It Looks Like This (22 page)

I think of it now and it makes me think of Sean, of Mill Point Beach, of that night before the sunrise.

I look up at Pastor Landis and say, I don’t know. It’s been that way for a while.

He nods and says, That’s the case for most of us.

Then he looks into my eyes and says, Are you close with your father?

The question’s really unexpected and I’m not sure how to respond.

I say, What do you mean?

He says, Well, do you get along easily?

I say, Sometimes.

I pick at my nails.

I say, Not really.

He nods again and says, Is he a bit distant?

I say, Distant?

He says, Emotionally.

I think I know what this means, but I don’t really know how to tell if Dad is emotionally distant because I don’t know what that would look like or not look like. I think about Terry’s dad, who is nice and polite and easy to laugh but still seems kind of like he’s faking it. Then I think of Ronald’s mom. I know she’s a mom and not a dad, but she and Ronald are pretty close. Close in a way Dad and me aren’t.

Pastor Landis probably sees that I’m having a hard time with this because then he asks,

Okay. Do you see him laugh a lot?

I say, Not really.

He says, Is he affectionate?

I blink. I say, No.

He says, Do you wonder whether he loves you?

I say, No. I know he loves me.

I clear my throat.

He says, How do you know?

I shift in my seat. These questions are weird.

I say, I dunno. He cares how well I’m doing at school. He’s my dad, he loves me.

Pastor Landis nods. He says, And he brought you here, which shows just how much he really does love you. But does he tell you that, regularly and often?

I blink again. I say, No. Not really.

He nods more, like he was expecting this.

He says, And does he hug you?

I say, Not . . . not a lot.

Pastor Landis leans back again. He says, Touch is very important to a man’s development. I know it may sound odd, but we all need affection and direct love from our fathers when young in order to fully develop and grow into healthy adults.

I just look at him.

He says, As children, especially very young children, we naturally crave that touch and affection from a father figure. And without it, we never learn how to process touch from a man, how to differentiate between nonsexual and sexual touch. So our adolescent minds become confused. And once puberty hits, we’re still craving that touch, but now there’s a sexual component to it. That’s what’s happening with you now, and that’s what we’re here to fix.

I don’t say anything.

He says, All right, let’s stand up.

Pastor Landis rises, swinging his arms a little as he does it.

I hesitate a bit, but then get out of my chair slowly.

He says, What we need to do here is teach you to accept nonsexual touch from a man, and hugging is a great way to learn it. It’s a natural, platonic form of affection, and it’s something that can be shared between men without awkwardness. And it makes you feel good!

He chuckles a bit at this last part.

He says, Okay! Let’s try it out.

He holds his arms out, waiting.

I take a moment, then reach out, moving slowly toward him. I bring my arms around him, and just when I realize I’m trying not to touch him, he closes his arms around me and pulls me forward. I wait a second, then slowly press my arms against his back.

We’re hugging.

He’s a bit taller than me, so my face is pressed to the side against his shoulder. I catch a faint whiff of shaving cream. His sweater is itchy and a bit warm, made warmer by the heat coming from his body. Through my shirt I can feel his hands moving very slowly up and down my back. I try to picture what it looks like from the side, and I think of the way people hug when they haven’t seen each other in years, or when someone dies.

I’m extremely aware of every point where our bodies are touching and realize I’m not moving at all.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out through his nose. I feel it on the back of my shoulder.

Very quietly, he says, Good, good. Concentrate on the feeling of being in another man’s arms. Concentrate on the platonic nature of the hug — how it could be a close buddy or a family member. Close your eyes and imagine it’s your father giving you this hug. It feels different than a hug from your mother — stronger, more powerful, more masculine. A different kind of affection, but still a parent’s love.

I’m barely breathing.

He whispers, I’d like us to hold this position for a few minutes.

And we do.

Only a couple minutes into it, my arms are tired from holding them still against his back. My feet ache from standing in place. It’s hard to breathe from having my face against his shoulder, and my neck is starting to cramp. I feel every one of his breaths against my left shoulder. My nose itches.

It goes on forever. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be feeling, but all I can think about is how I want it to stop.

And then, after about five minutes, Pastor Landis whispers,

Okay, I think that’s good for now.

I let go right away. My face and arms feel cool suddenly as the air hits a thin layer of sweat. I take in a large breath.

He says, That wasn’t bad for a first run.

I say, First?

He nods and says, I think we should have a few more of these, once or twice each day.

I stare at him. I don’t want to do this again. All I want is to get out of this room.

Pastor Landis says, It’s going to take some practice for your body to react to this kind of touch in the appropriate way, out of habit. Remember, we’re trying to get you to unlearn behavior that’s been with you for years.

I don’t say anything.

He says, We’ll try again tomorrow, and try to go for longer with each one. I want you to be able to hug for at least twenty minutes, uninterrupted.

I can’t imagine doing this for twenty minutes. I’m trying to think of what to say.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and rests it there.

He says, We can beat this, Mike.

He leaves his hand on my shoulder and smiles.

I just stare at him.

We stand there like that for a while.

Then the thumb of his hand rubs into my shoulder, lightly. He just smiles.

My heart starts beating a little faster.

He smiles a bit wider. Just a bit. He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. His thumb just rubs my shoulder, right at the base of my neck.

Neither of us moves for a few more moments. I notice I’m holding my breath.

Then Pastor Landis’s smile starts to fade. He pats my shoulder and then glances away as he lets his arm drop.

He says, Why don’t you get down to Outdoor Activities. I’ll see you again, same time tomorrow.

He walks to the door, opens it, and leaves.

I stand there by myself for a few seconds, staring at the door. My heart is still pounding. I realize I’m breathing a bit deeply, through my nose.

Then I open the door and walk out.

But I head right down the hallway, instead of left toward the courtyard.

I don’t really know what I’m doing or why, but a moment later I walk into my and Timothy’s room.

I close the door behind me and walk over to Timothy’s bed and sit down.

There’s a minute where I just sit like that, looking at a spot on the carpet. I don’t even know if I blink. But I guess I probably do.

Then I get up and walk back to the door, and then I just stop.

My hand is on the doorknob. I’m supposed to go to my group.

But something keeps me there, and a minute later I’m pulling my clothes out of the dresser, putting what I can into my backpack. Not really looking, just grabbing the few things I have here and stuffing them all in.

There’s too many clothes for just the backpack, so most of my stuff stays in the closet. But I don’t really care.

I shove the backpack into the corner of my closet, then take one last look into the mirror. I look normal enough. I try to smooth down my hair, then head out.

No one seems to think much of me being late to Outdoor Activities. The counselors know I was with Pastor Landis. I wonder if they told the other kids.

Timothy gives me a look from across the courtyard. I can’t read his face.

I spend the time walking around the fence. Shoulders hunched against the wind. Head down.

Timothy leaves the bathroom in his pajamas and I go in to change.

I keep my regular clothes on under my pajamas and look at myself in the mirror.

I look a bit bulky but not too bad.

Just in case I turn off the light before I leave the bathroom, so it’s dark as I get into bed.

Timothy says, Good night.

I pull the covers up over me and say Good night back. It’s hot but I wait.

It’s a while but finally Timothy’s breathing gets deeper and deeper, longer pauses between each one.

I wait another thirty minutes to make sure. Staring up at the ceiling. I worry about falling asleep but I’m too nervous to sleep anyway.

Finally I pull the covers down.

Slowly.

I sit up in bed and swing my legs over. My feet find the floor.

I stay in this position for a minute, totally still, listening.

There’s no change to Timothy’s breathing so I stand up. I take my pajamas off, and am in my shirt and pants, and put my shoes on. Then my jacket from the closet.

I put the backpack on.

Before I leave I look at Timothy. He’s still breathing deep.

Quietly I open the door, slip out, and close it behind me.

I look up and down the hallway. The lights are on, but there’s no one there.

I don’t know what kind of security they have here. I mean I know there’s always someone at the front desk of the dorm building and I think sometimes counselors keep an eye on the hallways, but I don’t know if they have cameras or alarms or anything.

But there’s no one here right now, so I walk quickly to the stairwell at the end of the hall and down a couple flights.

I peek through the small window of the stairwell door on the first floor. I can sort of see part of the lobby. I wait awhile and I don’t see anything, so I crack the door open and listen.

I can’t hear anything.

I open the door and slip through.

The guy at the desk can’t see me from his position. He has his head resting on one hand, but I can’t tell if he’s asleep or not.

I wait a long time and there’s no movement. I try walking a couple steps.

Then he suddenly moves and I freeze.

He shifts his head to his other hand, then he’s still again.

I don’t know what to do.

But a minute later, he stands suddenly and walks off and into the hallway on the other side that I know leads to the bathrooms.

I stare at the hallway as he disappears into it, my heart hammering. I hear a doorknob click open, a pause, and it closes.

Then I run.

I run through the front door and outside. There’s no alarm.

I keep running.

I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to realize I’m gone.

I think about this a lot while I walk down the highway.

Timothy never really wakes up during the night, but he does get up earlier than me. Like five thirty.

So I guess that’ll probably be when they notice.

I’m walking along the highway in the direction I know is home. I know it’s home because I remember coming this way when we drove in.

But also because I passed a sign saying this was U.S. 58 East, and east means home.

It’s almost one in the morning now. I’ve been walking for more than two hours. At a pretty good pace too, which means I guess six miles or so.

The math worries me a bit. It took about an hour and a half to drive to InnerPeace from home. That’s like ninety miles.

And I’m going three miles an hour.

It’s pretty cold out. And I’m tired.

Finally I stop. Just on the shoulder of the highway and listen.

A car passes by going the opposite direction.

I look off to my right, into the trees, and shiver. It’s dark and cold, and I wonder if it’s safe to sleep there. But there isn’t any shelter anywhere and I’m tired. I start thinking about how long it’ll take to walk all the way home, with no food or money and then what if it starts snowing or something?

While I’m thinking about all this, I hear the car that passed by slow down. I glance over my shoulder.

It does a wide U-turn across the short grass median and gets into the rightmost lane, and starts driving slowly toward me.

I turn toward it but back away, toward the trees. I wonder if the headlights ever caught me.

Red and blue lights start flashing from the top of the car, and my heart skips.

I say, Shit.

To myself.

Another light turns on, bright and white and solid, from the roof. It turns toward me and holds me in place. My eyes sting. I blink and shield my face with my arm.

The police car pulls up beside me. On the side in big letters, it says
VIRGINIA STATE POLICE.

I just stare at it, through the open passenger-side window into the space where the driver would be. I can see the silhouette of a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat.