Date: Mon, 4 Apr 2016 14:15:36 -0400
From: ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Other Sinful Things   Chapter 6

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profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
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Other Sinful Things      Chapter 6

by Ronyx



Tiffany stood and stared down at me. With a puzzled voice, she asked Mrs.
Oliver, "What's he doing here?"

Mrs. Oliver grabbed Tiffany's hand and led her over to the table. "He's
staying with me for a few days," she informed her. "Now, sit down, Sammy."

She pulled her hand away. "Nana," she muttered angrily. "Don't call me
Sammy. I'm Tiffany."

Mrs. Oliver looked nervously at me. I don't think she knew what to do. She
didn't know that I was aware of Tiffany's gender identity, and she probably
thought it might make things awkward at dinner. "Yes, Dear," she replied
politely. She gripped Tiffany's hand and insisted, "Now, have a
seat...Tiffany." She gave me a weary look before turning, going over to the
oven and removing the chicken from the skillet.

Tiffany sat down and looked angrily over at me. It was obvious that her
grandmother hadn't informed her that I would be joining them for dinner. I
attempted to speak, but words wouldn't leave my mouth. I was relieved when
Mrs. Oliver placed plates before us.

She sat and asked me to say grace. I said the usual saying I had been taught
since a little boy. Mrs. Oliver said, "Amen," but Tiffany said nothing as
she picked up her fork and began eating the mashed potatoes.

Mrs. Oliver attempted a smile as she asked, "Isn't this nice?" She gave me a
pleading look as she asked, "Jacob, you and Sam... I mean... Tiffany go to
the same school. Do you know each other?"

I glanced quickly at Tiffany and replied, "Yes, Ma'am. We're in the same
grade."

Attempting to sound cheerful, she responded, "That's wonderful!" She then
looked over at Tiffany and asked, "Isn't it nice to know someone who goes to
your new school?"

Tiffany took a bite of chicken, and without looking up replied
sarcastically, "Wonderful."

I was beginning to become upset. I knew Tiffany wasn't expecting me to join
them for dinner, but she didn't have to be so rude. I had attempted to
protect her a couple of times from Darryl. That at least should have
rewarded me some degree of friendship. However, it was very obvious that
Tiffany wasn't looking for friends.

We ate in silence the remainder of dinner. Mrs. Oliver seemed hurt that
Tiffany was making no attempt to be friendly. She had expected that perhaps
we could be friends. That was probably the purpose in inviting Tiffany to
join us.

When I finished eating, I asked Mrs. Oliver if I could please be excused.
Dinner was awkward, and I couldn't wait to leave the table. "Of course,
Dear," she replied apologetically.

Instead of going to my room, I decided to go out into the backyard and sit
on a swing. Mrs. Oliver and I had often sat together and watched the
hummingbirds drinking from the feeders that were hanging from the nearby
trees. Mrs. Oliver loved gardening, and her back yard was an oasis of
various plants and flowers. I particularly loved the bed of day lilies I had
helped her plant a few years earlier.

From the swing, I could see Mrs. Oliver and Tiffany through the window as
they washed and dried the dinner dishes. They appeared to be engaged in a
very serious conversation. Occasionally, Tiffany would look out the window
and see me watching them.

Soon, they turned out the kitchen lights and went into the living room. I
continued to swing as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the chirping of the birds
in the trees. It was about a half hour later when I heard the back door
open. Tiffany stepped out and stood looking at me. At first, I thought she
was going to leave through the back gate, but I was surprised when she
walked down the stone path to where I was sitting.

As she approached, I looked at her lithe body. Her step was graceful, but
hesitant. I looked up into her face. It was beautiful and flawless in the
setting sun. However, her blue eyes seemed filled with uncertainty and fear.

It surprised me when she sat down on the swing beside me. She said nothing
as we swung in awkward silence. Finally, she clearer throat and looked at
me. "I want to thank you for helping me at school." Her eyes darted
nervously around, and she wouldn't look at me directly.

"It's okay," I responded. "Really." As she looked away, I noticed how
beautiful her complexion was. It was silky, not the rough texture that most
boys our age have. Her nose appeared almost too small for her face. The
stubble I had noticed on the bus the first day was shaven. As awkward as it
seemed, I found her to be...beautiful.

I quickly looked away, thinking that my thoughts were as my father would
have described them- sinful. Maybe I was being tempted. After all, it didn't
seem normal for a boy to be described as beautiful. However, Tiffany was.
She was actually prettier than any girl who attended our school.

Perhaps, that was why boys like Darryl felt threatened. If I found Tiffany
pretty, then certainly they did as well. However, their masculinity would
never permit them to accept that fact.

Again, we sat in an awkward silence. I didn't know what to say to her, and
it was obvious she would rather have been anywhere other than sitting beside
me on the swing.

Finally, I asked, "How do you like our school?"

She laughed slightly and replied, "It's just swell. Everyone loves me
there."

"Sorry," I responded apologetically.

She looked forward as she said, "It's not your fault. You're about the only
person who has treated me like I'm not some kind of a freak show."

I looked over and saw how taut her face appeared. "It must be pretty hard,
huh?"

"Yeah," she replied as tears welled up in her eyes. "It's not easy being
different."

"I know what you mean," I responded sullenly.

She looked over and smiled slightly as she asked, "You? What would you know
about being different?"

I gave Tiffany a puzzled look and asked, "So, I guess no one has told you?"

"About what?"

I sighed and replied, "I'm the preacher's son."

She gave me a questioning look and simply said, "Oh."

We swung for another minute without saying anything. We watched the window
as Mrs. Oliver busily moved around the kitchen. Occasionally, she would
glance out the window to see if we were all right.

Suddenly, Tiffany sat forward and gave me a puzzled look. "You're not Pastor
Long's son, are you?"

I nodded my head and answered, "Yeah."

"Wow!" she said as she shook her head. "Now I know what you meant when you
said you were different."

I gave her a puzzled look and asked, "What do you mean?"

Tiffany explained the conversation she had a few days ago with her
grandmother. Like she had with me, she explained to her about leaving the
church because of his intolerant views. Now, I understood why she had made
that decision.

"I don't understand why she has stayed after the way he's been talking about
you," I said.

Tiffany laughed and replied, "Nana doesn't hear too well at times,
especially when she's at the organ. I don't think she realized he was
talking about me until some other members of the church told her."

I asked, "So she's really going to leave? She told me she's been attending
the church since a girl."

"Not only is she going to leave," she informed me, "she's taking half the
congregation with her. I told her not to do it, but once Nana makes up her
mind, it's made up."

I laughed and said, "I would love to be there to see the look on his face
when she does it."

"I don't see how you can live with him," commented Tiffany.

I laughed slightly and replied, "I don't. That's why I'm here."

She glanced over and asked excitedly, "He kicked you out of the house? Nana
didn't tell me that."

"I'm not sure what's going on," I responded sadly. "Mother packed my bags
and brought me to your grandmother's house."

"Oh," she said as she sat back. Again, we continued to swing in silence.

Tiffany started to get off the swing, but I stopped her. "Wait," I insisted.
She sat down and looked over at me.

I stared intently into her face, and then I looked away. "Never mind," I
mumbled.

She laughed slightly before stating, "I wondered when you were going to
ask."

I replied, "It's none of my business."

"You're right," she said tersely. "It isn't your business." When she looked
over at me, my face began to redden.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

She sat back and remained quiet for a minute. "It's hard to explain," she
said softly as she watched two squirrels chasing each other around a tree.

"It's okay," I said. "You don't have to."

"No," she replied. "I want to tell you. I think you would understand."

"I don't know," I responded. "It goes against everything I've ever been
taught."

"Yeah," Tiffany said with a sense of sadness. "It's against everything
everyone's been taught." She sat back and sighed. "I was hoping you would be
different."

I smiled and stated, "It goes against everything I've been taught. I didn't
say I believe everything I've been taught."

For the first time since I had first met Tiffany, she giggled. It was cute
because she cupped her hand over her mouth and looked over at me with her
blue eyes.

She sat back, and I was getting ready to hear her story. But just then, Mrs.
Oliver opened the back door and hollered out that it was getting late. "You
both have school tomorrow," she reminded us.

I giggled when Tiffany mumbled, "Wonderful. Another day in paradise."

"Yeah," I laughed. "Another day in paradise."

As she started to walk away, she turned and asked, "Will I see you
tomorrow?"

I smiled and replied, "I hope so." She then followed her grandmother into
the kitchen.

Dear God,

   Is it possible for everyone to be wrong about something? Okay, let me ask
it this way. If I believe something that everyone thinks is wrong, but in my
heart I believe it is right, does that make it okay? When I get to Heaven
and I stand before St. Peter to answer for all my sins, will it be a sin if
I think something in my heart is truly right, even though others think it is
wrong? I know I'm not making any sense. I'll just have to make the right
decision and hope you don't object.

Bobby

When I prepared for school the next morning, my stomach was doing
somersaults. In eleven years, I had never been afraid to go to school. I had
my problems, and other students would often shun me, but it was nothing I
couldn't handle.

Now, however, things had changed the past week. Two times I had almost
fought with Darryl. I'm not a violent person, and I had never even
considered hitting someone. Even when other boys would wrestle on the
playground when we were in elementary school, I never participated. It just
wasn't in my nature. I think I feared my father's wrath if I was sent home
with a note that I had engaged in bad behavior.

Now, though, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to just be an innocent
bystander to Darryl's, or anyone else's, harassment toward Tiffany. After
last night, I felt that I understood her better, even though we never talked
about why she preferred to live her life as a girl.

I still wasn't certain how I felt about the whole thing. However, one thing
I was sure about- she was the one who had made that decision. It really
didn't matter what I or anyone else felt about it.

And in a way, I admired her for that.

For several years, I had hidden safely in the shadows of my father. No one
had ever questioned me how I felt about anything because they just assumed
that I was cut from the same fabric from which he was made. Until a week
ago, I had accepted that. Now, I had been kicked out of my own home for
attempting to step out of that shadow. And now that I had left the darkness
into the light, I wasn't sure if I could ever go back. And that too scared
me.

"Jacob!" shouted Mrs. Oliver from the kitchen. "You'd better hurry or you'll
be late for school."

When I entered the kitchen, Mrs. Oliver was fixing breakfast. She turned,
smiled and cheerfully said, "Have a seat, Jacob."

I sat down and watched her flit around the kitchen. I could smell bacon; and
the eggs she was preparing in the skillet looked delicious. My mother would
only fix a breakfast like this on Sunday morning before church. She always
said my father needed a fulfilling breakfast to help him preach the Lord's
word.

When she placed the plate in front of me, she smiled and said, "Thank you so
much for being kind to my grandson, Sammy, last night."

"Not to be rude, Mrs. Oliver," I responded, "but I think she wants people to
call her Tiffany."

"Yes, Dear," she said as she turned to get the orange juice from the
refrigerator. "I must remember that." When she placed the glass before me,
she sat down and frowned. "It's so hard, though. He was my sweet little
Sammy for fourteen years. Then two years ago, he decided he wanted to be a
girl." Tears began to well up in her eyes. "I just don't understand it."

"I don't think she decided to get out of bed one day and be a girl," I
replied. "I think it was something she struggled with for a long time. I
guess it's hard for us to understand."

"I suppose you're right," she responded sadly. "I'm just an old woman, and
it is hard for me to accept what is happening in the modern world."

"I don't know, Mrs. Oliver," I replied. "I think these things have happened
for a long time. It is just that people are more open about it today."

She clicked her tongue and said, "It was better when people didn't talk
about it." For a brief second, she sounded like my father.

When I arrived at school, I went to my locker before going to the cafeteria.
When I approached, I noticed a few students standing before it and laughing.
They became quiet when I drew nearer. Someone had vandalized my locker by
spray painting the word 'fag' on it in purple paint.

"Excuse me," I said as I pushed my way to my locker. The other students
began to move away. I got out the books I would need for my morning classes,
slammed my locker door shut and stormed off toward the cafeteria.

As I was walking down the hall, someone grabbed my arm to stop me. I turned
expecting to have to defend myself. Instead, it was Jerome Norman, one of
the smallest members of our class. He had been bullied since the first grade
by bigger students like Darryl. He was only five foot five, and on a good
day he may have weighed a hundred pounds. I always felt sorry for him.
However, like others I shunned him for fear of others ridiculing me.

"It was Darryl Standifer," he informed me softly as he quickly glanced down
the hall. "I saw him do it."

"Thanks, Jerome," I replied. "I figured it was him anyway."

He nervously looked around as he pleaded, "Please don't tell him I saw him
do it." He then quickly hurried away.

Cathy was sitting at the table when I entered the cafeteria. She could tell
by the look on my face I was upset. As I sat down she asked, "What
happened?"

"Darryl messed up my locker," I said.

"What did he do?"

"Spray painted 'fag' on it," I informed her.

She asked worriedly, "Are you going to tell Mrs. Edwards?"

"What good would that do? Mrs. Edwards won't do anything." Cathy nodded
because she knew it was the truth. Darryl was a star athlete and running
back of the football team. He was also a starting forward for the basketball
team, and the catcher for the baseball team. He was at the highest student
level, and his involvement in inappropriate behavior would never be
questioned. Besides, he would lie about it, and no one would believe
otherwise.

Cathy smiled and nodded toward the door. I didn't have to look to know who
was approaching. Colton sat down in a seat opposite me and smiled. "Hey
Guys," he said cheerfully as he looked at us.

When we didn't respond, he sarcastically asked, "Did someone's cat die or
something."

"More like something," said Cathy as she relayed what I had told her about
my locker.

"Fucker," hissed Colton as he looked over at me. "He's going to get his
someday."

I pleaded, "Please don't be the one to do it."

Colton slapped his fist into his palm. "He's got one more time to fuck with
you. I'm getting sick of his shit."

We turned and looked at Cathy when she started giggling. I asked, "What's so
funny."

She continued to giggle as she responded, "You guys are so sweet. Maybe you
should just get a room." Colton rolled his eyes and flipped her off.

Just then, the bell rang and we headed to class. Colton stopped me and asked
if he would see me at lunch. He smiled when I assured him he would.

As he hurried off down the hall, Cathy laughed and said, "He's really into
you, Jacob. God, you're a lucky shit." She waved and hurried off leaving me
to wonder what was happening.

I was sitting in Mrs. Hawthorne's English class reading a short story she
had assigned. It was Edgar Allen Poe's, 'Masque of the Red Death.' I was
enjoying it. I was just getting to the part where the stranger enters the
ball, when a student came into the classroom and handed Mrs. Hawthorne a
note.

She looked back and motioned for me to come to her desk. She informed me
that Mrs. Edwards, the school principal, wanted to see me in her office.
Since the period was almost over, she suggested that I should get my books
before leaving. She smiled and nodded her head when I asked if I could take
the book that contained the short story.

Mrs. Edwards was pacing back and forth in the hallway waiting for me to
arrive. She smiled nervously when I approached. She said, "I was informed
this morning of the vandalism to your locker." She folded her arms and said
disappointedly, "You could have come and reported the damage to me
yourself."

I had known Mrs. Edwards since I first arrived my freshman year. She
introduced herself to me in the cafeteria one morning. When I told her my
name, she asked if I was Pastor Long's son. I think she was aware of my
father's reputation, so she had quietly kept an eye on me. If any of my
grades fell, she would talk to me in the hall and remind me that my father
expected good grades.

She was a rather heavy woman. To me, she always appeared like she should be
teaching a first grade class rather than being principal of a large high
school. However, she was very popular and well-liked. Because of her good
nature, most students didn't feel threatened by her presence.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied as I hung my head. I didn't want to tell her how
embarrassing it would have been for me to have reported the incident. How
could I have possibly explained why another student would paint the word,
fag, on my locker.

"Well," she informed me. "I notified your father what happened."

"What!" I shrieked. "Why did you do that?"

She looked worriedly at me and replied, "Well, you are his son and I thought
he should find out from me rather than someone in his congregation." She
shook her head and said, "I didn't want to deal with the repercussions if he
found out from another source."

"I don't know why you told him," I responded angrily. "It was just a little
paint and no one got hurt."

She sighed, looked sorrowful at me and stated, "You're very right, Jacob. I
shouldn't have." She sighed again and informed me, "He's sitting in my
office."

I shrieked again, "What! Father is here?"

"I'm afraid so," she replied with a nervous laugh. "Why do you think I was
waiting out here in the hallway."

She placed her hand on my back and pushed me toward the door. "Let's go deal
with this," she said nervously.



***********

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