Colors (26 page)

I look up, startled, then I smile, her shout somehow giving me renewed courage, clear my throat, and continue.

“You see, I’ve been living a lie. Filled with guilt and shame, I admitted what I did to no one. But this weekend, I saw another boy, a little one who showed me I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.”

I pause to take a deep, mind-clearing breath. I refuse to look at Brother Gramm, fearing I will lose my resolve.

“I was only nine years old. My parents, rest their souls, were good Christians. They encouraged me to help out in our church. I was one of the pastor’s favorites. He and I spent a lot of time together. Everyone who knew our pastor loved him. I felt honored to be his chosen one.

“He told me God wanted us to be together; God wanted me to be
his, the pastor’s
.”

The air thickens as complete silence falls on the room.

I pause, keeping my focus on my listeners, holding them in my gaze. I want every eye in the congregation glued to mine. After I am certain I have their attention, I go on.

“And so I just lay there.”

Gasps come from the audience. A TV cameraman races closer to the stage. It is the first time this evening I remember we are being broadcast nationwide. But the realization doesn’t stop me from continuing my story. It gives me courage. I abandon my script and begin to talk to my audience, feeling the absolute need to connect with them.

“I let him do things to me. And believed him when he said no one would listen to me if I told. I believed him when he told me I liked it.”

A few women in the audience pierce the silence with their crying.

“He was a man of God. He wasn’t supposed to do such things to kids, but I didn’t know that. I was just a little boy. I was alone and lost.

“I even tried to tell my mother about what was going on. But she was so caught up in the church she refused to believe me. She said I was imagining things. That our pastor was a very loving man. Why didn’t she protect me?

“Aunt Jenny—who I never told any of this—took me away from that man, rescued me when my parents died. But I remained lost.

“Finally, I found something that made the hurt go away. I could be someone else entirely through acting and singing. I didn’t have to be me anymore.

“It was my singing that brought me to the Church of Shelton Road. At first, I was there just to perform. But the music of this wonderful choir here brought some peace to my life. I discovered the songs of Miriam Railston, and my life became more bearable.”

I turn to look at Miriam. She nods, her face showing grace and encouragement.

Will you feel differently when I’m finished here, Miriam? I’m sorry I deceived you this afternoon. But I did it to save Obadiah and every other little boy who would come after him.

I banish these thoughts from my mind and return to my purpose. I speak again….

“And that music brought me here, to the Family First rally.”

I glance up at the giant TV monitors flanking the stage. I see my face in tight close-up. There is strength, courage, power in the face I see.

For the first time that evening, I let myself look at my molester. Brother Gramm sits on the stage, his face intent on my message. He still doesn’t recognize me. The monster has no idea I’m talking about him.

Well, just wait, Brother Gramm.

“Here, I no longer felt lost. Here, I was led to face the shame and guilt of my early years.
He
called it
our little secret
. It was a secret I have kept for nine years.”

I cut my eyes toward the preacher. I see him squirm, just a slight movement. My own private Satan is beginning to crack.

I step up my story, gripping my audience with its passion, its truth.

“But yesterday, I saw something that shook my faith. That predator from my past, the man who molested me, was telling another little boy to keep
their
little secret.”

Complete silence descends on the crowd.

I turn to look directly at Miriam. A
look
comes over her, a look of horror. I see her cut her eyes toward Brother Gramm. And I know. My words have drilled straight into her. I haven’t had to say Obie’s name; I haven’t had to speak the predator’s name. She knows what Brother Gramm is, and she knows exactly the “other” little boy I am speaking of. And she is furious.

“I told myself it wasn’t like what had happened to me. I told myself that surely the man had changed. I saw how you people had embraced the man, and I wanted to believe I should stay quiet.”

I direct the last few words to Brother Gramm, who begins to cough. I let my words bore straight through the cough and aim them into the man’s twisted soul.

“I told myself I had nothing to gain and everything to lose—nine years of adjusting to a new life and forgetting the old one.

“In the end, I knew I couldn’t live with the guilt. Not the guilt of that nine-year-old who was me, but the guilt of the silent eighteen-year-old I had become. And so I can’t stay quiet any longer.”

I turn and point.

“Gramm Peters, you are a monster….”

Pandemonium ruptures the spell I’ve woven.

“…You have haunted
me
, but you will never… haunt… another… child… again.”

“N
EIL
! W
AIT
.”

Melissa’s footsteps clatter on the tile floor of the corridor.

I have my hands on the push bar of the exit door, ready to open it. The burden of the last nine years lifted, I am numb. Let Miriam deal with her son’s abuser. Let Miriam talk to the police.
Mine
is a cold case now, like the ones on TV. I just want to get out of here. I don’t need Melissa right now.

“Neil, please,” Melissa shouts.

I turn and wait for her to catch up with me. I hadn’t expected her to follow me from the auditorium, but since she has, I will listen to her and her comforting words. I know she means well. We’re a couple—I should want her to comfort me after this ordeal.

“Neil,” she says, breathing heavily, “I can’t believe….”

“Just drop it, Melissa. I know you mean well, but it all happened a long time ago,” I say.

“But still….”

“Look,” I say, “I just need to get home. I’ll be fine. In fact, right this minute, I’m okay.”

And at that moment, I realize I
do
feel good, like I have suddenly been reborn, been saved.

“You’re
okay
?” Melissa inhales heavily, and slowly expels hot air.

“Yes,” I answer. “Now that I’ve gotten
that
off my chest, I feel wonderful.”

“Oh, great,” she says, nodding her head. “But what about in there?” She points toward the auditorium.

“What?” I ask, puzzled.

She turns and points her finger at me.

“You just destroyed a man—a man of God—in there. Whatever you think happened to you was a long time ago. Your accusations will probably silence Brother Gramm, a man who has won thousands to Christ. Who will listen to him preach after what
you
just said? After the
performance
you just gave?”

I stare at her, waiting for her to smile, to laugh, to hug me—anything to show she is joking. That she believes me. That she doesn’t really think my story was just another of my
little scenes
, as she’d called them.

But the look on her face tells me she is dead serious.

“I have to go.”

I spin around, push the bar on the door, and flee into the clean, night air.

I
KNOCK
hesitantly on the door. From behind the closed door, I hear the familiar voice.

“What do you want?” Zane says.

“I need to talk to you.” I look straight at the peephole.

“I’m not sure I want to talk to you.”

“Please?” I beg, afraid of losing my resolve.

The door swings open.

“Returning to the scene of the crime?” Zane stands defiantly in the doorway.

“Can I come in?”

There is a pause. Zane does not answer.

I let my eyes plead with him.

Finally, Zane motions me into the living room.

“Mom and Dad are out. We’ll be
alone
here.” Zane smirks. “That doesn’t scare you, does it?”

“Look,” I say, sitting on the edge of the snow-white sofa. “I don’t blame you for being angry. I was a shit the other day.”

“Okay,” Zane says, nodding, not giving up the sarcastic look twisting his smile. He plops down on the sofa next to me. “I’ll give you that.”

I look down at my hands in my lap. I don’t know how I can make it right with Zane, but I know I have to. The drive over, all the thinking I was forced to do, made me realize I more than have to make it right. I have something to pour out I never expected. As I sit here, silent, a tear slides onto my hand.

“What’s going on here?” Zane asks, his attitude suddenly changing. “Are you all right, Neil?”

“No, not really, I think I’ve lost the only friend I’ve ever had.” I take a deep breath. I raise my head. Seeing what I hope is a glimmer of encouragement in Zane’s eyes, I stumble through, sliding off the arm and right next to him, our bodies touching.

“Zane, what happened the other day had nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with you. When you tried to kiss me, I was lost in the past. I didn’t even know it was you there.”

Zane glares at me.

“I know it sounds weird, but it’s true.” I reach up. Touch his cheek gently. “I thought someone else was trying to kiss me, and it freaked me out.”

Zane’s face scrunches up, revealing a questioning look.

And it all pours out. I didn’t think I had the strength to go over it all again. But Zane is worth it. I have to make him understand. About the colors. About Brother Gramm. About all those years of secrecy. Of anguish. It all just tumbles out of me, with, finally, “I’m here to say ‘I’m sorry’ and I need you.”

Zane sits, letting me talk. The old Zane would have reacted. Maybe I have him stunned. So I keep talking, trying to get something—anything—out of him.

“I may have screwed up my whole life tonight, so I need you. If there’s anything clear in my mind right now, it’s that I need you, Zane.”

He begins to stir from his suspended animation. “Neil, you know I’m your friend. That will never change.”

“No, Zane. I’m not talking
friendship
here. I want more.”

I move toward him, take his face in my hands, kiss him, gently at first, but more passionately as I realize I don’t want to break from this moment. It’s more. More than I’ve ever felt before.

As we finally come up for air, Zane sputters, “What about Melissa?”

“Fair question,” I say, playing with his curl. “That kiss right now? It meant more to me than all the kisses with Melissa. I admit, she turned me on—before tonight, at least—but kissing you completes me. It’s more than a turn-on. It’s a gateway drug to what I want in life.”

I’ve never seen love before, I realize, until now. The love in Zane’s eyes is unconditional, all-consuming, and a binding contract for eternity. I see not a trace of doubt in those eyes. I’ve just confessed to him I’m bisexual, that I’ve loved a girl, and yet I know he doesn’t care. All that matters is I love him now, that I want to be with him now, want to always be with him.

As we envelop ourselves with the velvet silence of this moment, we gaze at each other, letting all this sink in.

At last, Zane says, “What changed?”

I put my finger on his lips. “Not now. That story’s for later. Right now, just know I only have eyes for you.”

He smiles. “You sound like an old song my mom used to play in the car.” And he sings a phrase. It is the most beautiful song ever sung.

I take his hand in mine. I hug him tightly. It is a special moment, a strong moment. A moment that says we love each other. Love is a powerful bond.

“Oh, I have a question,” I say.

Zane jerks away. “What? What question?”

“Will you be so kind as to accompany me on a road trip, sir?”

Zane eyes me, warily.

“Road trip?”

“I heard a certain luscious babe and her choir have added a concert at the end of their tour. It’s within our radius.”

And he’s off. Whooping, hollering, jumping. “You mean it? We can go? Really? You’re not joking?”

“Would I joke about the amazing Satine?”

I laugh at him. It’s one of the best laughs I’ve ever had. A great joy. A great release.

“Y
OU
’
RE
A
bit late, aren’t you?” Aunt Jenny shouts over the scraping sound of her packing tape being slapped on shipping boxes.

“Yeah—I stopped by Zane’s,” I say as I come through the studio door.

She looks up at me over a stack of Fed Ex boxes. She knows.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look hammered.”

“I do?” I say. “I’m feeling good.” I smile at her and realize she doesn’t
know
know, but she is well aware something is up.

“Do you have any idea why the phone has been ringing off the wall?” she asks.

“Off the wall?” I say. “No, but they tell me if you pick it up and say ‘hello,’ you can find out why.”

“Smart ass.” She laughs. “I was so busy in here I let the Call Notes pick it up.”

“So you didn’t watch the rally tonight?”

“I had this order to pack. My favorite field hand was off singing. And Kris had a meeting. That just left little old me and all this work to do. And, after all, there are only so many times one can hear ‘Suffer the Little Children’ without going mad.”

“Oh,” I say, knowing I am now going to have to rehash the whole evening. The jig’s up. But after telling my story twice this evening, telling it again will be a piece of cake. Well, not exactly that—since this is Aunt Jenny—but I’m okay with performance number three.

“But—” She pauses. “—since you are so late, I was beginning to get—”