I finally stand.
When I look down, the knees of my new jeans are filthy.
I wipe them with my hands, over and over again, but the dirt will not come off.
Ron
“I can’t wait to try this coffee place,” Trudy says. “I’m a McDonald’s iced latte girl myself.”
I have lied to Trudy.Sorry, God.But I know in my soul she is lying to me.
In fact, I can feel my entire family is hiding something.
Wearegoing to get coffee, but after I take Trudy to church.
My heart pounds in my chest as I drive.
Why did I take Trudy in? Maybe Teddy is right. Maybe I’m trying to rewrite my tragic family history with a happy ending. I know this unwavering belief in the good in people will either be my saving grace or my road to hell.
I glance over at Trudy admiring our city like the first-time tourist she is. Palm Springs isn’t just beautiful, it’s breathtaking. The mountains aren’t just magical, they’re mystical. They change us. I only hope their light and shadows can change my passenger as well.
I look down at my lime-green pants. Teddy always asks me if he can squeeze me into his gin and tonic when I wear them.
Or, is taking Trudy in my way of taking revenge on Teddy and the boys for not appreciating my efforts enough?
“The Center?” Trudy reads the name of the building as I enter the parking lot. “Is this the name of the coffee house?”
“Sort of,” I say. “They have coffee. It’s just bad. We’ll get the good stuff after.”
Trudy tugs herself out of my convertible and stops cold in the parking lot when she sees a rainbow flag and a sign that proclaims,LGBTQ Community Center of the Desert.
“Ron?” she asks, not moving.
I walk over to Trudy.
“You wanted to go to church,” I explain. “Besides Church of Mary, this is where I go to find meaning in this world. It’s where I go to do some good.”
She shakes her head.
“Please, Trudy. You’re in Palm Springs. You came to see your brother. Maybe it’s time youreallysaw him. And all of us.”
I tug her arm, and she takes a reluctant step and then another until we’re in the lobby.
“Morning, Ron!” employees, volunteers and visitors call as we head down a long hallway to a meeting room in the back of the building.
“What is this?” Trudy asks, stopping at the door.
“The Center provides a safe and welcoming environment for our vibrant LGBTQ+ community,” I explain. “I volunteer here. I am a sponsor for those who are struggling. I also provide free design services for the Center and those who receive housing. And on Wednesday mornings, I attend a meeting for victims of abuse—be it sexual, verbal or physical—by their families, spouses, lovers, coworkers or society. It’s where we can talk about our experiences. Many of us, including me, have been victimized by abuse at the hands of not only those we love but also by religion, Trudy.”
“No,” she says. “I won’t let you defile my God by subjecting me to this nonsense.”
“Your brother and I nearly took our own lives,” I say, my hand on her arm. “I think you need to understand what a lifetime of systematic abuse does to us.Allof us. I think it wouldhelp you appreciate your brother better. Just give it ten minutes. You can leave at any time, deal?”
Trudy moves slowly into the room. I pour us two cups of coffee, and we take seats in the back.
We listen to story after story, each gut-punching, heart-wrenching and agonizing, from beautiful souls who have been tortured for simply being beautiful souls. When it ends, we pray, the crowd disperses. Trudy and I remain seated.
“I didn’t know that gay men had faith,” Trudy finally says.
