Two Sides of the Same Coin by Jake Mactire Read Free Book Online Page A

You’re at least a good lookin’ dumb hick redneck.” I wasn’t sure how he’d take my attempt at humor, but I did get a small smile. “Why you so down on your father, Mike?” He paused a minute or two and then began to speak as if he was being drowned in the deepest well of hopelessness and despair.
    “Well, when I was about fifteen or so, I began to realize I’d much rather look at other guys than girls. I wanted to be normal, I mean straight, not like that. I thought, well, I’ll tell my old man, and he’ll know what to do. He’ll know how to get me some help and make me right. I don’t know if I told you my old man’s a preacher. Real hellfire and brimstone, the wrath of God this, and God smites that. We lived in a small town in Nebraska, Broken Arrow, population about three thousand. I talked with my old man on a Tuesday. He asked me to pray with him and we did. I asked God to make me straight and so did my old man. Then on Wednesday prayer meeting, he asked the congregation to pray to deliver me from the sin and evil lifestyle of a homosexual.”
    Having grown up in a small town, I knew how fast gossip flies. Being gay in a small town, I know you have to learn to fight and stand up for yourself either verbally, physically, or both pretty quick.
    “No, he didn’t!” was the only response I could make.
    “Yeah, the son of a bitch did!” The anger was coming back. There was so much bitterness and hatred in Mike’s voice. “A few days after that, a bunch of boys stopped me on the way home from school; they beat me to a pulp, and took off my jeans and put a skirt on me. Then they held me down and put makeup all over my face. They just smeared it on, like I was some type of clown.”
    “Hell, Mike, I am so sorry you had to go through that. I hope your father backed you up.” I put my hand on his shoulder. He seemed not to notice. His laugh was cold and the least funny thing I’d ever heard.
    “Not at all. I got a whooping for being a sissy and not standing up for myself. Then on Sunday he asked the congregation to pray for me to deliver me from sin and evil and to make me a man, not a sissy. Even when I stood up for myself, I got beat for fightin’. He kept askin’ me if all the prayers were working and I was startin’ to hanker after women. Like a fool, I said no, and then he and a couple of the deacons of the church decided to beat the devil outta me, for my own good. Can you imagine an appointment at the church three times a week to get the shit beaten outta you?”
    I was speechless with horror, but he didn’t really expect an answer. His voice changed to a flat monotone, which I knew he used to hide the abysmal misery he had endured.
    “He’d ask every month or so if I had changed. After a year of beatings and public prayer requests, he just started ignoring me. He didn’t want to be seen in public with me, never talked to me, and just acted like I wasn’t there. He also punished my brother or sister for talking to me. By that time, I was pretty much an outcast. I was the town fag and didn’t have any friends. Then on my sixteenth birthday, he told me he had a surprise for me. He’d packed a small suitcase with some clothes and stuff, and gave me two hundred dollars and a one-way bus ticket to San Francisco. He told me my evil and sinful ways were not going to corrupt his family anymore. He said I was the devil’s son, not his. That was the last time I ever saw him or anyone else in my family. I’d never talked about it until I met your dad. Now I told you. Sandy knows too.”
    “I am so, so, so sorry you had to go through that, Mike. I told you the other day, I’d like to be your friend and that was the truth. There are a lot of good folks out there who just see Mike, not a gay guy, or a straight guy, just Mike, Sandy for one.”
    “Yeah,” he answered. “You know why you saw me at the rest area Friday night?”
    Just before he said it, I saw it coming.
    “I was there sticking