Why I'm Not an Idiot

Making it Worse

PART TWO

THE END

*****

I really, really want to hate religion.

It would make sense, right? Religion is pretty much the main reason there are homophobes. In the Torah or the Bible or whatever other Big Book people believe in, there's something that's like "man shall not lie with man" or some other shit like that. It's punishable by death, they say. Worse than the punishment for murder.

But how can I hate religion when I'm watching all the passion people put into synagogue? People dress nicely and wear pretty white shawls and yarmulkes and wrap little black boxes on their arms and foreheads and sing and chant and pray and I can't help but love it. The guy leading the Torah service is talking about how his bar mitzvah was fifty-four years ago, and now he's revisiting the reading to do it again. How can I be mad at that?

I dressed up today more than usual, so my parents know I still care. I'm wearing a button-down shirt, nice shoes, and dress pants. The bobby pin holding my yarmulke to my head is pulling a few strands of my hair, but I don't complain. I never dress this nicely for shul, but I kinda feel like I owe it to my family. The past few days without Chris have felt super weird. I've started to eat more meals with them. I've tried to talk a little more, too, but not much, because I know that they hate when I act like nothing's going on. The elephant in the room is way too much.

"Please rise for r'fuah shlemah," says the rabbi.

I stand from my seat between Annie and Alvin. I listen to the rabbi explain this prayer like she always does, clarifying any questions for visitors. R'fuah shlemah is the prayer for healing, she clarifies for the billionth time in my life. She says that it's for people going through physical or mental struggle. I can't help but wonder if my parents are praying for me. Are they praying to God, asking him if he could rid this disease that has been brought upon me? Do people pray for that stuff?

Even though I have nothing against religion, it's not really for me. I do believe in a greater power, but not the one that the Big Books tell us to believe. Maybe we all have our own god. I truly think we'll never get the answer.

Nevertheless, I pray the Jewish God, just in case he's out there. Adonai, I start without a plan, I know this is a very inappropriate time, with this being the time to pray for the sick and all, but I really, REALLY need help. Please let my parents know that this isn't my fault. Please let them accept me. Hey, do YOU accept me? Are you homophobic? Shit, if you wrote the Torah, I guess you are. But maybe you've changed. You've been around for a while. Well, sorry this is a bad prayer, and sorry I cursed in your presence. And sorry I don't know if I should believe in you or not. Don't take it personally. Amen.

*****

"Please, Jake. Let's talk about stuff."

Ah, the dreaded capitalization-punctuation-text combo. Ever since a text like this basically forced me to come out to Matt (although I'd never hold that against him), my heart has starts beating super-fast whenever he sends me one of these texts. It shows he means business.

There's nothing more I want to do than talk alone with him. I've been trying to avoid him since he saw the bruises. I haven't texted him back since Chris left. But at the same time, I know that if I see Matt now, he'll just bury me with questions about the bruises, and I don't want to stress more.

So, because I always seem to be making things worse for myself, I meet Matt at the rock. He perks up when he sees me and shifts a navy blue backpack he has on one shoulder. He gestures next to him. "Sit," he says.