An Unexpected Friendship

I spent a while trying to socialize with the others. Mostly with the other girls from Christi's squad. There were also a few kids in marching band who I spoke to, including the last person I'd ever expect to be at a party hosted by a football player: Anthony, who played percussion in band and who was the first male baton twirler in the history of the school, and who was really, really, really, openly gay. I was seriously jealous of how comfortable he was expressing his own sexuality. Not to be mean, but he was so extra that he made Billy Porter look like Dwayne Johnson. He was chatting and flirting with all the football players there. A few tolerated him, others would physically push him away when he got too close. And none of them except Brian seemed comfortable around him.

About an hour in, it was time for spin the bottle. Since it was my first party at Brian's, they offered to let me go first, but I declined. There was no way I wanted to kiss a guy, let alone spend seven minutes in Heaven with him. Christi spun the bottle first, and of course it landed on Brian. And of course, since they had been making out with each other all night already, they chose seven minutes in Heaven. They went upstairs together, and I decided to get a second drink. Seven minutes later, I was about halfway through my bottle, when they came down with their clothes and hair messed up. Christi went and mingled with the other people at the party, while Brian walked straight up to me with a serious look on his face.

"You know, I don't know what Christi sees in you to make her want to hang out with you all the time," he said.

"Honestly, me neither. But I'm glad I have a friend like her. At my old school, none of the popular kids seemed to like me, so this is a new experience."

"Yeah, well, this little experiment's coming to an end. I don't want you hanging out with my girlfriend anymore, you ugly dyke."

"BRIAN!!!" Christi's voice cut through the chatter and the entire party was silent except for the music playing in the background. And if looks could kill, Brian would have been nothing but a greasespot on the floor. "You don't get to pick who I want to be friends with! If I want to spend time with Maria, that's my business, not yours! And don't you call her an ugly dyke again! My God! You actually invited Anthony here and everyone knows *he's* gay!"

Anthony dramatically turned his head and doing his best RuPaul imitation said, "Did somebody say my name?"

Everyone ignored him while Brian tried to make things right with Christi. "Yeah, baby, but he's different. Anthony's not a threat to our relationship and he's lived next door to me since we were little, so. . ."

"So nothing! You can't invite someone out and proud to your party and then throw homophobic insults at my friends, you fucking hypocrite!"

The vibe of the party had been ruined, and there was only one way to make things better. I got up and said, "Sorry, guys, if I caused any problems. I think I'll just leave now."

Brian seemed relieved, but Christi looked like she was about to cry. "Do you have to go? You've only been here a little over an hour."

"I'm sorry, but clearly you and Brian have stuff that needs working on, and it's just gonna get worse if I stay. Besides, I'd better leave while I'm still sober enough to drive."

Christi ran up to me, gave me a lengthy hug—longer than anything she'd given me before—and whispered in my ear, "Don't believe what Brian said. You're beautiful and I love you." Then she gave me a wet kiss on my cheek before letting me go.

The memory of that long lingering hug and sloppy kiss would be my go-to masturbatory fantasy for a long time after most of the other partygoers had already forgotten that night. But I never went to another party at Brian's house again, no matter how much Christi begged and promised me he'd behave. I didn't know why at the time, but it always really seemed to hurt her deeply when I would say no. But I wasn't ready to cause another scene like that again.

CHAPTER 3

The football season had ended, and the holidays were coming up. My family was never terribly religious, but we believed in God and Jesus and attended church services on Christmas and Easter. At this point, Christi had been to my house about a dozen times, but I still hadn't met her parents yet. I wanted to change that, so I came up with an idea, but I decided to ask my mom about it first.

"Mom, for Christmas this year, can we go to the church where Christi's dad preaches?"

"Um, honey, that church has a reputation. I know you and Christi are really close, and I love her almost as much as I love you, but I'm not comfortable going there."

"But it's obviously a big part of Christi's life. I mean, it's where her parents met and where she spends all her Sundays. I want to at least see what it's all about."

"Mija, I'm not saying you can't go. You're eighteen and you have your own car. You can make this decision for yourself. All I'm saying is that I'll be attending services at the Episcopalian church. I know the pastor there and she's committed to social justice the same way I am. In fact, my work often coordinates with her church to help poor people."

***********************************

That Saturday as Christi and I were streaming the original 1974 "Black Christmas", I brought it up with her. I thought she'd be more supportive than my mother was, but I was surprised when she also thought it was a bad idea.

"Maria, I know you mean well, and I do want you to be a bigger part of my life, but I know the kind of values your family raised you with. And my dad's church preaches a . . . different . . . set of values. I don't think you'd like it."

"Is it because Brian goes there?" Brian and I had been careful to avoid each other ever since that fight at the party four months ago. Even to the point where I had refused to go to the Homecoming Dance where Brian and Christi were naturally crowned King and Queen just to avoid him. And I had so wanted to see Christi be crowned.

"Not just that. Maria, these are mostly very conservative white Boomers and Gen-Xers. They don't like change and feel threatened by anything different than what they grew up with."

"Is it because you're ashamed of me? Because I'm not pretty enough? Because I'm Latina?" I nearly said, "because I'm gay," but I caught myself.

"No! No, of course not! I'm proud that you're my friend! And you do know by now that you're my best friend, right?"

I had not expected her to ever say that to me. I was completely floored.

"Well, then that settles it," I said. "I have to go to church with my best friend at least once in my life."

*******************************

The morning of Christmas Eve, I showed up at Christi's church for the 10:00 a.m. service. I had wanted to sit next to Christi, but she told me that wasn't possible. Part of the service was that she and her mom would sit onstage wearing complementing dresses. Since this was the Christmas service, Christi wore a green dress with a red pussy-bow, and her mom wore a nearly identical dress, only it was red with a green bow. There was also a band warming up onstage consisting of an acoustic guitar played by a guy I knew slightly from my German class, an electric guitarist who looked like he was probably the acoustic guitarist's dad, a bass player who was about 6'4" and in his late fifties or early sixties, a keyboardist who didn't look much taller than five feet, and a big fat guy who completely dwarfed his drum set. All the band were dressed in red oxford shirts, olive khakis and bolo ties.

Christi's mom looked almost exactly like Christi, except she was much shorter, maybe 5'1" at the tallest and with smaller breasts. She had the same color hair as Christi, but while Christi kept her hair loose except for a couple of barrettes, her mom's hair was in a bun pulled back so tight that my scalp ached from thinking about how uncomfortable it looked. I knew she was probably in her early to mid-forties, but she barely looked 30. She would have been so pretty, except for her unnaturally rigid posture and serious case of RBF.

After everyone had finished greeting each other and taken their seats, the band started playing bad 1980's-style hair-metal. Lyrics flashed behind the band and everyone sang along about how glad they were to have been saved and how everyone else was going to Hell.

After the song, the bass player, who was wearing a headset, walked around and started talking. "Hello everyone. I'm Reverend Paul Wright, and welcome to our church, Amen." He pronounced it ay-men. "I'm pleased to see so many new faces. Some of you may even come from that big Gomorrah a few miles away. You know, the People's Republic of The Southwest."

He had just insulted the place I had called home for nearly eighteen years and where I wanted to move back to, but I seemed to be the only one to take offense. There were a few chuckles and some of the more enthusiastic in the crowd shouted "Truth!" or "Amen!"

"Well, wherever you're from, you're welcome here, where you can be free of the sin and corruption of the city for a little while, Amen. Now we're going to play another song, and while we play, our deacons will be walking around to collect offerings. Please remember, ten percent of your weekly income is the minimum The Lord commands you to pay, but to truly be blessed you should give all you have, as the poor widow did when she gave her last two coins to Christ, Amen. And since we do live in the twenty-first century, our deacons have tablets that can take your credit card information." He turned back to the band and they started playing another bad hair-metal song with lyrics about being saved and how everyone else was going to Hell. As the deacon passed my seat, I took a few one-dollar-bills out of my purse and put them in the plate.

Once that song was done, it was time to testify. And one parishioner after the other told his or her tale of woe—typically prison or addiction—that nearly destroyed their lives until they found Jesus and this church. I truly felt for those people, and I suppose this type of religiosity was better than what they were doing before. But I had been raised to believe that the best way to find God was through quiet reflection rather than the constant, showy proselytizing they seemed to be involved in.

Then it was time for repentance. But rather than the silent prayers and bowed heads that I was used to from other church services, the band played another bad song—this time a slow power-ballad—while the parishioners dropped to their knees and waved their hands in the air while Reverend Wright said, "Lord, here we are, all sinners. We know we don't deserve Your mercy, but we come to this church to receive it. As we have all accepted Your Word as absolute truth and have been washed in the blood of Your Son Jesus, whose birth we celebrate today, we ask of You, please forgive us and show us the mercy that You must deny to unbelievers, blasphemers and heathens. Amen!"

Finally, it was time for the sermon. Rev. Wright put down his bass and started pacing the stage. "Merry Christmas, everybody. And thank God we're allowed to say, 'Merry Christmas' again thanks to President Trump!" Oh, God. I knew this sermon was about to make me sick. "And thank God that He chose Donald Trump to be President to save America after that heathen from the jungles of Africa that came before him. Donald Trump knows that the First Amendment does not apply to Muslims because Islam is not a true religion, Amen! He knows that freedom of religion does not mean we have to accept religious differences. It means we're allowed use The Bible to hammer others into submission, because Jesus loves them and wants to save them, Amen!

"Most importantly, he knows that all these so-called 'experts' and 'scientists' are minions of Satan, trying to tempt us from the True Path with their so-called logic and common sense. But we know that when accepted science contradicts The Word of God, we know that it's the science that's wrong, Amen! We know that God created the universe in seven days and that evolution is a lie because it says so in Genesis chapter 1! We know that global warming is a hoax because of the Covenant of the rainbow in Genesis chapter 9! We know that even the smallest fertilized egg in a woman's womb is a fully formed human being with a soul, which means abortion and the morning after pill are murder!

"And I know it's not politically correct to say this anymore, but despite what all these 'experts' say, nobody is born homosexual, because the Bible says it's an abomination, and God would never let anyone be born an abomination! And not even the Supreme Court can make God recognize same-sex marriage, Amen. If you feel you might be gay, it means you've been possessed by a demon who has perverted your sexuality to consume you with unnatural lust! And only conversion therapy can save you, Amen. I have been doing conversion therapy for nearly twenty-five years, so I know it works. It's illegal now in twenty states and in several cities including the liberal den of sin on the other side of the county line from us, but that's about to change thanks to my lovely wife, Karen."

He gestured to Christi's mom who plastered on a fake smile at the mention of her name. Christi hung her head down as if she were embarrassed.

"When Karen is elected to Congress, her first order of business will be to write legislation that will prohibit states and cities from banning conversion therapy and bring back our First Amendment rights. And she will work with President Trump—who was chosen by God to lead us, Amen—to completely close our borders so no more Muslims can come in through Mexico. And she will work tirelessly to overturn Roe v. Wade, even if it means amending the Constitution."

This was starting to feel less like a sermon than a political rally. While the rest of the congregation stood to cheer, I was standing up too, getting ready to leave. But apparently it was also the end of the sermon because Rev. Wright picked his bass back up and the band started playing again as he said, "Remember when it's time to vote that you can't love Jesus if you don't love America and you can't love America if you don't support our blessed president! So, vote for my wife in the primary this spring!"

As I walked out, the band launched into another power ballad and the congregation started singing about how much they loved God and how everyone else was going to Hell.

***********************

That evening, as I was exchanging gifts with my mom, cousins, uncles and aunts, I got a text from Christi.

"I tried to warn you. Now you know why I don't bring you to my house. I'm sorry! ☹"

CHAPTER 4

It was the first Saturday after spring break. I had spent the week with my dad, and Christi had been working with her parents for her mom's congressional campaign. As expected, Karen Wright easily won the Republican primary, but was now facing an unexpectedly strong Democratic challenger.

Christi and I had not seen each other for the entire break, and I was excited to spend time with her this weekend. We had both been accepted to the same college in the city and were applying early to the dorm so we could be roommates. I called Christi to see when she could come over.

"Um. . ., hey Maria."

"So, when are you coming?"

"Actually, I can't today. I'm so sorry."

"Why not?"

"My mom says you're a bad influence. She doesn't want me coming over again until she's had a talk with you."

"Well, I'm free now. Do you want me to come over?"

She sighed and said, "Not really, but I think you have to. It's just . . . Mom can be really judgmental, so please put on a little makeup and jewelry. You don't have to wear a dress, but you do have to wear something cute."

I hung up the phone and looked in my closet to see what I should wear. It was unseasonably warm, so I decided on a sleeveless scoop-necked t-shirt with alternating navy and white horizontal stripes that Christi had bought for me two weeks ago. I thought it was a little tight around my middle and emphasized my potbelly, but Christi said it showed off my figure well. I also chose a pair of sandals I liked and a pair of shorts that Christi said made my legs look sexy. I put on my usual diamond ear studs, simple gold chain, mascara and nude lip gloss. Who would have thought that in just over six months, I would have gone from feeling uncomfortable with makeup and jewelry to loving this look? Mostly because Christi loved it and it made me feel closer to her.

Christi texted me the address and I drove over to a part of town that I'd never been to, where all the houses were big and all the cars in the driveways were BMW's, Audis and Mercedes Benzes. At first, I thought I'd arrived at the wrong place because when I rang the doorbell, a Latina woman about fifty years old answered the door wearing a frumpy sweater and faded jeans.

"Um. . ., my name is Maria Garcia and I'm here to see Mrs. Wright? I'm a friend of Christi's."

A woman's voice came from inside the house. "Veronica! Show her in!"

"Come this way, miss," Veronica said with a heavy Latin American accent. She escorted me to the living room, where Christi and her mom were standing in front of a big grand piano in the middle of the room.

Christi was wearing the same dark blue off-the-shoulder summer dress she wore on the day I met her, but instead of that warm welcoming smile that melted my heart, she was nervously chewing her lip. Her mother was wearing a white pantsuit with a black blouse. She had an oversized glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"So, you're this Maria that my daughter spends all her time with now."

"Yes, ma'am. It's an honor to finally meet you. Is your husband here as well?"

"No, he's out on church business. Young lady, I'll be blunt. Since the school year began, I've noticed some changes in Christina. She's not as enthusiastic about church or helping me with my campaign as she used to be. Her relationship with that nice boy Brian is suffering, when it had been so good for so long. And now she's even questioning the values she was raised with. And this all seemed to begin when she started spending so much time at your place. I don't need my daughter hanging out with wetbacks. I really don't like illegals like you going to the schools that I paid for with my tax dollars and sponging off me and my fellow citizens!"

"Mom, that's racist! And besides, she's not undocumented. She's not even an immigrant. Veronica's the only undocumented person in this house, and you're the one who brought her here, not me!"

"Christina, you will speak when you are spoken to. Otherwise, please be seen but not heard. So you're a citizen, then? An anchor baby no doubt. When I get to Congress, I'll be working on changing the 14^th Amendment to take away birthright citizenship and you'll be shipped back to Mexico or wherever your parents are from and have to re-apply for citizenship just like all the other immigrants if you want to come back."

"Mom!"

"Christi, it's okay. I've got this. Actually, according to this website that took my mom's DNA, my family has lived in this part of the state for over 400 years. And if you count my Native American ancestors, even longer. Back then, I'm guessing your ancestors were still on the east coast or possibly even back in Europe. So you're more of an immigrant than I am."

"Well, at least we do something useful and produce things instead of living off others like your parents do. We worked for what we have. You people need to learn to do the same."

"Mom! Her mother's a lawyer, just like you. We're only rich because Granddad bought stock in Microsoft and Apple in the early '80s, not because we worked harder than anyone else!"