Page 141 of The Prodigal Son

“We love you, Theo!” a female voice screams from the pit nearby. I smile into the mic as she’s joined by a cacophony of voices shouting variations of the same thing.

When they quiet again, I lean forward and let it all out.

“The truth is…that I’m gay.”

It’s like walking off a cliff. One step and I’m off the edge. There is no going back. No unspeaking the words that just came out. There is just the fall.

The fall feels like a beat of silence.

And then…thunderous sound.

I open my eyes, chills breaking out over my skin as the twenty thousand people around me cheer and scream and clap. I squint against the bright lights, trying to see them, but I can’t.

I can just feel them. Men, women, everyone.

In my periphery, Lola and the band are jumping up and down in celebration.

My hands stop playing, and I just sit with the sound. My eyes are red and moist as I let it all sink in. Clinging to the mic stand, I smile out at the crowd.

I’ve never felt more vulnerable in my life. But I’ve also never felt more brave.

For a moment, I can’t believe I did this.

Tearfully, I mumble, “Thank you,” and they cheer more.

I turn and stare at Lola, who is still bouncing with excitement in the wings. If people are angry or disappointed or are marching out of the stadium right now, I can’t see them. They can feel whatever they want to feel, but they can’t hurt me. Because right now, I’m on top of the world.

I realize at some point that I have to quiet them down, or we could go far too late like this. Leaning into the mic with a bashful grin, I mumble, “Wow. That was…incredible. Y’all are incredible.”

“We love you!” they scream, and I wink at one of the fans down in the pit. “I love you, too.”

I chuckle into the mic and they cheer some more. “So…now that we’ve gotten that out of the way…”

They laugh and I eat it up. “Y’all ready to hear this song?”

More applause.

Then I do what I do every night. As I start to strum the guitar to the familiar tune of his song, I whisper into the mic, “This is for you. You know who you are.”

The crowd gets a little extra kick out of that. As I start to sing, I realize that with all of these cameras pointed at me he could be somewhere watching. I hope he is.

And I hope he’s proud of me.

Forty-Two

Jensen

Ireplay the video of Isaac on the stage over and over in my mind. I don’t have access to my phone while I’m here, so my dad showed it to me on one of his visits two weeks ago. I’ve asked to watch it again and again on each visit since.

I’ve never seen anything so brave in my life. He must have been terrified, but if I know Isaac, then I know he put a lot of thought into that. And it was the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

Sitting on the grass, I stare out at the setting sun over the hills in the distance. Tomorrow is my last day at Pathways. Eight and a half weeks have felt like a lifetime. But at the same time, I worry that it isn’t enough.

I had the option to extend. I could have stayed longer, and I’ve been mulling it over a lot. Will I ever feel ready? There are moments where I don’t feel healed at all, and then there are moments where I feel like a different man than the one who came in here. I’ve cried, sobbed, really. I’ve confessed andmended and cut people out. I’ve written letters and even burned a few.

At this moment, in my heart, I feel confident that I will never do what I did again.

But what happens when things go wrong, or I’m triggered by the past? What if I’m not as healed as I thought? Are my convictions enough to get me through?

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