Page 2 of Unbound
I lowered my sign and approached Father, who stood at the front of our group, his powerful voice leading the chants.
"Father, I need to be excused briefly." I spoke near his ear to be heard above the noise.
He paused, his expression questioning.
"A physical necessity," I explained, feeling heat rise in my face.
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He nodded once, then handed me a different sign from the stack behind him. "Be swift, and take this sign with you. Spread the message wherever you go."
I glanced down at the sign he'd given me. "LOVE THE SINNER, HATE THE SIN" - the gentler message I preferred. Whether this was Father's attempt at kindness or a test of my resolve, I couldn't tell.
I accepted the sign and walked away from our group, acutely aware of Rebecca's eyes following me. The pressure inmy bladder intensified with each step. I needed to find a solution immediately.
The gas station was six blocks east. Too far. The university buildings were closed at this hour.
I halted, staring at The Harbour's entrance. Rainbow lights framed its door, a garishly coloured beacon. Two bouncers stood outside, sharing a cigarette, their laughter carrying across the street. They cast occasional glances toward our protest, their expressions dismissive.
This was a test. It had to be. God testing my resolve, my dedication to avoiding even the appearance of evil.
My bladder spasmed again, more painfully this time. Sweat broke out across my forehead despite the autumn chill.
God was merciful, wasn't He? God understood physical necessity. Surely entering this establishment purely for its facilities, without participating in its activities, wouldn't constitute endorsement. I'd be in and out in moments. No one would even notice me.
I told myself it was desperation that drove me across the street. I told myself a lot of things as my feet carried me toward the rainbow-lit doorway.
The men at the entrance fell silent as I approached, their conversation halting mid-sentence. I kept my eyes fixed on a point just past their shoulders. I didn't want to see judgment or mockery in their eyes.
"Bathroom emergency?" one of them asked, his tone surprisingly sympathetic rather than derisive.
I gave a curt nod, still not meeting his gaze.
"Through the main room, left hallway, end of the corridor," he said.
"Thank you," I replied stiffly, then immediately regretted acknowledginghim at all.
I pushed open the heavy door and stepped into another world.
The sensory assault was immediate and overwhelming. Music crashed against me, so loud I felt it in my chest. The air was thick with artificial fog, pierced by strobing lights that transformed moving bodies into fragmented shapes. The scent was a bewildering mixture of cologne, sweat, and alcohol.
I froze just inside the entrance, my eyes struggling to adjust to the chaos. Men danced with men. Women held women. Bodies pressed against bodies in ways that made me want to avert my eyes but somehow couldn't.
This was Sodom. This was what we warned against. So why couldn't I look away?
No one seemed to notice me standing there, rigid with shock and discomfort. The crowd was absorbed in their revelry, moving as one pulsing organism to the music's command. I spotted the sign for restrooms down the left corridor, just as the bouncer had indicated.
I moved forward, keeping my back straight and my gaze focused on that distant sign. My steps were mechanical, my body navigating without conscious direction. Each beat of the music seemed to match the throbbing of my bladder.
A hand brushed against mine in the crowded space. I jerked away as if burned, my heart suddenly racing.
"Sorry, man," someone shouted over the music.
I didn't respond, didn't look. Just kept moving, ignoring the strange flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with my need for a bathroom.
The hallway offered marginal respite from the sensory onslaught. The music was slightly muted here, though still loud enough to feel in my bones. Posters lined the walls—advertisements for events with names like "Pride Night" and "Drag Extravaganza." I tried not to look at the images of menin various states of undress, but my eyes betrayed me with quick, furtive glances.
I finally reached the restroom and pushed through the door, relief washing over me as I stumbled inside. Thankfully, it was empty. I hurried to a urinal, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead at the wall as I relieved myself. My entire body relaxed as the painful pressure finally abated. I couldn't help the small sigh that escaped me.
"Thank you, Lord, for this small mercy," I whispered, then immediately felt foolish for thanking God for a urinal in a gay bar.
