A man stood in the gloom, lips twisted in disgust. A deacon from the church.
Mike’s heart dropped to his stomach. No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening, Keith said they were safe!
Keith pulled his hand out of Mike’s jeans and stepped away, eyes wide.
He turned and fled, feet crunching through leaves.
Leaving Mike to face fate alone.
3
Mike stood in his stepfather’s office, where he’d been many times. The evidence of his shame stained his pants. What would happen? He’d sinned. Worse, in the preacher’s eyes, he’d sinned with a man.
Abomination, he’d heard often enough.
“Who was the boy?” Reverend Rose asked, voice eerily calm. He’d only been Mike’s stepfather for five years, yet he walked a line between father figure and authoritarian dictator. Mike hadn’t been raised to be in church every time the doors opened. He’d gone some, believed in God, prayed, sang in the choir, but not to the fervent extent expected of him now.
When they’d sold the farm and moved halfway across the state, any hope Mike had of freedom remained with the house he’d grown up in.
Mike stayed quiet. Keith deserted him, but he wouldn’t throw the guy under the bus. Keith’s family likely wouldn’t care. They pretty much let him and his brothers do whatever they pleased.
“You will tell me.” No raised voice, which made things even worse. If the man screamed or yelled, Mike would be justified in rebelling. Now, his insides roiled. He’d been caught doing something this man railed against in sermons, saying homosexuals were bound for Hell.
Mike among them.
The reverend changed tactics. “Why? Did he force you? Coerce you?”
Mike found his voice. He’d accept responsibility for his actions. “No, sir. He didn’t force me.”
“Why did you do such a sinful thing?”
Mike forced his gaze upward to meet his inquisitor’s eyes. Too many months of hiding, fearful of being found out, came to a head. He shouldn’t have to hide who he was any more than anyone else in their church. “I’m attracted to guys.”
The color drained from his stepfather’s face. “You can’t be. You’re misguided. You’ve been led astray.”
“No, I haven’t. This is who I am. Who I’ve always been. Who I’ve known I was since I was twelve.” Twelve, when he’d developed a fascination for a neighbor’s son.
The quiet grew thick, interrupted only by thetick, tick, tickof the grandfather clock in the corner and the occasional thump from overhead—his brothers bounding around their rooms. “Go to your room and stay there. You’ll not mention your perversion to your mother, your brothers, or anyone. Do you understand me?”
It’s not a perversion!“Yes, sir.” Mike nearly ran from the room.
He lay awake expecting his mother or stepfather to come. They didn’t. They couldn’t let this go.
Hearing voices, he crept back to the study.
“It’s for the best,” his stepfather said. “They can deprogram him. Save him. They’ve done wonders with the young men under their care.”
“But gay conversion therapy?” His mother’s voice wavered. Had she been crying? “I’ve read they can be cruel, abusive.”
“Sara, you know I care for your sons like my own. I’d never send him somewhere they’d deliberately hurt him. But he needs help, and they can help him.”
Conversion therapy? Where were they talking about?
His mother’s sobs tore at Mike’s heart. He nearly darted down the stairs, willing to deny everything to stop her tears. “He’s so young! He’s still a teenager. What if… What if it’s a phase he’ll outgrow? You know how kids today like to experiment. They see so much on TV…”
Not Mike. He wasn’t allowed to watch TV. Or go to movies. Or surf the Internet.
“It’s for the best, you’ll see.”
