The Cross in the Closet Read Online Free Page A

were overwhelming. To do so would ruin my life. But what kind of life did I have, if such a barrier existed between me and the people I knew I should love? I felt the idea growing, rooting itself in me, like the decision had already been made, and I could almost see the path that was in front of me. I was meant for this. It was a calling I neither wanted nor understood, but I could not ignore the overwhelming sense of divine affirmation in it.
    I needed to come out of the closet as a gay man.

    Coming Out, into the Closet
January 1st, 2009
    My brother’s face betrays concern, and it seems impossible to force the words from my mouth. He’s not just concerned, he’s worried. Each second passes as if time has been slowed, almost to a stop. My thoughts race incoherently, and my mission appears only in glimpses before diving back beneath the chaotic surface of my consciousness.
    Andrew and I share similar features, but we are opposites in stature and personality. Whereas I am the typical husky American, my brother appears carved from marble. The lines of his face angle downward and his eyes are an expressive blue. He is confused. Years of learning have taught me to understand, at least, his mannerisms.
    Over the past three months, I’ve stood in front of my bedroom mirror and practiced the speech, for this exact moment, no less than five thousand times, and I thought I had it memorized. But fear has wiped my memory of anything I hoped to say. My palms are sweaty, and even though it is the middle of winter, a bead of sweat forms on the crease of my forehead. I feel nauseated, my stomach a pot left unwatched and about to boil over. No amount of preparation could have prepared me for the moment that I look my only brother in the eyes and tell him I am gay.
    My sister-in-law, a recent addition to the family, stands next to her husband in the kitchen of their house, rubbing his back empathetically. She eyes him protectively, bracing herself for the moment I finally speak.
    The second hand on the clock above the entryway reaches each marker with the force of a hammer strike. The dog drinks loudly from his bowl, lapping up water with a curled tongue and an animated jerk of his head. Friends are on the covered porch nearby, smoking cigarettes and laughing about something, I wish I knew what. The dishwasher clicks, switching cycles on the first load of dirty dishes from our pancake breakfast. Loads two, three, and four are stacked neatly in the sink; leftover syrup drips over the edge of the top plate. I feel my subconscious preparing for another attempt at my speech.
    Still nothing audible escapes my lips. I cannot speak. Finally, out of nowhere, it happens.
    “I’m gay!”
    Those two simple words are sharply punctuated by the silence that follows them. My lips sting as I realize that my hand has smacked them closed. I am in shock. Two words, and no immediate response from my brother. My life has changed forever. Waiting to say the words was one kind of hell, but waiting for my brother to respond to them is a second hell that makes me long for the first. My eyes are on the verge of releasing salty, wet tears, and the fear inside me is growing. I feel cowardly as I lean against the counter, petrified, one hand still covering my mouth.
    “Are you joking with us, Tim?” My brother’s voice sounds different. It is not his normal voice. It wavers and almost cracks as he speaks, and I can tell by the look on his face that he is trying to decide whether or not I’m serious, hoping that the next words out of my mouth will be
Got ya!
or
Just kidding!
    “No, Andrew. I’m not.” The words are slightly mumbled through my hand, but they are understandable. My resolve is weakening, but the words I’ve spoken are out of my control now. They are alive as I am alive, and they cannot be undone. Even if I were to take it all back and tell my brother about my experiment, the wound of this moment would always remain. My body begins shaking as I