Birch and Lawrence **OLD**

"We don't want you goin' to hell."

Several hours after his a-ha moment, Birch was in his father's shop, holding cloths in both of his hands. The one in his right hand was soaked with cleaning solution and was being used to wash the outside windows. The one in his left hand was bundled up and filled with posies. Birch was holding it against his nose to block out the stench of a buck's head his father was working on. 

The door opened, and in stepped old Edward Burnston, the local reverend. Birch turned his attention to him. "Hey Reverend," he greeted. Burnston ignored the boy as he headed straight to Mr Kelton's office in the other room, shutting the door tightly behind him. Curious, Birch set down his rags and softly placed an ear to the door. He could just barely make out voices.

"Hey, thanks again for doin' this, Reverend," Mr Kelton said. "He needs to be taken care of before he gets any worse." 

"Not to worry Mr Kelton," Rev. replied. "Are you busy right now? You could tag along, if you'd like."

"Nah, I gotta stay here. The customer wants this deer head by Saturday. Give 'im your best stuff, a'right?"

"Yessir."

Birch stepped away from the door and swiftly headed back to the window to diminish any suspicions of him evesdropping. Sure enough, Rev Burnston entered the room. 

"Good afternoon, Birch," he said, a fake smile plastered onto his face.

Birch made a fake smile as well. "Uh, hey Reverend."

"Would you mind coming back to my church with me? I have some things I need to talk to you about."

Confusion filled Birch's mind. Why would the reverend want to talk to him personally?

"Er, why? Is something wrong?"

"You're pa wants me to do somethin' with you."

Birch hesitated.

"C'mon, boy!" Rev. Burnston snapped impatiently. "The lord demands it!"

Birch felt his face get hot. "A'right."

He climbed into the back of the Rev Burnston's buggy. Neither of them spoke a word on the way to the local church.

 Upon arrival, Birch was escorted behind the church. "Take off your shoes 'n socks," the Reverend told him.

"Why do I-" Birch began. He trailed off when he noticed a large aluminum tub filled with water. He looked at Rev. Burnston. "What's going on?"

"I'm gon' baptize you," Burnston replied bluntly. "It'll help us in the process of cleansing you."

"What're you talkin' 'bout?"

"We're prayin' your homosexuality away," said Burnston. "We don't want a handsome young man like yourself goin' to hell, do we?"

Birch was speechless as feelings of shock, rage, and humiliation swirled through him. How the hell did the Reverend know about his confused sexual orientation? Then it hit him.

"Pa. His damned big mouth," he said softly.

Rev. Burnston, who was busy flipping through pages in his bible, looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"What the hell are you gon' do to me!?" Birch shouted, forgetting he was talking to a church reverend. His vocabulary was controlled by anger.

"I just said, I'm gon' baptize you so that you don't turn into no fag," Burnston said sharply. "Now hurry up and take off your-oof!"

Birch had absolutley lost it. He was mad at his father for spilling his personal secrets to someone who didn't need to know. God only knew how many other people he'd broadcasted the information to. That was just exactly what the fuck Birch needed. To become the town pariah! With that thought in mind, he couldn't help but storm over and punch the reverend hard in the diaphragm.

 Birch stepped back as the reverend doubled over. As the old man collapsed to his knees and gasped for breath, the rage dissipated and left a tremendous guilt in its wake. Birch's eyes widened, realizing he'd done something horrible. Quickly, he took off up the street.

"Don't you cry when you go to hell, young man!" the wheezing reverend called after him.