything, not to jump up and run to Leland, not to condemn everyone here for making him feel like it was his fault that Ray is gone. But the silence is killing me.

This silence is shattered by the voice of sister Marie, who's on her feet, quoting scripture at the top of her voice: “First Corinthians, chapter six, verse nine: ‘Or don't you know that the unrighteous will not inherit the Kingdom of God? Don't be deceived. Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor male prostitutes, nor homosexuals, nor thieves, nor the covetous, nor drunkards, nor slanderers, nor extortioners, will inherit the Kingdom of God.'” She points not just her finger but her whole arm at Leland, who stands cowering. She must have memorized that just so she could do this tonight! Everything in me wants to lunge at her, knock her over, and trample on her. And I actually start to get up, but Charles grabs my upper arm with both his hands and holds on.

Then another voice chimes in; Brother Nate stands. “Sister,” he says, looking at Leland, “the chapter continues: ‘Such were some of you, but you were washed. But you were sanctified. But you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and in the Spirit of our God.'” When he's done he turns toward Marie. Turns
on
Marie, would be closer to it, like he's preaching to her, condemning her. It's eerily like last night; there'd been a textual confrontation between these two then as well, and Nate had come to Charles's rescue. Tonight, it's to Leland's.

Before anything else can happen, Mrs. Harnett rises and goes to where Leland stands quivering. She touches his shoulder. “You may return to your chair, child.”

She nods first at Marie and then at Nate, and they sit down again. She spreads her arms to the room as if to embrace us all.