Nothing to Lose

Bryn Marlow

Used to, I never wore a baseball cap. If ever I did, I made sure it sat brim-forward. Wearing it backwards meant one was homosexual. I pulled on a cap - the right way - the night I painted the kitchen ceiling of our ancient farmhouse. My mother-in-law Georgina steadied the rickety stepladder while I splotched white enamel on us both. She knew my wife and I needed all the help we could get. Our three young sons kept us hopping, left us little time or energy for home maintenance. Georgina could see everything was going to pot. But neither she nor her daughter knew the real story. They didn't know - no one knew - I had finally asked the question that set to shaking my whole world - my insular, ultra-conservative, religious fundamentalist world. It had taken me 35 years, but at last I had joined these two words: "Me, gay?"

If I answered "yes," I was convinced I would go directly to hell when I died. More immediately, I would lose my faith, wife, children, family, friends, church, job, house, dog, chickens, all I held dear. I knew this. I also knew I was dying from the inside out. My marriage was lifeless. Much as I tried, I couldn't convince my wife I loved her. My job performance was failing. My boss had already suggested a career change might do me good. My faith was ineffective. For years I'd prayed, fasted, begged, pleaded with God to remove the sin of my continued attraction to men. No dice.

I was tired, so tired, of the constant struggle to be righteous. I had issued an ultimatum. I gave God 12 months to cure me or I'd do it myself. The 12 months were up. Nothing had happened, save that I'd invented a death machine, tested it on a litter of unwanted puppies. It proved quick, painless, lethal. I had my cure at the ready.

But maybe something had happened. I had finally asked the unaskable question. In so doing, I made room for doubt, for mystery, for the idea there might be something I didn't know about myself. It was a heady feeling to contemplate surrendering control of my life, my destiny.

But how was I to know? Could I be gay? How could I not be gay? What was I to do? Of this I was sure: I had lived with same-sex attractions for as long as I could remember. Would I continue to deny, discount, demonize them? Could I accept them? Could I embrace what is, admit what I know, what I don't, let the rest sort itself out? What did I have to lose anyway?

On a shaky ladder, 'twixt heaven and earth, supported by a woman who would soon have nothing to do with me, I made up my mind. I set down my paintbrush, reached up and with both hands, spun my hat around. With that movement, in that moment, my entire known world tottered off its axis, turned upside down, rolled sideways. I remember being amazed that the sun rose the next morning. And in the east, no less.

©2006 Bryn Marlow