Journey Through the Dark - 2003-07-19 Edition

Dear Jack,

I can only think of a few times in which I felt I was actually satisfied with who I was. I felt the majority of my life I have felt inadequate to not only everyone else's expectations, but to my own, and especially God's.

My early life consisted of me playing with my stuffed animals and Zach, my Doberman. When I was first brought home, I’m told that Zach sniffed my buggy. My mom took him by the snout and said, “This is your puppy too.” From that point on, I’m told he would watch over me, and would growl if you tried to take me away from him.

Regardless, I used to play in his pen with him and pretended I was his puppy. I also used to play Winnie-the-pooh in my yard with my stuffed animals. I know I also took my matchbox cars and would make roads in the grass for which to drive them and run over black ants.

I am told that when I was very little, I invited myself to my neighbor's sandbox. I don't remember this, so if I was too young to remember, then that means my brothers were babysitting me, and were neglecting my whereabouts. Regardless, I met Daniel G. He lived next store to me and we played "fort" together. Occasionally his sister Elizabeth would join in. I remember we used to have all kinds of fun. Winnie-the-Pooh was his favorite story book too.

I lived on 6145 Jefferson Road. I used to sing a little jingle to the address. I went to McKinley Elementary School of Ashtabula Ohio. I do not remember my teacher’s name, but I went to school in the morning and Daniel went in the afternoon. I remember walking a girl named Jamie home and getting in trouble because I crossed a big street by myself.

I remember that when we moved to Georgia, I really missed him. Upon leaving the house for the last time, he and I said, "See you later, Alligator." "After 'while, Crocodile" over and over again as we cried. This was mid-kindergarten.

In Georgia I recall going to class and being the only one able to read. I liked to build with the blocks. Naptime was the worst time because I never wanted to sleep. In the first grade I met Adriana D. She was tall and had brown hair with a ponytail. Adriana lived in a mansion. I recall one time when I brought her and her father to my house. I wasn't ashamed of our poverty--it didn’t cross my mind yet. The next year she went away to a private school, and I never saw her again.

In the trailer park where I lived, there was a girl who lived across the street, Jennifer Rene Lynn Jones. Jennifer was mildly retarded and mixed up her Ws and Rs. We would pretend to be fairies and collected pine cones, sticks, nuts, etc. for food and potions.

In first grade, Zach died, but we had a puppy, Caesar--he was a Great Dane. Sometime between first and second grade, I changed. I became aware that I was poor, and few around me were. I recall going to a Baptist church with Jennifer (Belmont Baptist... it would pick us up in a bus). I remember telling the minister there, that I had plans of being a priest... an Episcopal one. I have no idea why I said this, other than I felt I would be a minister. I always loved church. I loved asking questions and getting answers too.

Sometime during second grade, I began to gain weight. and with that, a dislike for myself. Now I was apart of a soccer team then--club soccer--on scholarship. Few have been told, but I was actually good at it. I don't know why I keep this knowledge clandestine, but I do. Every summer I would go to Ohio. This summer I was visiting Daniel and another neighborhood friend, Sean. I began preaching on Sean's porch to the kids in the neighborhood about the end times. (I had a fascination with them). I told them about the beast and all the things that I had learned in the SBC. My emphasis was on how we need to know Jesus. Being in 3rd grade, I am sure I was off with much I said. Sean's mother did not appreciate my preaching, and yelled at me, telling me it is inappropriate and wrong to do. Her family was Jewish--non practicing.

In the fourth grade, I made the acquaintance of Kevin Osborne. He lived in the trailer park near Jennifer and I. I recall he was taller than me, slender, and had bucked teeth. His nose bled often, and he never clipped his finger nails. We had many similar interests... especially Boy Scouts.

Kevin's father used to abuse him physically. For a few years (4th and 5th grade) Kevin lived with us as my brother. I recall loving the fact of a brother my own age (since all my brothers are 12+ years older than me). He was someone I could relate to. Occasionally I would be jealous of his attention.

My mother got throat cancer that year from smoking (it began in the summer with an ear ache). By December, she had had a surgery which removed her vocal cords and put a puncture in her throat. That same year, Kevin and Jennifer both moved away. I have never seen or heard from either since.

I recall feeling very down and depressed. I still played with my toy cars in the yard, and Ceasar was getting bigger. I must say, that I never feared the death of Mom. I knew she would be fine. I felt that God had told me so. Indeed it wasn't her time. Needless to say, I have never smoked because of it.

About this time, the local Episcopal priest, Charles Davis, noticed my mother's name on his list as the chaplain of the hospital. He came by to see us, my mom being raised Episcopalian, and we began to attend St. Simon's Episcopal Church.

6th grade sent me to Edwards Middle School. Our trailer park was the only part of my elementary school which was sent there. I had at this point dropped soccer for Boy Scouts. I was still getting fat, yet my greatest anxiety came from me being from a poor family in a trailer park.

I found it hard to make friends. The kids at EMS were ruthless. I was the target of many jokes. I learned a term that year---fagot. I was called one, but had no idea what it was for a while. I thought it had to do with being poor, or from being a Yankee.

In school, my terror was a boy named John Garber. He would go out of his way to terrorize me for my weight and poverty. I recall always being picked on or beat up. I hid most of this from my family, and I don't think they even know. Now I never did let it get me down, as I knew I had Jesus as a friend. And he at least loved me.

In 7th grade, my mother got cancer again. This time it was on her face from working with fiberglass in a factory when she was younger. My teacher was Mrs. Robbins. She was wonderful. I had a strong interest in the Church, and was confirmed. I also had an interest in Hebrew and Latin, along with Star Trek, which I happened upon one night.

In Boy Scouts, I became the Chaplain's Aide, and was in charge of devotionals. I knew very little about appropriateness of these things, and celebrated communion with sliced bread and grape juice. I did this until I happened upon the fact that only ordained people are supposed to do this. I felt very guilty about it. I never knew why my leaders never told me.

About this time I noticed, secretly, a difference in who I was compared to how others expressed themselves. While other boys started expressing interests in girls, I did not share it. I, by this point, knew what a "fagot" was and deep down knew that I was closer to them, than to the boys I schooled with. Being previously Baptist, I knew what the Bible literally said about being gay. Thus the greatest fear entered my head--God must not love me. I re-read much of what the Bible said and saw that being gay was an abomination... and in one instance punishable by death. This played hard on me. I had few friends as it was, being gay wouldn't help that, plus Jesus now didn't love me. Thus I began to fear being alone. Not having anyone at all.

I grew to hate myself---poor, fat, unpopular, religious (which meant I was weird to most people), and now feeling an attraction to men.

Logically, I told no one. I didn't even want to admit it to myself. My self loathing grew worse over time. Then over the summer of my 7th year, things improved, as I moved across town. We left the trailer park, and moved into a house (1475 Oak Forest Way). This meant a new school, and a new life--free from previous terrors, and no John Garber.

At Memorial Middle School, my new school, I wanted to make a new life. I did not entertain any ideas of expressing my gay feelings. I made friends with a girl named Melissa, and another named Joy R. The two were my best friends in 8th grade. By the end of the year, I had gotten to know Joy very well, and thought... maybe... just maybe I could try a relationship. She invited me to her birthday party (which turned into her, me and her mother) at Outback Steakhouse. We saw each other on friendly basis over the summer. The next year, the first of HS (Salem High), I worked up the courage and asked her out... in the usual fashion that most adolescents work "If you like me, check yes.. if not check no"... that old chestnut.

I feared expressing any type of physical "love" to her. Mainly because the idea of being with a woman did nothing for me, and also because I had no earthly idea how to act. Eventually after a month, we held hands. Then I came to a point where I tried to kiss her. Unfortunately she had a reaction to this.

Within a week of me kissing her, she seemed to act depressed, and I learned of a depression she was suffering from her childhood, and how it was manifesting in confusion at the time. Of course I thought it was because of me. Our romantic relationship... if it was so called, ended there. We remained good friends for the next part of the school experience.

I decided the best thing to do would be to live a celibate life as a minister, and avoid having to deal with sex or attractions all together. This dumbfounded many a high school boy who would often pick on me, and be confused.

In 10th grade I went to Russia, and that was fun. I will not forget it. I went on scholarship from the school, and met a good friend Dmitry Gitlin with whom I still keep in touch.

In 11th grade, I began to work with the school theatre. Here, I found people who respected me, and didn't think poorly of me. None of them were gay, to my knowledge, and none of them treated me badly...of course none knew how I felt. Eventually they grew to be a family of friends who looked after me in the 12th grade. During that year, I had grown to love choir (which I accidentally joined).

While on a choir trip, I saw a young man get his face blown off less than 10 feet from the car where I was sitting with a few friends. I felt very shaken at seeing this. I shall never forget what terror I felt. One with me suggested that the shooter was a student from school. This did not help things. Especially when later the student had been accused.... and he thought the accusation came from me. I had very little understanding with how to deal with what I saw. This was another low point in my life. The priest, Fr. Lynn Watts, was of no help. I found very little comfort from anyone including Joy. I wanted some type of comfort and only found it in my youth minister Paige Howell and the counseling secretary also named Page. I had to readjust my school schedule to avoid that person. Slowly I began to mentally recover.

Later this year, thankfully, Joy and I also went to Germany. We stayed in Aachen. I lived with the Siemes family. It was one of the best experiences of my life. The chaperon stunk.

My friendship with Joy was still strong, and many thought we were dating, even though we were not. I n 12th grade she had a fit which sent her to a hospital for some time. She nearly dropped out . I did not know how to react. I felt somehow responsible. For in my mind... everything was set off by a simple peck on the cheek that I gave her. I sought solace in the Church and in the theatre I grew to love.

As the end of my senior year drew to a close, I had been in two of the plays, one of which I was the main character, Professor Abraham Van Helsing in Dracula. Over the summer our thespian group was invited to perform as the American representative to the international thespian conference for Amadeus... which I had been on stage crew for. It was wonderful.

I was accepted to Presbyterian College...and thus I did not apply to any other institution. I do not know why. But I felt that PC would be the best place for me. Joy went to Wingate, and I lost contact with the rest of my other friends (for the most part).

At PC I could again start anew. No one even had to know of my poor background. Unfortunately John Garber happened to choose PC too. I prayed and figured God would provide. JG has to this day, not been a problem for me.

PC was paid for by complete scholarship...multiple ones mind you, but paid for. I was to be a music major focusing on voice. I still felt my calling to the priesthood. I still felt my attraction to men. I still hid it from everyone, although I did begin to hint it with Joy, who at this point, had just begun being my very best friend. I met Caleb B. and Kevin C. my freshman year. They both lived on my freshman hall. I took the name Chap from a Boy Scout nickname as there were three James on the hall. I presented myself as a rather conservative Episcopalian, to the point of making some liberals angry at me. I still was rather a liberal compared to Freddy R., with whom I would have many a deep conversation about morality with at night.

I grew a disliking for the only openly gay person there... Scott M. I found his flamboyancy disgusting, and I am sure I harbored some hate towards him for being open, when I myself could not be. The Sophomore Year, Caleb and I roomed with each other in the Carol International House. I had begun to get close to Danielle F. too. By April of that year, I had begun to tell Caleb of my feelings. He respected me for them, and told me that he would pray that things work out for me...especially for my mental pain. He became my first real good friend at PC.

I thought I was bitter my sophomore year, and many friends attest to this also. I do not know why. But I was. I was also very active in the choir, and felt very much used by the department. I did a lot of grunt work, with very little recognition. Over the summer of my sophomore year, I worked at Kanuga Conferences, Inc. There, by the end of the summer, I had begun to reconcile myself to my homosexuality. I came to PC not knowing what to expect.

So I came to PC for my Junior Year. My roommate was to be a guy named Gavin from Northern Ireland. I knew nothing of who he was. Rooming with him wasn't too bad until he found out I was gay. He, through deception and complaining, had us change rooms. No sweat off of my back, for I was switched to room with Caleb again. I had made it a point to start meeting people in the freshman class. I met most importantly, a boy named Daniel W. In mid October I learned that he was bisexual and told him how I was gay. We exchanged this information while we drove the van for Scots Blue Line. We started hanging out a lot. Since all who I cared about knew I was gay (other than my parents and family), I didn't see the sense in hiding it, and on All Saint's Day, I came out officially. About Mid October I started to get migraines. I thought little of them, as I had gotten them before. Now they were a little more common.

Throughout November, Daniel and I got to know each other very well. He began to flirt with me, and I with him. I was unsure how to take most of this. I discussed a possible relationship with him, and he would reply, “I’m not ready to come out, but if I do, I would date you for sure.” This meant a lot to me. We would spend many nights just chatting. He occasionally would stay in my dorm room, on the futon of course. I never wanted to make Caleb feel awkward.

The weekend before Thanksgiving, was the Westminster Fellowship retreat. Daniel and I skipped it. Instead he stayed in my room. We stayed up talking about different aspects of our lives. I was feeling stuff that I had never felt before. I was excited that I had someone to share this with. I did not know what to expect between the two of us. I just loved the fact that there was someone I could share how I felt with, unashamedly.

Over Thanksgiving Daniel changed his mind and became "straight". He had spoken with his parents and was told that "Just because you find men attractive... it only means you're gay if you act on it", and since he didn‘t plan on acting on it, he must not be gay right now.

After Christmas break, he came back and was bisexual again. He decided it was pure denial to say otherwise. He became more verbal on his bisexuality to our friends, which didn't help them and their suspicions that something was going on between him and I. Specifically he came out to a group of people on my birthday.

On the 21 of January he and I shared a private moment with each other waiting for it to snow in Clinton. We had stayed up all night waiting for the snow. I had had an argument with Caleb over something and was planning on staying in the loft of CIH. Daniel came to join me. He played his guitar and sang to me. Usually he would sing Bridge Over Troubled Waters. After taking a walk in the snow we came back to the loft. He and I began a phase of our relationship on that night.

We did not want anyone to know, as it seemed that people were already eating up any gossip of the two of us hanging out with each other. Jill Walker and Audra Aliberti with a drunk Caleb Bryant even pulled a prank where they put "Give me and S, Give me an E, Give me an X... what does that spell? What is going on in the room with Daniel and Chap!" This was a moment when he and I became very upset. We had not had sex. We were not touchy-feely in front of people, and we did not feel we were deserving of the comments. That night he and I did share a moment with each other, well after the pranksters had gone to bed. Caleb slept in Jay’s room because he was extremely drunk, and I had locked him out because of that and his participation in the prank.

My migraines continued, as did our relationship. There were times where I missed many days of school because of the headaches, and I sought help from Dr. Saddler. She suggested they were cluster migraines caused by stress. From the advice of professors and Dr. Saddler I started seeing Dr. Stidham, a professor who acted as the psychologist for the school. She helped me begin to put things in line. I found out I had a lot of anxiety about my relationship with Daniel, hiding it, being gay, hiding it, etc. About this time my mother expressed to me that she felt like she might hurt her self... to the point of taking her life. This hit me hard. I knew she was depressed, but not to what extent. I didn't know what to do. In telling Daniel about it, he took my feelings and placed them upon himself. And that wasn't healthy for him... he needed to escape that, and told Dr. Stokes that he and I needed to not room with each other when the Choir toured England during the Spring.

Actually he didn't tell him specifically... it got told to him via an acquaintance known as Mitchell S. Dr. Stokes became weary of the situation and called me into his office to discuss whether or not I should even go on the trip. Stokes said I was under suicide watch and that I might not be permitted to go since it would be a liability for the school. I was pissed. Other comments he said included, “Daniel has expressed that he doesn’t want to room with you, and if he doesn’t, who will? I have heard that he’s even afraid you will come on to him in the night. Oh and there are other roomers still that there might be something going on between the two of you--just so you know the UK is more conservative than the US, and any PDA will not be tolerated.” I was pissed beyond all belief. Why would Daniel be afraid if he and I were dating? Where was this incorrect gossip coming from? Why doesn’t Dr. Stokes believe me?

These comments he made really upset me and I left and went straight to see Dr. Stidham. Dr. Stidham played umpire and set up a meeting where she moderated between Stokes, myself, and one of the Asst. Deans, Mark Shook. It ended up that I was going provided I didn't bother Daniel with my stresses. This meant we were to not room, and I was to not approach him unless asked to by him. Daniel was upset with this, and so was I. He said, I did not need to have permission to come up to him, but he just couldn't handle the stress of me with my mom. I understood that with no problem.

In London we hung out. He even ended up sleeping in my room...which was a shock to my roommates who had no idea what was going on. Dr. Stokes apparently got word and for the next day he made an announcement to the crew... "Do not sleep in rooms that you are not assigned to" and he did not change Daniel and me from rooming with each other afterwards.

Back at PC after the trip, my migraines began to subside as a new medicine took effect. Daniel and I began to prepare for the fact that he and I would not be seeing each other for a long time, as he was not coming back to PC. We had a good few weeks where our relationship was extremely rocky. I became very emotional and unsound. I began to recover as the semester drew to an end. The very last night of us at PC I stayed with him in his room for one last time.

I have not seen him sense. Subsequently he has recently stopped talking to me online. This really hurts, as I do not know why. Danielle F. tried to find out, but he would not tell her his reasoning. I think he is trying to get rid of his feelings of being bisexual, and I was bringing them back each time I spoke to him. I've gotten to a point where I do need to move on. Yet I find it hard. He was the first love of my life. He was the first guy I did sexual things with. He was the first person to show an interest in ME as someone in a relationship. Although I know the relationship was a stress, and I know I put more into it than he did. I cannot regret it. I needed it. I needed it to end the way it did. For now I know what it is like, and I can move on.

For the summer I worked at Kanuga Conferences. I have been able to meet Lord George Carey, the retired Archbishop of Canterbury. That was my highlight of my work. I have plans to keep in contact with him. On the 19th I left for Oxford... and the Journal keeps every thing else up to date.

Sophomore Photo

Apparition

Dear Jack,

An autobiographical short story for your perusing:

I hate rooms with large windows. There is something about the window that seems so open, that I shudder in fear. I’m not afraid of the window so much as the fact that people can see me, but I can’t see them. I could be watched most of the night, and I would not be the wiser. Still, I know if I turn of my light, they cant see me. Why then am I still afraid. Is it because in this low lit room, I can see my reflection trapped in the window looking back at me. No. I fear seeing my reflection in the window, or even a mirror in a poorly lit room, and seeing something else behind me watching from inside. What face is it that I fear? I can barely describe it. It is hallow, bony cheeks, and a well defined nose. Pale as a ghost with eyes hidden behind the veil of shadow. It is an old man I see, with a grin in his face who stares at me from behind me, only visible in the reflection.

I’ve seen him many times. The first time I was at my computer. I was typing away at instant messenger. An acquaintance I had met, JohnBoy316, and I were talking about cults. My eyes were peeled to the screen:

JohnBoy316: yeah there’s this website for Satanists that i went to. it’s really messed up }:>|
Corinth13: What was the site
JohnBoy316: i really got scared reading it it’s evil I tell u Oh it’s http://www.folks.666
Corinth13: Your joking, that’s not a website.
JohnBoy316: then try it
Corinth13: Whatever. I’ll try it.

I clicked on the link. Immediately the sight began to download. Followers of Our Lord King Satan was the title of the page. “Yeah Right” I thought. I proceeded to read the sight further. Amongst the links were pentagrams pointing down and upside down crosses. Freaky. I clicked on a link “What we believe...” “We do not believe in a merciful god. Our god is Satan who rules this earth. Things are bad, because he makes them, and only by following him can good things come. We don’t believe in Jesus and stuff, and we don’t worship Satan, but we follow his ways. They’re simple, fend for yourself pretty much. Hedonistic people are the kind that he likes best.” The page went on, poorly written, and as I read it, I could feel an eerie presence in the room. No sooner had I noticed this presence, then the lights in the room and the computer went dead.

“Holy Shit. I mean.. wow.” I raced up stairs. I hadn’t even read anything that was real bad, and I was freaking out already. The lights were still on upstairs. That was strange. Why’d the lights go off downstairs and not up here. I sat down to watch the TV in my living room. I shut off the lights so no one could see me through the big picture window.

On TLC was Ancient Prophecies. I love to watch that show and make fun of it. According to that sow, the world should have ended like five years ago. And still they continue to make sequels each year saying how the world is going to end.

“Apparitions of the Virgin Mary in Conyers, GA have caused a stir, as they too predict the coming of the end of the world.” I am from Conyers, GA, and of course my ears picked up. In ‘89, a woman claimed she was being visited by the Virgin Mary. She supposedly comes on the 13th of every month, and people flock to the town in bus-loads hoping to see this vision. Now Ancient Prophecies was trying to cash in on the story. I stayed so I could see the story. The story began explaining the history of the apparitions, and how the Church does not condone them as real or false, etc. etc. etc. then it got to the juicy stuff. “Listen to one of the messages given to Ms. Nancy Fowler from the Blessed Mother.” “My loving children, the time is coming when.” CLICK. The TV went dead. What the... I looked for the remote. I couldn’t find it. I reached for the light to turn it on, but it wouldn’t turn on. What the hell? Why I looked at the window I don’t know. But I did. There in the reflection of the window was the face. Staring back at me with no body, smiling in delight. I raced out of the room and to my parents room, where the TV was still on. I grabbed the rosary from my mother’s dresser, and ran to my room. I climbed into my bed, fully clothed, grasped the rosary in one hand and pulled the cover over my head with the other. I began to pray. As I prayed, I felt myself calm down, and I could go to sleep.

The next day I told my parents about what I had seen. I’m not sure whether they believed me or not. The computer turned on without a problem, and so did the TV. The Computer did not do a scan disc as it would do if it had been improperly shut down and the TV was still on TLC, and if it had lost power, it would have started on 00. Did I dream this? I don’t know. All I know is, I cannot look outside the window at night for fear that that face will again reappear

Denver Criest to Sleep

Dear Jack,

For your perusing:

Denver climbed into bed with Sam. He couldn’t help it. Sam looked so good laying there with his closed eyes facing the alarm clock, that Denver had to snuggle up in front of him in that spot where the legs curve up to support him. Of course He couldn’t get under the covers, that would be too hard, and Sam might wake up, and then he might get yelled at, but since Denver carefully slid into that space, Sam didn’t notice, and as the night drifted on, he even put his arm around Denver showing him his affection.

Denver found Sam at a bus station in Mobile about a year ago. He stood there with a green grungy duffle bag, with his Nike tennis shoes smelling of the baseball field. Denver always loved baseball players, he knew that they loved to play catch, and that was Denver’s favorite game. The thing that will remain in Denver’s mind is the smell of Sam’s jockey tee shirt. It smelled of a musty twenty year old who had just ate a good mustard covered sausage. Sam smiled at Denver and called him over. Denver remembers the moment vividly. “I finally have found my soul mate!” he had thought. Of course Sam took Denver home with him--who wouldn’t have, he looked so pitiful, covered in mud with briers stuck in his leg hairs. Ever since then Sam and Denver have been the closest friends.

Sam had only one rule, that Denver not sleep in the bed with him. Now Denver never knew why this was, but from the look on Sam’s face, Denver felt like he would be sent away if he ever did. Yet there was something inside him that longed to be with Sam in the bed. That’s why he would wait until Sam was fast asleep, usually around 3 AM, and Denver would walk carefully on his pads down the hardwood hall; halt at the doorway; and slowly push the door open with his nose. He could smell when Sam was asleep. Very carefully he would slide through the crack in the door, and enter. When he got to the bed he would carefully crawl onto it where Sam’s feet rested. Through experience he had learned never to put his toes to Sam’s feet... not because of the smell, but rather because the moistness of his nose would wake Sam. Once on the bed Denver would take his place next to Sam.

This night was different, as he lay next to Sam, Sam did not put his arm around him. Denver laid quietly with his eyes slowly shifting to Sam to see if he was about to move to embrace him, but nothing happened. It was then the smell began. “What is that smell? I know I’ve smelt it before, but where from?” He got up from his spot, and nudged Sam. Sam didn’t move. Sam smelled funny. Something told him that Sam was not ok. He barked. “Sam!! Sam!! Sam!!” But he didn’t move. He bit Sam on the hand, and licked his face. No reaction. “Sam!!!!! Sam!!!!!!!!! SSSAAAMM!!!!!!!!!!” Now the neighbors in the apartment next store heard him. They beat on the walls and said “Shut that damn dog up!!!” Still Denver barked.

Finally someone was beating on the door to the apartment. “Should I get the door? Should I stay? Sam!!!” He goes to the door, and clinches the handle with his teeth. It opens to Ms. Flynn the landlady.

“Shut up you filthy mutt!! Samuel Crawly!!! Where are you? Shut your damn dog up!!!” She pushes her way past Denver. Denver heads straight to Sam in his bed barking the entire time. She gets to the room. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!!” She races to the phone, Denver still barking. “Yes this is Ms. Flynn on Avon Street. Sam is... not ... I think he’s dead... will someone ... SHUT UP DENVER!!!” She hurls the alarm clock at Denver. She starts to cry as she sees Sam lying there. She’s still talking on the phone. Denver sees this and jumps on the bed. He pulls the cover over Sam’s head so that Ms. Flynn will be ok. He realizes what the smell is. The smell of death, and begins to whimper. He lays down in his spot and begins to cry--Denver cries to sleep.

An Account of a Crime

Dear Jack,

Here is a piece I wrote that is autobiographical. It retells the story of a choir event from high school that ended badly, and has deeply effected me. The retelling, although several years later, is accurate to my accounting with little embellishment.

I like to sing, although I’m not all that good at it. I like to think I have some talent, but really I can’t stand the way I sound. Yet strangely enough Ms. Dean had asked me to be one of the two tenors to represent our school chorus at the district honor’s festival. Even though I was certain I did not sing well, I still had a hint of pride that made me glow with a sort of self-righteous fire of superiority that accompanied me on the trip there. Altogether there were about 20 of us from the choir going; all on a big smelly school bus headed for Decatur. We left school a little after lunch. I sat in the back of the bus with the rest of the guys and altos. I expected this day to be like any other day.

Riding on a bus with a bunch of choir people is a very different experience from riding the bus with non singers. First of all, aside from the lack of the usual fighting and fussing, paper balls and cussing, we sing. I mean we start with Veggie Tale tunes and go as far as six part canons we learned in middle school. Anyone passing would think we’re crazy, and in fact half the people we do pass give us weird looks. The first person to pass us was this guy driving his black mustang without a shirt. Of course the girls noticed him first--he was well built, and self-confident enough to drive through metro Atlanta that way. Kristin, probably the biggest flirt in choir not to mention the most obnoxious and funny, pulled her window down and waved at him.

“Hey hottie! I like your... car.” He winked back of course. “Aw, man... he’s turned left. The next vehicle to pass was a group of guys in a little Mazda...almost following Kristin‘s “hottie”. Thomas, who is sitting in front of me, saw them. Thomas, and I do not usually get a long all the time. He is a trouble maker, and I don’t like how he never takes singing seriously. I take singing very seriously, and am not all that good. He hardly puts any effort and sounds wonderful.

“Talk about some obvious fudge packers.” And with a tactful voice, he screamed it out Kristin’s window, just loud enough for them to hear it.

“What the hell are you doing Thomas?” Kristin, pulled the window up just in time, for as she finished clicking the window into its closed position, it was splashed by hand cream that the Mazda men have squirted on the bus as they passed.

“Told you...who else would have lubricant.” Obnoxious laughs started with him and spread across the bus.

Brian and Adam were sitting behind me. Brian, is a sophomore; a little conceited, and certain that he is cool. He sings tenor with me, and we tend to joke about my weight, and his lack of weight--he is sort of lanky. Adam is a bass. He is also a senior. He and I probably get along the best in our little group.

“Hey do you guys know Red Moon Rising?” Brian, always into the oldies. Of course we did. Thus we joined in bits of words and mumble as the song takes shape, each of us laughing at the innovations we make when we don’t know the words. In that moment of humor and singing, I felt at ease, not worried about the problems in my life, nor the problems in my friends’ lives--just content with life, and oblivious to the future.

Through the course of the day, Thomas, Brian, Adam, and I discussed the possibility of spending the night together.

“Ya’ll can stay at my house--my mom won’t mind,” Thomas.

“Yeah but you live farther away from the school... we’ll have to get up earlier to be there on time,” spouts Brian, always looking for the most sleep he can get.

“Yeah but your mom can be a real... I don’t have to say it... everyone else knows...you are a life like Kyle and your mom fulfills her role.” Adam usually speaks in clauses... but due to his obsession with South Park, he really doesn’t make much sense.

“Regardless, if we stay at Thomas’ house, you can drive us to school and our parents won’t have to deal with it.” This is of course my logical interjection...probably what keeps people thinking I’m a nerd.

We don’t usually hang out that much, so it seemed like a good chance for us to grow closer. My mom and Adam’s mom did not have any hang ups, but Brian’s mother had to be convinced that we would behave. Thomas’ mother liked the idea, and volunteered her house for our sleep over.

Adam drove me and Brian, and Thomas rode with his mother. I was shocked when we got to their house. They were the dirtiest people I had ever seen. They had a leaning tower of dishes at the sink, and a cat clawing at the droplets of water coming out of the faucet. I could feel the filth and fleas in the room. I tried to make the best of things, but then Thomas’ mother lit up a cigarette. I cannot stand the smell of cigarettes, but being a guest, I just smiled, and breathed through my coat lapel. On the little TV was some movie about a guy who is killed because he wants to leave a gang. I don’t find it the most entertaining show, so I sit and stare at the surroundings, thinking of other stuff we could do, like play a game. Then I saw the monopoly board.

We played monopoly until about 11:30. About that time, Thomas’ mother came in and said, “Looks like we’ll have to go to Wal-Mart, Thomas’ dress pants have rip in them.” What a time to go, I thought--at midnight. “I only have a room for one person. Adam, you‘ll have to drive James and Brian.”

We climbed into Adam’s little Honda. Let me describe this Honda. It consists of three seats, a driver’s seat, a passenger’s seat, and a part of the back bench seat for one more passenger. The rest of the seat is covered with books, McDonald’s bags, clothes, shoes, dress clothes, a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper, and a carton of Marlboro Reds. The cigarettes shock me, as I did not know that Adam smoked,

“I didn‘t know you smoked, Adam.”

“Nah man, I don‘t...those are my father‘s...so is all that other stuff. Sometimes he sleeps out here.” Neither Brian or I dared inquire why.

We arrived at Wal-Mart around 12:15. For the time, it is surprisingly busy. Adam, Brian, and I shuffle into the entrance by the garden supplies, while Thomas and his mother head towards the main department store entrance. Adam and Brian, in their usual way which makes me wonder if they are really high-schoolers, drag me to the toy department to look at remote control cars. I try to appease them and act cool by suggesting different cars that they would like to look at. Finally, they decide upon two corvettes. Adam’s is red, and Brian’s is black. I of course would not buy either, and would prefer to go back to Thomas’ and get back to monopoly. They got in line to pay for their toys, and I went to find Thomas and his mother, to tell them that we were heading back so they could play with their new toys in their driveway. As I am walking, I accidentally ran into a kid named Chris Greenwood. I have tried to be nice to this kid before, but for some reason, I am a target of most of his jokes.

“Hey faggot, what are you doing here. This is my territory... I’d watch my back.” He backs me down an aisle. I have no idea what I ever did to him, yet I am faced with the usual Chris--a Chris who has no sense of who I am, or wants to accept the fact that I am not gay, and am not at odds with him. For some reason he does not have a tolerance for me. I am not an odd person, as far as I can see. Yet I try to be hospitable, and courteous.

“Sorry Chris. Didn‘t mean to run into you...gotta go...see you in...class.” I ran very cautiously towards Thomas and his mother, sparing not a second to contemplate why this guy has this hostility towards me. I told them our plans about going back to their house and waiting for them; with only a slight hint of hesitation she agreed; and I headed back to Adam and Brian who were waiting for me on the other side of the check out line.

It was a cold night. When we had entered Wal-Mart I had not realized how cold it was, but now as we left and I could see the orange glow of the street lights illuminate the coming fog, I felt a chill of expectancy, and fear run through my body. We got back to Adam’s car, got in, and waited as he turned the ignition. It wouldn’t start. He tried again.... same response. A Third time... it started.

“We’ll let it warm up before we head out, meanwhile we can get the cars working,” said Adam in his usual authoritative manner. Great. Just what I wanted to do, sit and wait in the cold for them to figure out how to play with child toys. I didn’t say a word about it. I must admit that I could see why they liked the cars, Adam had his car we sat in, and Brian didn’t have a car, thus these toys represented not only the youth in them, but also the desire of the future, to have a car like the ones they were playing with. I sat there pondering this thought, and noticed a scuffle along the wall at Wal-Mart.

“Check this out,” I said, “Looks like someone’s getting beat up.” Three guys were pushing some other guy around. I know he got slammed into the concrete wall, and then they started kicking him. Another guy joined in. I hoped to help the guy being brutalized. Nope. He took a shopping cart and, lifted it over his head, and slammed it down on the guy.

“Shit! He didn’t!” Brian.

“We ought to stop this,” responded Adam. He honks his horn, and flashes the lights. A lot of good that’s going to do. The victim of this beating was able to get up. The four guys still surrounded him, and he too off. He raced towards US. Running, holding his side, letting the blood flow down his face and fall into the wind and mist. One pursued him. As the victim nearly reached our car, he stopped, to catch his breathe. The other caught up with him, they were eight feet in front of the car. He grabbed the victim, and twisted him around. Another scuffle--struggle--attempt to be released. We’re frozen in the action. Then we heard it. The victim fell to the wet black pavement, as a pool of blood slowly spilled out around him. The pursuer, turned showing his profile, and the gun which must have been still smoking, in his hand. Without a care to the world he walked away...back towards the guys from whence he came.

“SHIT! Shitshitshit!” Brian.

“Fuck” Adam.

Nothing. James. I was too shocked to realize what I just saw. “Did we just see.....?”

Awkward silence. “I think so” in stereo from the front.

Adam stepped on the gas pedal. We tore past the body, and raced towards the street. We were getting out of there. I felt good about this, yet at the exact same moment, I wanted to scream out “Stop! We got to help him! We’ve got to!” Yet my cowardice would not allow me to utter such words. I would regret the feeling later. We ran through a red light, and another... I don’t know where Adam was going to stop. A police officer turned on his lights as we ran through another. He pulled us over at a Conaco. We were more than willing to explain what we saw. He took us inside where he spoke with us individually. I really did not remember much about the victim or the pursuer, only that the pursuer was wearing red. I felt horrid. How could I not know what I saw? I was watching the whole thing. Neither Adam or Brian added much more to the description. After taking our statements, he let us go back to Thomas’ house. We had forgotten about Thomas.

We arrived at Thomas’ house around 2 AM. He was still up of course. He and his mother had been in the check-out line when the victim supposedly crawled into the store, holding his jaw to his head, trying to stop the blood from squirting out on people. It was then that Thomas said something that made my soul quiver inside me.

“I’m pretty sure Chris Greenwood did it.”

“He was there? He’s a punk, but I can’t see him doing that” interjects Brian.

“I’m sure we’ll know for sure Monday... if he’s in school or not,” Adam adds.

I did not need to hear this. I did not want to hear this. I did not want to live the rest of the night. Why did I have to witness this? I didn’t even stop to help--that was all I could think of. Surely that’s what Christ would have done.... the good Samaritan. I did NOTHING, and now one I know is accused of doing this. I wish I could see the pursuer’s face so I could reclaim the innocence of Chris. I may not have gotten a long with him, but would not stand to have him be that bad, and I could not stand to think that he hurt someone and I just left them there to bleed to death on the wet pavement.

The next day, really three hours later that same morning, we arrived at Salem High to leave for the rest of the honor’s choir. Thomas’ mother and the four of us explained to Ms. Dean what happened. I, in actuality, did very little talking. She told us to come, and that she would use her cell-phone to notify our parents. We entered the bus, full of the cheerful sounds of the choir, ready to go sing. I sat down on an empty bench, held my head against the seat in front of me, and began to cry. Adam, Brian, and Thomas headed to the back of the bus... to feed the meat of gossip to the she-wolves in the Alto and Soprano section. I could not share in this view of what I had seen. Too much to handle... too much to deal with... I had to sort it out in my mind before I could grasp how to sort it out in words to people who could not share in the full depth of what I was feeling. I wanted answers... I wanted comfort, I wanted closure to the night. Hell, I didn’t even know how to find out if the guy really died or not. Just knowing if the guy was living or dead would have taken some of the burden away.

In my self despair and contemplation, all I could muster to comfort myself was a song I had heard and now sang to myself:

Holy Spirit, come mold me.
Holy Spirit, console me.
Take my heart Lord, and hold me to Your breast.
And sing to me, Your melodies of love.
Sing to me Your melodies of love.
Quiet me in Your holy Love and rejoice over me with singing.
Quiet me in Your holy Love and rejoice over me with singing.
Quiet me.... with Your HOLY Love....and rejoice....... over me.....

I began to cry. I felt something in that song... that prayer for solace that pulled the pent up emotions inside me out. “Quiet me” That is all I wanted.... peace. I must have sang that song several hundred times while contemplating the act of malice I had seen. The act of disregard I showed, and the selfish fear I felt... the self hate that was growing in me. “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachtani.--My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why have I forsaken you?” I know someone tried to talk to me...I wouldn’t talk back... I was lost in thought.

I didn’t make it through the day completely. Ms. Dean had us meet with her, the chaperons, the youth minister from the host church, and the director of the program. I did not get much from them. I didn’t want anything from them. I didn’t know them... I wanted solace from some unknown source... my Church? God? The victim? Who knows. All I could do was cry. She took us to IHOP and was able to get us to eat...it was there that I noticed Adam, Brian, and Thomas were not taking it as badly as I was. Why was this? What made them able to cope with what we saw, and what we didn’t do? If only I knew their secret. The rest of the day flew past me. The performance happened... that is all I can say. I know I sung in it, but I cannot remember it.

When we arrived back at school, my mother and brother were waiting for me. As I got in the car, my brother, trying to show concern said, “So you saw a guy get his face blown off?”

“Joe!” My mom, knowing I would not appreciate that.

“Yeah, whatever,” I responded, ignoring his ignorance. I wanted to tell them what I felt, I wanted them to pull over and hug me, yet I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. I let it start to brood in me anew. Besides, he was too concerned with his relationship with his girl friend T. J. to really concern himself with listening. I got home, and went to my room where I cried more tears. I tried to call my best friends, but I could not get them to understand my feelings, and did not want to deal with it. The next day was Sunday, and surely I would get some solace at church... surely.

My priest, Father Lin, was busy before mass. I had managed to speak to one of the choir members, and he tried his best to reach out to me with consoling words and gestures. I wish I would not have resisted them... I wanted consolation, yet I did not want someone to just give it to me... I wanted to work it out for myself. Consequently, I cried through the mass in the back of the church. I observed Fr. Lin consecrate the host, and the congregation go to receive the body and blood of Christ, and then I saw myself walking forward. I was moving to the altar, to lay my burdens down, to let this fear and anger and despondent wonder go, and to receive the solace and renewal of Christ’s presence in my life. As I took the host in my tear-soaked hand, the fractured body of one acquainted with grief... a man of sorrow, I felt the weight begin to leave me. “Now the silence... now the joyful celebration.” Out with James... out with the hostility towards myself. Out with the fear that Chris may have done this. Out with the burden of not stopping, of leaving him in the night. Out with so many things... and in with Jesus, in with comfort, understanding, the faith to know I don’t have to know why things happen, or why they are bad. I took the chalice in my hands and drank the precious blood; crossed myself, and with a different form of tear, cried back to the rear of the church.

It didn’t matter if Chris did it, it didn’t matter if the person was dead or living, what mattered was that God was present even in that hour of darkness, and I only now knew it. I found the first steps that led to closure. All it took was one step, and I could deal with the rest of the day, another step... another week.. I would never be able to get over what I saw, yet I could live with it, and know that I need not fear the terrors of the night.