The God Box (10 page)

Halfway down the aisle I followed Dakota and Angie into a row, with Manuel trailing behind me."Do you want to sit next to Manuel?" Angie asked Dakota."That's okay," she replied. "Let the guys sit together."That put Manuel on my left, Angie on my right, and me in the middle. We peeled off our coats, and when I reached into the popcorn bag I now shared with Manuel, our thumbs accidentally bumped."Um, sorry," I mumbled. Yet each time I reached into the bag, our fingers touched. "Sorry," I kept muttering.Manuel laughed like it was hilarious."Hey!" Dakota peered over. "What're you two doing?"Annoyed, I told Manuel, "You can have the rest."I wiped the salt and butter from my fingers, and as the lights dimmed, Angie took hold of my hand. I started to lay my other hand on the armrest between Manuel and me, except . . . Manuel's was already there. I glanced anxiously at it and rested my hand in my lap.Tonight's movie was a Halloween release that had only recently made its way to our town. It began with a newly married couple taking down the sold sign and moving into a picturesque--but isolated-country house.

Almost immediately mysterious things began to happen. The phone went dead. Lights flickered on and off. Their101car wouldn't start. A pitchfork disappeared.All the while, Angie stroked my right hand, while on my left, Manuel's hand lurked on the armrest.I tried to ignore it and focus on the movie, but my thoughts kept drifting. Why was it considered so wrong to hold another guy's hand? During my fourth-grade field trip to the Grace Museum in Abilene, everyone had paired up with a buddy. For the whole day I held a boy's hand, and no one had thought anything about it. At what age had it become sinful?I struggled to rein in my thoughts, but the warmth emanating from Manuel didn't help any. Each time his shoulder brushed mine, it was as if a little zap of electricity sparked through my body. And when our naked elbows bumped, the hair on my arms practically jumped to attention.On-screen, the couple awoke one stormy night to the sound of feet dragging through the hall outside their bedroom.The woman clutched her husband. "What is it?""I don't know." The man wrapped his arms around his wife.And I slowly lifted my forearm and let it rest casually against Manuel's, while my heart pounded like thunder. Sweat rained down my forehead.

Why was I doing this? I should yank my lust-crazed arm away. Do it! Now!But the touch of his bare skin excited me too much.On-screen, the eerie scratching and rasping at the couple's bedroom door grew louder."Oh, God! It's trying to get in!" the woman explained, as if her husband might not realize that. But then the creepy sounds faded away... and the couple returned to sleep."Leave the house, you stupids! " I wanted to shout at the couple. But they stayed, and my arm remained on the armrest, pressed against Manuel's.102Annoyed and confused, I turned to look at him. The light from the screen shone across his eyes and mouth. And a feeling, different from the one in the lobby, tugged at me. It wasn't jealousy. It was something else, stirring from deep inside my chest. Unsettled, I quickly turned away."What's the matter?" Angie whispered."Um, nothing." I grabbed her hand more tightly and avoided turning to look at Manuel again. Instead, I tried to concentrate on the rest of the dumb movie, as the man and woman died gruesome deaths.In the lobby afterward, Manuel annoyed the rest of us with scratching sounds while clawing with his hands. We all said good night, Manuel gave Dakota a ride, and I drove Angie home.The night was clear, with no moon. As usual, I parked in front of Angie's and shut the engine off. Then I leaned over and gently pressed my lips to hers. Her kiss tasted like warm butter and salt, bringing back the memory of Manuel in the movie theater, our arms touching, making me both agitated and excited.Angie's breath came heavily as well. Then, without warning, she took hold of my hand and urged it onto her breast.My heart leaped with a jolt. It was my first time to ever touch a breast.I froze, unsure what to do. I could imagine what some other boy might do, given such an opportunity. A little panicked, I withdrew my lips from hers. "Um ... what are you doing?"Angie blushed and let go of my hand. I briskly removed it from her breast and leaned back in my seat, worried. Had I hurt her feelings?We sat silent for a while, as she stared out the window and I doubted myself. Should I have gone through the motions with her? Then Angie turned to look at me, and her voice came out soft and103unsure: "Can I ask you something? What exactly do you feel for me?"My fingers tightened nervously around the steering wheel as my heart sped up. How could I tell her I wasn't sure? "Um, I love you.""Yeah ..." Her face relaxed a little. "I know you do, and I love you, too. But do you feel, like, passion for me?"My heart rate whizzed up even faster. Angie's eyes were so wide and hopeful that I had to drop my gaze. I knew her question was opening the door for me, but I feared what might come out. My pulse throbbed in my temples as I mumbled, "What do you mean?""I mean:" She curled her ponytail between her fingers. "Are you sexually attracted to me?"Little drops of sweat misted on my forehead. How could I admit that during all the years I'd known her I had wanted to feel that way, but hadn't? I was afraid to hurt her--or lose her. She meant the world to me."I, um, I thought--you know--we should wait till marriage ... till we're both sure that's what we want."Angie shook her head. "I'm not saying we should have sex now. I just need to know if you'll ever want to."Her frankness made my stomach flutter. Could I admit that I didn't know if it would even be possible for me to have sex with her?I cleared my throat to force a response. "If that's what God wants for us."Angie frowned. Obviously, that wasn't the answer she expected. "Is there"--her voice caught, sounding hurt--"something you want to tell me?"Her question took my breath away, as if two invisible hands were suddenly squeezing my windpipe to tell her the truth--or not to. "No." I shook my head.After that, we sat quietly for a long time, not saying much,104each of us with our own thoughts, as I tried to calm down. Then I walked her to the door and said good night.When I arrived home, Abuelita and my pa were already asleep. I crept quietly to my room, undressed, and began my prayers, reviewing the day's events. "Dear God ..."I hesitated a moment, thinking about the movie theater, Angie, and Manuel. Should I give thanks for the confusing thrill of pressing my arm against Manuel's? Or should I ask for God's forgiveness?"I don't know what to pray to you any more. Every day I feel more and more confused. Please help me."In the middle of sleeping that night I thought I heard a noise at my door. I woke up, startled, my mind racing back to the horror movie. Quickly I fumbled to turn on the light and looked around, but I saw nothing unusual. The only sound was my own frantic breathing. Still jittery, I closed my eyes, leaving the light on, and tried to get back to sleep.105

SUNDAY MORNING PA AND I HEADED TO CHURCH, WHILE ABUELITA STAYED

HOME, WAVING US ON OUR WAY. AS PART OF HER QUIRKY FAITH, SHE REFUSED

TO SET FOOT IN ANY CHURCH. ONCE, AS A BOY, I HAD ASKED HER, "WHY?""It's like this ..." She sat down at the kitchen table and leaned me against her lap. "When I was a young woman, I found out that your abuelito was not the good man he'd pretended to be. I realized that I'd never be happy with a man who had lied and deceived me." She stroked my hair gently with her fingertips. "But in those days, really not so long ago, divorce was thought to be an almost unforgivable sin. Our priest said that if I divorced, I could never be part of the church again."Behind Abuelita's glasses, her eyes clouded with hurt."To be a divorced woman in a little Mexican town was a shame beyond words. I took your papa, still only a baby, to Monterrey with me to start a new life. There, too, the church was filled with rules and bitterness. Catholics and Protestants didn't speak to each other. And when I visited across the border to this country, Mexicans weren't even allowed into the white churches. I think106that it's the same everywhere: The church preaches love, but too often it practices something else."And yet Abuelita had managed to separate her resentment at the organized church from her faith in God. If anyone was a model for a personal relationship with the Lord, it was my grandma.Since today was the Sunday after Thanksgiving, Pastor Jose began his sermon with a verse from St. Paul's first letter to the Thessalonians: '"Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.'""Let's be clear," Pastor said. "When St. Paul says 'in everything give thanks,' he means everything. Not just the turkey, gravy, sweet potato pie, and all those good things that the Lord brings our way, but also the heartburn and bad stuff. Give thanks for everything. Are we clear about that?"He waited for the congregation to respond with the usual amens, although in this case they were hardly enthusiastic. Who wanted to give thanks for bad stuff?"Now, some of you look like you're thinking, But Pastor, how can I give thanks for my thorn-in-the-flesh mother-in-law who moved in when I never invited her in the first place?"Pastor laughed and the congregation joined him. But when the laughter quieted, Pastor turned serious.

"Or you're thinking, How can I give thanks when my daughter is diagnosed with cancer?"The congregation grew silent. We all knew that Pastor's daughter had died of leukemia only three years earlier."It's not always easy to give thanks . . ." Pastor's voice was solemn. "But that's what God calls us to do. Because those tough things are what break our hearts open and allow Jesus to come inside."107At Jesus' name, several church members cried out, "Amen! Yes, Jesus!" Many more swayed their arms in prayer. And I thought about my own "tough thing." How could I give thanks for that?Pastor told us to turn our Bibles to St. Paul's Epistle to the Romans.I withered in my seat. Chapter i contained the New Testament's most explicit condemnation of homosexuality, which Pastor often quoted when he preached against gays.Much to my relief, today he read from Chapter 5 instead: '"We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.'""Give thanks for the challenges the world presents you," Pastor encouraged us. "For if your problems bring you closer to Jesus, they have served their purpose."I sat up, listening intently. Was that the purpose of my unwanted feelings? To bring me closer to Jesus? Could it be that simple?After church Pa and I picked up Raquel at her house, and we drove home. For lunch Abuelita had made us chicken enchiladas, black beans, yellow rice, and for dessert, chocolate cheesecake.I was helping to clear the table when my cell rang. Manuel's number appeared on the screen. I hesitated before answering, '"Sup?""Hey," Manuel said airily. "You want to come over?""Can't," I replied. "I'm about to drive my abuelita to the airport.""You want me to go with you?" Manuel asked.I thought it over for a moment, my heart thudding. Even though I'd seen him just the night before and ended up crazed with confusion, I wanted to see him again. But what would Abuelita think of him? What if he told her he was gay? Would she suspect me, too?108I covered the mike on my cell and whispered to Abuelita, "Is it all right if a friend comes with us?

He's, um, a little weird.""Of course it's all right." Abuelita wiped her eyeglasses with a dishcloth.

"Weird people are more interesting."I thought about that. "Okay," I told Manuel. "We'll pick you up."While Abuelita hugged Pa and Raquel good-bye, I loaded her suitcase into the car. Then we stopped to get Manuel.From the moment he climbed in the door, Abuelita's eyes lit up even brighter than usual. "Oh, I like the ring on your eyebrow.""Grarias, senora. I like your necklace."

She was wearing a colorful turquoise and silver chain that I could remember from the time I was young.During the drive Manuel and Abuelita chattered back and forth over the seat, at times in Spanish and at other times in English, about flan recipes, immigration reform, Aztec history, places in Mexico that Manuel had visited, all sorts of stuff.I braced myself on the steering wheel, nervous that he'd mention being gay. But he never did. By the time we reached the airport, he and Abuelita had become fast friends.At the security gate Abuelita hugged me good-bye and said,

"He's a very nice boy." Then she peered into my eyes and added, "Be true to your heart."As she waddled toward the gate, I swallowed nervously. What had she meant by that? 109

ON THE DRIVE BACK FROM ABILENE AIRPORT, IT WAS THE KIND OF PERFECT

DAY THAT MAKES YOU FEEL HAPPY FOR NO REASON. THE SKY WAS CLEAR AND

THE SUN FELT WARM LIKE SUMMER, WHILE THE AIR FELT COOL LIKE FALL. WE

ROLLED DOWN THE CAR WINDOWS AND LISTENED TO THE STEREO, AND IN THE

SEAT ACROSS FROM ME, MANUEL'S HAIR BLEW ALL OVER THE PLACE. As we

passed our town limits sign, he asked, "You want to come over awhile?"I did. We baked some chocolate chip cookies and sat on the carpet of his room, eating and listening to music."Aren't these amazing cookies?" He smiled, not in a boasting way, just joyful. "I feel so good today. Hey, turn this song up!"Whereas Angie and I mostly listened to Christian rock and gospel, Manuel played all sorts of stuff: klezmer music, yodeling cowboys, Latino hip-hop, Beethoven symphonies ... Today: 1930s big band.I cranked the stereo while Manuel sprang up and started dancing in front of his dresser mirror. He twirled, first in one direction, then the other. He was a great dancer--better than most guys I110knew. His shoulders remained level while his hips rolled in waves to the music's rhythm. And in my mind I pictured him dancing with his (ex-) boy friend at prom.Manuel's eyes caught mine in the mirror, watching him from behind. Quickly I glanced away."You were looking at my butt." He grinned."Shut up! I was not.""Yes, you were. Admit it."

He danced over to me and reached down, grabbing for my hand. "Come on, dance with me!" I pulled my hand away. "No, thanks." "Why not? 'Cause I'm a guy?" "Duh, yeah!""So? What difference does that make? It's just dancing." He extended his hand again. "Amigo, if I were you, I'd take me up on this invitation. You never know in life if you'll get a second chance.""Amigo," I mimicked back, "I'll risk it."He kept dancing around the room, while I brooded and tried to ignore him. But out of the corner of my eye, I could see his body swaying and hips shaking. What would it feel like to dance with him?I tugged nervously on my wristband, my thoughts returning to church that morning. "I've got a question for you," I told him. "What about St. Paul's letter to the Romans? Doesn't it clearly state that homosexuality is wrong?"Manuel paused mid step and peered across the room at me. "You know ..." A puckish smile played at the corners of his lips.