Losing My Religion Read online

  I smiled up at him, grateful for both the reprieve of his questioning as well as the offer of some guy time. It’d been a while since my father and I had hung out. Maybe, after we dropped dinner off, I could talk him into shooting some hoops in the backyard. It’d been way too long since we’d done that, and if I was going to be leaving in a few months, I needed to soak up as much time with him as I could.

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  He gave my shoulder a final squeeze before turning and walking from my room. And, like he advised, the second the door clicked shut behind him, I dropped to my knees.

  I must’ve started that prayer a dozen times, never getting more than a few words into it before doubt and resignation filled my chest.

  My dear Heavenly Father, please help me understand…

  My dear Heavenly Father, please guide me…

  My dear Heavenly Father, I’m not sure what to do…

  And, each time, I trailed off, the words unable to form in my mind and on my tongue. Because, while I never doubted God or His love for me, I constantly doubted myself.

  Was I worthy enough to be asking for His help with all the thoughts I’d been having? Would God even hear my pleas for help, considering how much I’d been questioning His will?

  After what felt like an eternity, I gave up, climbed to my feet, and got ready for my meeting. Mom had pressed my dress slacks for me that morning, and they were hanging from a felt-covered hanger on my closet door. I carefully pulled them on, making sure not to crease the stiff fabric. Next, I moved to my closet and pulled out one of my many white dress shirts, tucking the tails into my waistband carefully in attempt to avoid the material gathering around my middle. Then, with an expert hand, coming from years and years of practice, I looped my tie—drab and black, to match my mood—around my neck before shrugging into my suit jacket.

  I swung the closet door open further, taking in my appearance in the vanity mirror on the back. I tried to imagine what the bishop would think when he saw me.

  Would he see the clean-cut, soon-to-be missionary? Or would he see the darkness hiding just beneath the surface, making me question everything I’d always held as truth?

  An overwhelming sense of sadness flooded through me as I stared at my reflection. I hardly recognized the person I saw looking back at me. He looked familiar. I could almost see the vague resemblance to the confident boy he used to be.

  But he also looked…lost.

  Confused.

  Betrayed.

  As the beginnings of tears stung my eyes, I slammed the door closed, no longer able to stand the sight of the stranger in the mirror.

  Squaring my shoulders, I headed downstairs to meet my dad.

  The ride to the church passed all-too quickly, and my dad remained silent for most of the drive. It was if he sensed the internal battle I was facing and didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Knowing him, that was exactly it. He’d always been incredibly perceptive when it came to me, always giving me the space I needed when I needed it and always pushing me harder when I needed pushing.

  I appreciated the silence. Because battle was probably too gentle of a term when it came to the chaos waging war inside my skull.

  Part of me wanted to walk into the bishop’s office and immediately apologize for everything I’d said on Sunday. I wanted to plead temporary insanity. Tell him I was weak and let the devil momentarily invade my convictions and beliefs.

  But the other part of me—the larger part—still wanted answers. That part wanted to know exactly how a religious organization, a church with Jesus’s name right there in their title, could be okay with something like this. How could we sit back and allow this to happen? It’s one thing to punish an adult for their perceived sins. But to do this to a child? A child who’s guilty of nothing but loving his parents with all his heart?

  What kind of God would allow something so cruel?

  I was still waffling back and forth when my dad pulled into the parking lot.

  After sliding into a stall, he turned to me, his hand resting on the key in the ignition without turning it off. “Do you want me to come in with you? I know I won’t be allowed in his office with you, but I can wait out in the foyer. Moral support,” he said with a wink.

  A slight smile spread across my lips as I looked at him. My dad always knew just what to say to cheer me up. He knew I was nervous, and even though he had no idea what was going on, he was willing to offer his support. Like any good father would.

  Would he be so understanding if he knew the thoughts and feelings I was struggling with daily?

  Maybe. But maybe not. And that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Not then. And probably not ever.

  I shook my head as I opened the door. “No, thanks, Dad. I’ve got this. I’ll try to keep it brief. We don’t want B Dubs to run out of wings.”

  “Take your time. Those wings aren’t going anywhere. Though Jenny might eat us out of house and home if we take too long,” he joked.

  I chuckled as I slid out of the car, my hands starting to tremble as I approached the front door of the church. When I reached it, I took a moment to gather my wits, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly before reaching out to grab the handle.

  Locked.

  A moment of elation soared through me as it occurred to me my meeting must’ve been rescheduled. The bishop must’ve had something else come up, and he forgot to have someone call me. Maybe I could put this off for another day or two. Possibly even a week. Maybe, if I acted normal the following Sunday, the whole thing would just be forgotten, and things could go back to normal.

  Well, as normal as they could be, considering…

  But, just as I was about to turn and head back to the car, a figure appeared on the other side of the glass. I heard the click of the lock as it turned to open for me.

  “Sorry, Jaden. I thought I’d unlocked that. Guess I forgot. Come in, come in,” Bishop Gardner said, swinging the door wide to allow me passage.

  I trailed behind him as he led me around the corner to his office. I watched from the doorway as he took his time settling himself at his desk, his hands straightening his jacket as he took his seat. The air of authority was clear, even through his relaxed position. Once he was comfortable, he gestured for me to close the door and have a seat.

  His dark eyes appraised as they roved over me, taking in every inch of my appearance. Remembering the moments before I left my room, I wonder which version of me he is seeing—Missionary Jaden or Disgraceful Jaden. Judging from the look on his face after his eyes finished their perusal, I was leaning toward the latter. He didn’t look pleased with me.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’ve called you in here this evening, Jaden,” he said, leaning back in his chair and resting his chin in his hand.

  No, not really. I knew this was inevitable the second the words spilled past my lips. The leaders of the church didn’t take well to insubordination.

  I didn’t tell him that though. Instead, I forced my eyes to meet his and dipped my chin in the slightest of nods. “Yes, sir.”

  “Brother Glenn brought some rather troubling concerns to my attention the other day. He said you’d been asking questions during priesthood meeting. And, while we always welcome questions in order to help build your relationship with Christ, he said these were a little deeper than the typical things we get asked.”

  My fingers dug into the padded arms of the chair I was sitting in, my eyes darting wildly over his wrinkled face. Bishop Gardner was probably in his sixties, but he’d always seemed so much older to me. Even before he was appointed bishop, he’d radiated wisdom and leadership, like he’d seen and experienced it all and come out better for it. But, now, looking at him across the desk as he attempted to find the right words to say, all I could see was weariness.

  He looked exhausted, the lines and shadows under his eyes seeming to reach depths that had never seen the light of day. His hair was past gray, the thinning strands almost a trans
lucent shade of white. If I walked past him on the street, if I had no idea who he was, I would assume he was a much older man. A tired man. A man consumed with trying to live up to others’ expectations. A man drained from the constant oppressions put upon him by the one thing he has completely dedicated his life to. A man exhausted from simply…living.

  Is that what a lifetime of following orders would do to a man? Is that what happened when you didn’t experience life, only followed along and did exactly as you were told, never voicing a single question or concern?

  He didn’t look happy. He didn’t look fulfilled. Heck, he didn’t even look wise to me anymore. He just looked…

  Beat.

  His jaded eyes crinkled in the corners as he forced a smile to his lips. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Jaden? I know you’re getting ready to file your mission papers. I’d like you to be able to do that with a clear conscience.”

  I twisted in my chair, my palms beginning to sweat, as I debated my next words.

  When I didn’t answer right away, the bishop took it upon himself and dove right in. “Brother Glenn said you’d seemed to have a problem with the recent proclamation the leaders of the church handed down. Why don’t we start there? What exactly don’t you understand about what God has ordered?”

  And therein was my issue. I had a hard time accepting that the God I’d come to know and love in my nineteen years would hand down such an unfair decree.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I said exactly that. “That’s just it, Bishop. Why would God want something so terrible? Isn’t the main mission of the church to bring the gospel of Jesus Christ to as many people as we can? How can we accomplish that if we’re turning members away because of who their parents are?”

  Bishop Gardner’s eyes narrowed as he pondered my question. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his desk, his fingers coming to a point just under his pursed lips. Clearing his throat, he dropped his hands from his face and leveled his gaze on me. “We’re not turning anyone away, Jaden. We’re simply trying to help those who come from certain situations. They’re still welcome to attend church every week—”

  “They just can’t be baptized and be actual members. Not until they’re eighteen and all but renounce their relationships with their gay parents,” I interrupted.

  Bishop Gardner gave me an irritated look, his nostrils slightly flared as he waited for me to finish. He lifted an eyebrow when I didn’t continue, his annoyed expression seemingly asking if I was done with my rant.

  When it was clear I wasn’t going to speak further, he broke the silence. “We aren’t asking anyone to renounce anything, Jaden. But we can’t openly accept that kind of behavior in our halls. It’s a sin. It’s a slap in the face to all that God holds dear. Until people realize that, the devil will continue to gain traction here on earth.”

  “But it isn’t their sin. You’re telling me that, if I had been born to two men, I wouldn’t be able to join the church until I was eighteen when all my friends were being baptized at eight years old—just because of the lifestyle my parents lived?”

  “First of all,” he said in a clipped voice, “you wouldn’t be born to two men. It is not biologically possible. God made man and woman compatible to procreate and populate the earth. Two men or two women cannot do that.

  “And, secondly, imagine you had been born into a sinful household instead of the righteous one you were given. You’d come to church and learn one thing and then go home and witness another. It’s a toxic environment for a child. And it would only create tension and resentment between the child and the parents.

  “By waiting until the child is a legal adult, he then has the means and ability to care for himself. He no longer requires the care and protection of his parents, thus lessening the strain on their relationship. This proclamation was made with the best interests of those children and their families in mind. It makes things easier for all parties involved.”

  “But shouldn’t that be their choice? If they believe the church is true and they have a strong testimony, wouldn’t the Holy Ghost help them refrain from sin and live a righteous life regardless of who their parents are?” I retorted.

  “A child isn’t capable of making such a decision, nor should they be required to. Again, it’s in the best interests of everyone.”

  “Yet, when I was eight years old, I was old enough to make the decision that this church was true and to decide I wanted to be a member for life? If what you’re saying is accurate, should we be baptizing anyone before they’re of age? If an eight-year-old born to straight parents can make the decision to join the church, why is it different for the child of a gay couple?”

  I could practically see the steam coming from Bishop Gardner’s collar as he tugged at it.

  “Jaden, I assure you, President Monson knows what is best for the members of this church. He is the only man on Earth who can actually speak with the Lord. This is why he’s the one true prophet of God. We should not question the Prophet or God’s wishes.”

  “But—” I started, but was quickly cut off.

  “Enough! You need to pray, Jaden. You need to turn to God and ask him for confirmation that the Prophet speaks his will. Because he does, Jaden. I know that with every ounce of my being. Your testimony is wavering. Don’t let Satan win. Go home. Fast and pray. Ask God to show you the truth. Read your scriptures. The answers are there. The answers are always there. You just need to open yourself to them.”

  He dismissed me with that, telling me to come back when I found my answers.

  And, two weeks later, after the constant pressure from my family and friends, I made an appointment to see him again. I told him I’d found my way. I repented for my sins. I was tremendously sorry for ever questioning the church. And I was ready to file my mission papers.

  Today, staring up at the little girl and her mother from my seat on the pew, I’m struck again by how much of a lie that was. I didn’t get any answers. After all my soul-searching, praying, and studying of the scriptures, I only had more questions.

  Watching the girl robotically mimic her mother’s words, I can only wonder about her future. Chances are, she’ll grow up to be a carbon copy of her mother, her testimony of the church only strengthening year after year until she’s the one standing behind a towheaded little girl, whispering right into her ear.

  But what if, one day, she questions it? What if, as she gets older, she finds herself attracted to women instead of men? What if she begins to wonder what life would be like outside the church? What will happen to her then?

  And why, if this church is the one true church, do we have to spend so much time convincing our children and ourselves of that fact?

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  Quinn

  Moving to LA was both the best and worst decision of my life.

  The best because I’m finally out of that Podunk Georgia town, living the life I always dreamed of, auditioning almost weekly for what I know will eventually be my breakout role. Living in LA means connections. It means access to the hottest producers, directors, and actors around.

  That brings us to the worst part of the scenario.

  LA means connections—for everyone but me. I’ve been here for almost three years now, and I’m still exactly where I started. The only semi-acting-related jobs I’ve been able to land are a few modeling gigs for a swanky downtown boutique. Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate every bit of the work and exposure. But my face has been on mailers and catalogs all around town for months, and it hasn’t resulted in anything other than the occasional, “You look familiar,” from a passerby.

  So, yeah, I’m still waiting for my big break.

  Throughout it all though, I’ve managed to remain hopeful while working two jobs to pay the exorbitant rent this city entails. By day, I wait tables at a small bistro, the meager wage and minimal tips barely giving me enough to pay my phone bill most months. But, at night, I’m a bartender at one of the hottest night
clubs in downtown LA—Ascent. Business is good, the tips are bangin’, and the talent in this town is unreal. I’m a lucky bastard, having an in at a place like Ascent. Most people would kill for my job.

  The only problem?

  The club owner and my all-powerful boss is the biggest homophobe on the planet. And, seeing as how my sexual preferences swing toward the penile variety, the two of us don’t exactly see eye to eye.

  Not that he knows that, of course.

  Every night I go in, dressed in the standard-issue tailored black slacks and fitted black V-neck T-shirt—cut about two sizes too small to show off the bulging biceps each of the male bartenders has and the silicone implants every female within eyeshot possesses—I have to hide who I really am. I can flirt with customers. Hell, it is even encouraged. A happy bar patron is much more likely to order more booze, so we are told to make them feel special. Wanted. Sexy.

  Only I can’t flirt with the people I am actually attracted to. The man of my dreams could walk through that door, and I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it for fear of losing my job.

  Because, if Rick found out I was gay, I’d be out on my ass faster than he could call me a faggot—his favorite term out of all the offensive slurs in his arsenal.

  Losing my job would mean losing my apartment. And losing my apartment would be the first step on the downward spiral that would end with me on my mom’s doorstep, tail tucked between my legs, having to admit this dream of mine was silly from the get-go, just like everyone had tried to tell me.

  Fuck if I ever let that happen.

  As it is, I’m a week late with the rent. I’m hoping tonight will be busy enough to cover the amount I’m short, so Alec doesn’t find out that we’re behind. Again.

  I sigh, pouting at myself in the bathroom mirror, as I get ready for another fun-filled evening of being ogled by women. And pretending to ogle them right back.

  It’s only temporary, I remind myself. Just stick it out until Hollywood calls. Then, you can tell Rick to go fuck himself.