Date: Fri, 23 Dec 2005 04:34:22 +0000 (GMT)
From: Dan Perducci <danperducci@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: college town - part one

College Town (Part One)
By Dan Perducci
danperducci@yahoo.co.uk

At the start of my junior year in college, I moved out of the dormitories
into an apartment building near the campus.

I was happy to move because I did not miss the raucous atmosphere in the
dorms.  I was studying to become a minister and really hated the comings
and goings of every `party animal' in my hall.

For the first few days, my neighbors were wary of me.  I suppose that
they were afraid that I was going to bring that `animal house'
atmosphere with me.

I soon put those fears to rest with my steady routine of going to class
in the morning, going to work in the afternoon and studying in the
evening.

It was good that I was able to befriend my neighbors because my parents
nagged me about safety.  The college `ghetto' was low-rent and suffered
from a stigma of `low security.'

Although it was four years prior to my residence, the murders of those
two girls spooked anyone who heard the name `Greenleaf Manor
Apartments.'  The killer was caught but Greenleaf's reputation was
shot.

I finally assured my parents by telling them that I was rarely home
enough to be exposed to any such mayhem.

Besides, I was twenty and preparing to live a life of ministering to all
walks of life.  I could not sequester myself from society from fear if I
expected to serve them.

The most unusual thing about my experience was that my grades actually
improved once I was settled in.  I guess it was not so strange when I
considered that I got more sleep during the week.  But it still struck me
as strange because I was working more during the week to make rent.

I was becoming responsible and independent outside the dorms.  This fact
did not go unnoticed.

A family lived three doors down from me.  The father managed the gas
station and his wife at the nearby salon.   They had an only child who
attended junior high school.

The father, Brian, was helpful to me.  I was a regular at his gas station
because he always looked after my car.  He knew when to change the oil or
make any routine maintenance.  He took care of the other college students
from our complex as well.

The mother, Rachel, cut my hair from time to time and advised me on
matters with my on-and-off girlfriend, Stephanie.

We seemed to break up often over minor matters that any married couple
ignored.  These `minor matters,' however, were earth shattering for
people whose largest concerns at the time were reserving the study room
in the library and making creative ramen noodle recipes.

Rachel reminded me that there was a kind of faith that kept me with
Stephanie and would be the same faith that would sustain me.

I enjoyed a bond with this young family.  Brian was only 35 and his wife
was 29.  Weeks, oil changes, hair trims and a tire change passed when I
noticed tension in the family.

"Brian is worried about Garrett," Rachel said about their son.  We were
unpacking her groceries in the kitchen of their apartment.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Well," she said with a furtive glance toward the front door, "He
could be coming home anytime soon."

Garrett's bus was within minutes of arriving.

Rachel's brow furrowed and she bit her bottom lip.

"Brian's concerned that Garrett has been behaving strangely."

I didn't know much of their son except from the framed pictures in their
living room and his after-school bicycle trips to the corner store.
Although we were friendly, our conversation was limited to small talk.

"Are you worried that he might hurt himself?"

She looked deep into space and mumbled.  I didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Forgive me.  I am afraid that Garrett might be gay."

This was a college town and it was fairly liberal.  I didn't think that
the locals would have any qualms about such behavior.  But, then again,
liberalism is always fine until it hits home.

My father had no problem with interracial marriage until my sister
started dating a black guy from her high school.

"What makes him think this?"

The front door opened.  It was Garrett.

"Hi, mom," the eighth grade boy sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed
an apple from a bowl on the counter.

"Oh...hello, Chad," said the obviously sullen boy.

I smiled in his direction in an encouraging way.  I was barely making my
way through my major in theology and felt that I was being expected to
counsel.

I excused myself back to my apartment and hoped that Brian was not too
worried.  I figured that kids that young were too young to peg for being
gay, straight or otherwise.  After all, I knew of introverted friends who
could have easily been mistaken for homosexual.

I thought nothing of my conversation with Rachel until that weekend.

I was taking out the garbage and passed by Brian's apartment.  The door
opened as if he was anticipating me.  He was on his way to work and
gestured me to come inside.

"Chad, I sort of lost my cool."

He cocked his head in Rachel's direction.  She was sobbing on the living
room couch.

"You ran him out of here!" she hissed.

"I didn't know what to do, man.  I saw him hugging one of his male
friends outside yesterday."

"Where is Garrett?" I asked.

"You overreacted!  He is sullen and lonely and you think he's a
queer!" she lashed out again.

"He ran out last night.  And we haven't heard from him," Brian
answered shamefully.

"What can I do?" I asked.

"If you see him," Rachel pleaded, "let him know we love him."

"I promise."

I continued to take out the garbage.  And rushed back from the Dumpster
to my place to get ready for work at the record store.

My shift dragged on while I wondered how Rachel was holding up under this
stress.  Garrett could be anywhere.

Did Brian rough him up?

Doing inventory dulled my mind enough to keep me from being too
stressed.  I also was saddled with training a new guy that day.

I clocked out after dark and drove back home.

Stephanie was back home with her parents for the weekend and we spent two
hours talking on the telephone.

"I love you, Steph, but my phone bill is gonna kill me.  I gotta go but
I will call you back in the morning when I get my phone card from the
Student Union when I do my laundry."

"Kiss.  Kiss," she said.

"Kiss.  Kiss," I answered.

I heard a car door slam outside.

I ambled about my apartment looking for the remote control.  By now, it
was time for `Saturday Night Live.'

I settled down in bed for another hour and a half.  I drifted off into a
state of sleep.

The next morning, I woke to do some laundry before going to chapel.

My clothes were already piled up in the back seat and I only needed to
scrounge the quarters from around my living room.

The bright sun greeted me and inspired me to action in the same way it
made others just want to roll over and sleep some more.

I opened my car door to the back seat and saw an arm hanging from under
my pile of clothes.

I immediately knew it was Garrett.

TO BE CONTINUED