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I’d made a vow to myself twenty years before that I’d never set foot in another church. Particularly not an evangelical church. Specifically, not West Clark Apostolic Church. There was so much water under that bridge I knew it would take only a single drop to sweep me under and drown me. That’s why, as I stood on the steps of a building that I had no desire to enter, andLord I Lift Your Name On Highreverberated in the room ahead, I froze. Everything in me screamed to run. To get back in my Uber before it drove off. To go back into the safety and security of my boyfriend’s apartment. To do anything other than open those white doors with golden handles.
As I walked through the door, music poured out of the chapel. It remained as it always had. Two rows of pews, divided in the center by red carpet. A platform at the front. There was an altar, a piano, a set of drums, three large speaker boxes with guitars attached to each, and two chairs that looked like thrones in the center of the stage. Thrones befitting royalty. Thrones that once belonged to my mother and father before I tarnished their legacy. Now they were occupied by Trevor Collins and his wife Sasha, who I was sure had been purchased as part of a well-hidden mail-order bride operation. She was far too beautiful to fall for a man like Trevor. A man whose entire being radiated filth and rage.
Trevor’s eyes were the first that found me as I made my way in. He stared at me like a predator stalking his prey, watching every move that I made. I walked forward, clinging to the walls like a shifting shadow. Making my way around the church, behind the pews, I searched for Gray. It didn’t take long to spot him. He was sitting three rows from the front, wedged between Elmyra and Dottie. Esther was two rows ahead of them, not a soul at her side.
I thought about making my way toward Gray, but he was so far in the center that it would have meant possible pandemonium. A chance for everyone to stop and gawk at the prodigal faggot as he made his grand return. A comeback tour, without any of the glitz and glamor.
Sitting in the back pew at the very end, I watched Trevor. His eyes burned holes through me from the stage. The man sitting next to me was none other than Barry Bronson, owner of Bronson’s Bakery, and maker of the best white chocolate macadamia nut cookies, minus the nuts, this side of the Mason-Dixon line. He smiled at me, nodding his head politely. I returned the gesture, complimenting him on his fabulous sweater vest and bowtie combination.
Once the song was done, Trevor stood and made his way to the center, grabbing the microphone from its stand. “After listening to some of the kids at last week’s revival, I planned on doing a sermon on blasphemy. Fortunately, it seems the Lord has chosen to deliver the kids some divine intervention. The blasphemy talk’s gonna have to hold off until next week.” He took the microphone out of its stand and walked around the pulpit. “I know we’ve all seen the little fancy man around town these last few months. I’ve had a few of you come to me asking how y’all ought to handle it. Asking what you ought to do if he comes up to talk to you.‘Ice him out,’I told you.‘Let him see that his kind ain’t welcome in West Clark.’But that don’t seem to be doing the trick, does it? Maybe it’s time we make our voices heard. He’s doing what his kind does. Creeping in. Slithering into our town like a snake, just waiting for the chance to strike. Now, I know what you’re thinkin’.‘But Pastor Collins,’” he sing-songed in a high-pitched, effeminate voice. “‘He’s just one man.’That’s how it starts. First, it’s the queers. Next thing you know, we’ve got gay books in the library down at West Clark Elementary. Bathrooms that anyone can use. It’ll be open season on our kids. That woke crap ain’t got no place in West Clark. We’ve gotten by fine without it for hundreds of years, and I ain’t having it. I say we cast him out.”
Barry Bronson shouted “Amen” beside me.
I turned and scowled at him. “Oh, for the love of—he means me, Mr. Bronson.”
His mouth hung open. “Well, Kent. You’re just about the sweetest kid I know. You’re not out to hurt no one.”
“I know,” I said, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. “Color me confused, too, Barry.”
Trevor continued his rant as I focused on my breathing. “Maybe they’re a little more partial to deviancy up there in Atlanta. Maybe they done forgot about God’s law.” A smirk crawled up his face, starting with his lips, before creeping up through the creases of his nostrils and settling in his eyes. “But here in West Clark, we know our Bible.” He turned toward a man on the aisle to the left. “Sheriff Gold, you still know the Bible?”
“Amen!” the man responded.
Trevor nodded slowly and crossed his arms against his chest. “Bible says the government’s ordained by the almighty to render swift justice.” He walked around the pulpit. His forehead was red, like a freshly boiled lobster. He shrugged his shoulders and let out an obnoxiously fake laugh. “God’s law is clear. How come he’s still runnin’ around a free man?”
Gray tried to stand up, but Dottie held him in place. She looked at him, shaking her head.
“Bible says we got the power to round the freaks up and put them on trial.” He turned, as if staring at me, and asked, “Judge Winters, you know your Bible?”
An older man, perhaps in his seventies, raised his hand in praise. “Amen!”
“Penalty for homosexuality is death, but he’s still breathing. You’re up for reelection next year, ain’t you? Not sure why we’d vote in someone that don’t follow God’s law.”
“Separation of church and state, you pompous prick,” I muttered.
If this was meant to be some strange intimidation method, it, much like Trevor’s antiperspirant, was failing him. Nothing about his words incited any level of fear in me. His tiresome little spiel was nothing I hadn’t heard before. My father had stood up there for eighteen years of my life preaching the same message.
“So, the way I see it, we got ourselves a predicament. We got this faggot in town, and he’s sinking his claws into one of our own. One of my own.” Trevor stared down at Gray. “Tell me, Gray. How long did it take him to lure you back into bed?”
The congregation went silent.
My nails dug into my thighs. I would put up with Trevor’s vile homophobia when it was directed at me, but I drew the line at him outing Gray in the middle of service.
I flew up from the pew like it was coated in hot tar. Then there was movement ahead of me. Dottie Pruitt stood up from her seat and made her way to the aisle. Elmyra Foote raised a fist to the sky, ready to unleash holy Hell. Bernice Holden barreled out of the center seat in the pew like a human bulldozer. Myrna Thorpe and the man next to her spoke heatedly, their eyes darting back and forth at Trevor.
Murmurs spread throughout the congregation, and Trevor took it as validation for his unrequested, cringeworthy monologue. “That’s right. Amen! We ain’t gonna let his filth spread through this city anymore.”
Gray Collins shot out of the aisle and made his way toward the stage, his Bible in his hand. He held it at his side, his fingers pressing tightly into the cover. When he reached the stage, he stood defiantly in front of his brother. “That’s enough, Trevor. I’m not gonna let you stand up there preaching hate in God’s name.”
“I’m preaching the Word. If that bothers you, maybe we need to take a little trip, just you and me, and get you right with God again.”
“I’ve never been wrong with God. I’ve just been wrong about you. This whole town has been, but that ends today,” Gray said. “You’re a bully, and you’ve always been one. What you did that night—what you put him through, what you put me through—you don’t deserve to be forgiven for that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trevor said, taking a step back.
I made my way out of the pew, stepping over the legs and laps of those sitting in my way. Once out of the confines of the pews, I headed toward Gray. His voice was loud enough that everyone in the chapel could hear.
