Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content (22 page)

“Y
OU
’
RE DOING WHAT
?” M
ITCH ASKS ME THE NEXT DAY WHEN HE UNEXPECTEDLY
stops by my house.

“I’m going to Jess’s house for Christmas Eve,” I tell him for the second time.

“Why?”

“Because she’s my friend.”

“Are you turning into a lesbian too?” he asks. Then he laughs like that’s really funny. “Although I have to admit that I might get into that. I mean if you were one of those girls who swung both ways. It is kind of a turn-on for guys, you know.”

“Mitch!” I stare at him with a shocked expression, thankful that we’re sitting across from each other at the island in the kitchen.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised.”

“Then don’t be so gross.”

“Sorry.” He makes his little-boy face, his hint that he wants me to forgive him. And while I can forgive him, I’m just not sure that I want to keep dating him.

“Sometimes I think we’re not right for each other,” I begin.

He frowns. “Oh, come on, Ramie. Just because I made a stupid joke. you know I didn’t mean it.”

“Maybe.”

“I brought your Christmas present.”

Okay, now this is making me nervous. Not only have I totally not gotten him anything (partly because I was mad and partly because I get the feeling this relationship is doomed), but I know I will really feel trapped if I accept a gift from him. And yet breaking up on Christmas Eve . . . isn’t that a little harsh?

He’s taking something out of his jacket pocket now. And judging by the box, it’s jewelry. How can this be? He grins as he slides the long, narrow blue-velvet box toward me. “Sorry I didn’t wrap it.”

“I can’t accept this,” I tell him.

He frowns. “You haven’t even opened it, Ramie.”

I know. I push the box back toward him. “But I can’t accept it.”

“What do you—”

“I’m sorry, Mitch,” I tell him in my firmest voice. “Everything has been so crazy lately. And I haven’t even seen you since the other night when I ditched you at the movie.”

“Well, you’re right, that movie was pretty slimy. Sorry about that.”

“I forgive you,” I tell him. “But it’s not just the movie, Mitch. It’s you and me. We’re so different.”

“Vive la différence,” he says hopefully.

“Yeah,” I say. “Different can be good. But I am trying to be a strong Christian, Mitch. And when we started going out, I just assumed you were too.”

“I never told you that.”

I nod. “Yeah, you’re right. you never did. I guess I just hoped it was true. Maybe I imagined it was true.”

“But you knew where I stood, Ramie. I’ve always been honest about my faith—or my lack of it.”

“I know. Maybe it was just the thing with Jess that kept me
going. Maybe it made me more desperate for a boyfriend than I should’ve been.”

“So I’ve just been your wrist candy?” he says in a mocking way. “Your boy toy that you can use and then lose?”

“Oh, Mitch,” I say. “You know that’s not true. I really do like you.”

He lets out a deep sigh, then looks at me with surprisingly sincere eyes. “I really like you too, Ramie. Seriously, you’re the coolest girl I’ve ever been with. you’re fun to talk to and great to kiss. I really thought we had something.”

“I kind of thought we did too, Mitch. But now I think I was imagining most of it. Maybe you were too.”

“So this is it? you’re really breaking up with me?”

I nod. But even as I nod I am questioning this myself. Why? Why
am
I breaking up with Mitch?

He takes the velvet box and slips it back into his pocket again. “Well, guess I better go then.”

I can hear the hurt in his voice, and it cuts through me too. “I’m sorry, Mitch,” I tell him. “If things were different . . . I mean if we were more alike . . . if you believed what I believe . . .”

“Oh, forget it, Ramie.” He just turns and walks away now. He goes straight for the front door and, without another word and without even looking back and no last kiss, he walks out of my life, slamming the door behind him.

I feel terrible. I feel just as bad as if he’d been the one who broke up with me. That’s how much it hurts. I thought I’d be relieved to be done with this, but instead, as I peek out the front window and watch his Mustang driving away, I feel this utter sense of despair. What have I done?

I turn away from the window and go up to my room, slowly taking each step as I ask myself again and again,
What have I done?
What have I done?
I throw myself across my bed and fight off the urge to pick up the phone and call him. I want to tell him that I’ve made a huge mistake, that I’m sorry, and would he please come back? Would he take me back? I’m even asking myself what was in that blue-velvet box. Probably something I would’ve loved. How could I be so stupid?

And then I consider how this will make me look. What about my image? What will people think? I break up with Mitch on Christmas Eve and then go to Jess’s house to celebrate. How does that look? And how can I be Jess’s friend without having a boyfriend to hang onto? Won’t people assume I’m a lesbian now? How can I do this without Mitch? That old desperate feeling reaches out and grabs me by the throat. How can I do this without Mitch? How can I do this alone?

I take in a deep breath and I remind myself that I am not alone.

I have God.

So I get down on my knees and I tell God that I need him—I really, really need him. I tell him that I feel like I’m walking a tight-rope and that one step to the right or the left and I will fall. And that’s when I get this very vivid image in my mind. I see God holding my hand and promising me that as long as I hang on to him, I will not fall. And for the first time in a long time, I feel myself beginning to relax. I thank him and praise him for this image. I thank him that he’s the only one who can walk me through this, the only one who can keep me from falling. And then I get this image of me falling, like I forgot and let go, but then I see his giant hand below me, catching me. And although I don’t ever plan to let go of his hand, and I’ll do everything I can to hang on, it is a comfort to know I have a safety net.

I don’t tell my mom about breaking up with Mitch. I know she’s in a hurry tonight. Her last counseling session ran long, and even
though I’m helping her to fix her seven-layer dip for the party at Brenda’s, she still needs to change her clothes. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” she asks.

“I already told Jess I’d come to their house,” I tell her.

“That’s so nice, Ramie. I’m so glad you and Jess have worked this thing out.” Then she kisses me on the forehead. “You’re such a good girl, Ramie. How did I get so lucky?”

I laugh. “I’m sure luck had nothing to do with it.”

I don’t tell anyone at Jess’s house about my breakup either. It’s not that I want to keep this thing top secret, it’s just that it seems unnecessary to mention it just yet. And since no one asks, why should I bring it up? But as I visit with Jess’s family, hoping my presence will reassure them that things are getting better, I feel this fresh new sense of freedom. It’s like a weight has been lifted from me. And, okay, I’m still trying to navigate my way through the whole gay scene, but somehow I think it will be easier now. As if I’m less encumbered.

“I’ve called the people at the exit ministry,” Mrs. LeCroix tells me in the kitchen. I’m helping her to refill a platter of appetizers.

“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder to make sure Jess is not listening, since I just don’t think she needs to hear this tonight. She seems to be pretty edgy anyway. She’s already cried over an insensitive comment her sister made. Although I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows it. At least her brother, the one in seminary, seems to be acting fairly compassionate.

“The nice man at the exit ministry told me that while he understands my pain, Jessica will have to call the ministry herself before we can send her in for help.” Mrs. LeCroix calmly tells me this as she arranges her meatballs in a neat row. “He said that it’s no use coming unless the person wants help. Like you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him drink sort of thing.”

I nod absently as I curl the pieces of ham like she told me to, slipping a toothpick in to keep them together. I only half listen as she continues going on and on about this place, how great it is, how badly she wants for Jess to go there. But I’m getting impatient now. It almost seems like the only thing Jess’s mom cares about is getting things back to “normal.” Like Jess isn’t even a real person with real feelings. And, okay, I suppose I’ve been guilty of the same thing. But even so!

“Anyway,” she continues, “I was thinking that maybe you could talk to her, Ramie. I really think Jessica would listen to you. you’re a strong Christian girl and I think maybe you can convince Jessica that this perverted lifestyle is sinful and immoral and that she needs to get some—”

“You know, Mrs. LeCroix,” I interrupt her so abruptly that she actually drops a meatball on the floor with a splat. “The thing is,” I continue, “I’m just trying to love Jess. Trying to be her friend, you know. And I’m trying to love her unconditionally, the way God loves all of us, no matter what. I figure it’s up to God to show Jessica what’s best for her life.” I pause and look at her. “Does that make any sense to you?”

And then I hear the sound of hands clapping behind me. I turn around to see Jess and her brother, standing in the doorway and watching us and clapping.

“Makes sense to me,” Alex tells me as he comes into the kitchen and snatches a meatball off his mom’s neat row, causing it to go crooked.

“Me too,” says Jess as she takes another meatball.

Mrs. LeCroix looks slightly flustered, but at least she smiles as she straightens her meatballs. “I’m just trying to help, Jessica. you know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yeah, Mom.” Jess pats her mom on the back. “I know you love me, it’s just that it doesn’t always feel like it.”

Things seem to lighten up in the LeCroix household after that. And as we sing Christmas carols and play silly games, it almost seems like Jess is having fun too, almost like she’s her jolly old self again. And yet there are moments when I think I can see this shadow hanging over her. And I’m reminded that things have changed. She has changed. Maybe we’ve all changed.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” Jess tells me as she drives me home. “I think it really helped having you there.”

“Hey, I was glad to come,” I say. “It was fun. Just like old times.”

“And thanks for what you told my mom in the kitchen.”

“No problem.”

“Did you really mean it?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

She’s pulling into my driveway now. “Thanks for bringing me home,” I tell her. “And for everything. And Merry Christmas!”

“I didn’t get you anything for Christmas this year,” she says.

“Oh, that’s okay. I didn’t either.”

“But I have something . . .”

Okay, this makes me nervous. But I just take a deep breath and say, “What?”

“A promise that I’m going to get counseling. And I’ve decided I should start with Christian counseling, just like you suggested.”

I smile. “Oh, that’s a great Christmas present, Jess. Thanks!”

“But I was thinking maybe your mom could do some counseling with my parents. To help them to see outside of the box, you know?”

“Sure,” I tell her. “My mom would be glad to help. you know that.”

“And that won’t bug you? I mean I know how you feel about your mom sometimes.”

I consider this. “Okay, to be perfectly honest, it would’ve bugged me before. But I actually think my mom is right about some things. Not everything, of course.” Then I laugh. “But knowing your parents and their convictions, well, I’m not too worried that she’ll steer them wrong.”

“Yeah, I can’t exactly see them worshiping trees or taking up yoga or any other New Age kind of thing after talking to her.” She smiles.

“Me neither.” I open the door of her car now.

“Merry Christmas, Ramie.”

“Merry Christmas,” I call back as I get out of the car.

I’
D LIKE TO SAY THAT THE FORUM AT OUR CHURCH RESOLVED EVERYTHING BEAU
tifully. That Nathan’s vision for Christianity Meets Homosexuality was an enlightening and gracious gathering of diverse people from all over the community, and that lives were changed, and that we ended the meeting with an altar call followed by the holding of hands as together we sang “Kumbaya.” I wish I could say that the whole thing was a total screaming success. Unfortunately, only the
screaming
part of that statement would be correct.

Our well-intentioned meeting was more like
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
And although I’d like to say that the Christians were “the good,” that would not be entirely true. Oh, sure, some of the Christians were very
good
, including Nathan, who tried extremely hard to bring a peaceful understanding of gospel love to the confused people of Greenville. But some of the Christians, in particular those who misunderstood the publicity and erroneously believed that this was supposed to be an open forum for Christians to rant and rail against the likes of Sodom and Gomorrah, were in my opinion very, very
bad
. And, to be fair, some of the gay-rights activists got downright
ugly
. Plus, the way some of them were dressed, you’d think we were hosting a gay parade or preparing for Mardi Gras.