Page 63 of The Prodigal Son

“Spending it with you,” I reply.

“Good,” he replies sleepily. Then, adds, “How would you feel about meeting my brother and his girlfriend? I told them I’d have dinner with them Friday, and I asked if I could bring you.”

My body tenses, but I try not to let it show. “As your boyfriend?”

He picks up his head and stares at me with innocence. “They won’t tell anyone. They’re safe. They obviously know about me.”

Immediately, I’m filled with discomfort. Inside, warning signs are going off, and cruel, old mantras fill my mind, but I push them away.

I want to tell Isaac that I can’t be anyone’s boyfriend, at least not in public. But everything is a contradiction, and I know it. I can’t have Isaac, but I want him. I shouldn’t think about a future with him, but I do. I’m not supposed to be gay, but I am.

“You don’t have to,” he says with a sense of worry in his tone. “I can tell you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” I reply, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just…hard for me.”

“I understand. It’s hard for me too.”

Tell him. Tell him everything. Tell him about Eternal Harmony.

But what good would that do? Make him think I’m broken? Make him pity me or worry that I’ll suddenly bolt from his life because of some stupid brainwashing I went through as a kid? That’s my trauma, not his.

“Let me think about it, okay?” I say, trying to ease his nerves.

“Okay,” he replies.

When he rests his head back on my arm and stares into my eyes, I consider telling him again. He’d be sympathetic. I know he would, but it’s all so complicated. Even to me, it’s complicated. My feelings for that program, the pastor, and the people in it are still a blur. It’s not black and white.

I’m angry and resentful, but there are good memories there too. Enough to make me less angry.

Like I said, complicated.

When I wake up, the windows are still dark, but the bed next to me is empty. I get up and go in search of Isaac.

Padding silently through his house, I follow the sound of a soft melody and find him on the couch, strumming quietly on his guitar.

“What are you doing?” I ask as I run my fingers through his hair. He looks up from the acoustic guitar on his lap to smile sleepily at me.

“Did I wake you? I couldn’t sleep and I had a song in my head.”

There’s a pad of paper on the table in front of him with scribbled notes and lyrics.

“Not at all,” I whisper. “Can I hear it?”

Looking almost bashful, he replies, “Sure.”

I recline on the couch next to him, my feet touching his thigh and my head on the pillow as he starts to strum.

“It’s messy, so don’t judge,” he says.

“I would never judge you.”

In the dark living room, my eyes slowly adjust to the sight of him playing. It’s a gentle melody that somehow just sounds like him.

When he starts singing, it’s just above a whisper. Delicate lyrics over a sweet melody. And the longer I listen, the more I realize something that takes my breath away…

Out of the crowd and into my life

Turning the noise into silence

---