I am Happy Now

On Sundays, we go to church. Of course we go to church, it'd pratically be a crime not to. My mom wakes me up at eight-thirty so I have enough time to get ready for Sunday school, which doesn't even start until ten, but she wants to make sure I look fresh and awake. I wear a pair of slacks or khakis and a button-down, do my hair with some gel so it stays out of my face, and then a pair of dress shoes. When I get downstairs for a bowl of cereal, my parents are both already ready.

Dad always wears a suit; he takes pride in dressing nice for church, a little to much pride if you ask me. Isn't pride one of the deadly sins? Yeah, well, him and my mom make sure to sit front row and sing as loud as they possibly can. I mean, I love my parents, I really do, but sometimes I feel like this is all for show.

My mom is usually wearing a dress, and when she isn't, she has on a skirt and shirt. She rarely wears pants, if you want me to be truthful. It's not that she thinks woman shouldn't wear pants, I think it's more than she feels reserved in a long skirt. I don't try to dwell on it, but she always wears her best clothes to church. I guess they don't call it 'Sunday Best' for nothing.

If my sister is home, which is more times often than not, she wears a skirt and shirt, because our mom would be so pissed if she wore slacks or a pair of jeans. You have no idea. When we leave, I always feel like the picturesque family, and I hate it.

My dad obviously never works on Sundays. It's the sabbath and that would be a sin, so naturally, my sister and I aren't allowed to have plans either. This Sunday, Marry isn't in town. She's at school still and I consider her so lucky, because I kind of wish I could disappear too. I don't know what I'm doing with my life, if you want me to be honest. I've gotten accepted into a bunch of schools, but I haven't made the choice to go to any of them. It's still May and I only just graduated and I'm waiting for the opportunity to tell my mom and dad that I want to take a year off.

Which, let's be honest, won't happen. Ever probably.

Rodger is at church, which isn't a surprise but he doesn't go every Sunday. He grins at me from a few pews back, beside his own mother and father. He wears a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and I kind of wish I had the guts he did. Walking out of the house like that on a Sunday would not roll by with my parents, or any other parents aside from Rogder's and a few select others. Right now, he's the only person in the church wearing blue jeans.

When church is over, at exactly twelve o'clock, the pastor comes over and talks to my mom and dad. I stand beside them but my eyes are elsewhere, and I'll never admit this outloud, but I'm looking right at this really cute boy's butt. He was just a sophomore and was going to be a junior, and he wore a pair of tight slacks that looked amazing on him. Unfortunately, he was standing beside his long-time girlfriend and her parents. It ruined the sight a bit but I didn't let my gaze falter.

That is, until Rodger pops up with a goofy grin on his freckled face. I smile at him and we embrace, a side hug because full on hugs between two men is just a little bit to gay for church. A little bit to gay. Ha, I wonder what everyone would say if they knew I was gay.

I catch my dad giving Rodger side-way glances but ignore it. He'll probably talk to me later about how bad of an influence he is in my life, but I won't listen to him. Him and my mother may dictate a lot in my life, but I will not let them tell me who my friends can be. They aren't taking away the guy I consider my brother.

"Were you looking at what I think you were looking at?" Rodger grins, but I just glare at him and he shuts up. It never wipes that grin off his face, though.

I thank God everyday he gave me someone like Rodger, I don't know where I would be without him.

Anyway, we aren't supposed to do anything on Sunday. Mom cooks a big meal and we sit down to eat it. I never talk because my parents think it's rude, and if they do want me to speak they'll ask me a specific question. Which I will answer, specifically. For the most part, I sit and listen to what they have to say. Most of the time it's about Dad's job and how I shouldn't be friends with Rodger. Sometimes, it's about where I want to go to school and what I want to do with my life. Dad asks if I want to be a childrens' minister because I'm good with kids, and I just shrug and say maybe. I'll think about.

If you want me to be honest, I love music. I can't play any instruments and I can't really sing, but I know music. I listen to every genre of all time, and if you ask me about a song right now, I could quote it to you. I want to score movies, I think. Because I like movies and I like music and I think putting it all in one would be the best option for me.

Oh, and I also want to have a boyfriend. A boy that will hold me and kiss me and maybe tell me he loves me. Yeah, I want that. Doesn't look like I'll ever have it.

They 'dismiss' me from the table and I head upstairs, finally getting out of my church clothes. I slipped on a plain t-shirt and a pair of grey jeans, slipping on my cliche checkard Vans. I walked into the upstairs bathroom and took a comb to my hair, getting all the gel out so it fell limp in my face. I smile to myself, looking at the teeth that my parents paid three-thousand dollars for, and you better believe they were damn near perfect.

I walked down the stairs, grabbing my wallet and stuffing it in my back pocket. Biting my lip, I stick my head into the living room. My dad sits on the couch, watching football, while my mom is beside him reading a book, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. Taking a deep breath of air, I walk in and clear my throat, causing both my parents to look my way.

"Are you going somewhere?" My dad asks, his brow furrowing in disappointment.

"I was going to ask if I could," I say quickly, hoping they don't think I'm being disrespectful. "Rodger wanted to know if I wanted to hang out."

"It's Sunday, Abel," he sighs, looking back at the t.v.

"I know, sir," I say, wringing my hands. I look at my mom who smiles sadly and looks back at her book. "It's just I was home all day yesterday, and I was hoping since it's the first full weekend of summer it'd be okay to go out."

"Have you had quiet time?" My mom asks, still looking at her book, though her question is obviously pointed at me.

"Yes ma'am," I say. I'm not lying, either. Before we went to church I sat down and read my Bible. "I was going to have some more quiet time before I went to bed, as well."

"Fine, Abel," my dad says, waving his hand in my general direction. "You can go. Text us exactly where you are."

"Yes sir," I smile widely. "Thank you, sir," I say as I quickly exit the living room. I book it to the front door before they have a chance to change their minds and close the door quietly behind me. I fist pump the air and grin widely, getting out my phone to text Rodger.

He tells me he's impressed I got premission and that he'd meet me at the coffee shop on Maine Street. I have to walk there, while he can drive. I don't actually have my liscense. My dad said it was unnecessary and I didn't need one. It was not manditory, he said. Of course, I'm eighteen and can go up and get one on my own, never having gone to a single class, but I hadn't done that yet. If I did, my dad might have a heartattack and I'd be sent off to a school for delinquents.

I text my dad where I'm going as I walk down the highway, the road practically empty as everyone was at home. Not many people were ever out on Sundays. At least not in this town. I put my hands in my pockets and squint towards the sun; I should have worn a pair of shorts. It's getting hotter as we get further into summer.

When I get to the coffee shop, Rodger is waiting in his car. He looks at me oddly as I smile, beginning to curl a bit into myself as we're about to be out in public. I'm kind of shy in a way, and I don't really like people. Which is one reason I don't want to do anything with ministry; it involves way to many people.

Rodger steps out of his car and walks around to the front. He is frowning which causes my own frown to form. He says before he reaches me, "Why didn't you tell me you were walking? I would have come picked you up."

"Oh, I thought you knew," I shrug, pulling my hands from my pockets. "It's no big deal, I walk all the time."

"I know," he says, frowning thoughtfully. He wraps his arms around me and I smile, doing to same back. It's not that awkward side hug we had at church, but it's a real hug. The kind you share with your friends and family and boyfriends. Where your chest touches and your arms wrap around each other, the good kind of hugs. The way hugs are supposed to be. It's not romantic or sweet or sexual in any way. It's comfortable, the kind of hugs I wish I could share with everyone, but if you hug other people like this in my town you're considered a 'fag.'

Oh, I hate that word.

"I just wish you didn't have to, y'know?" Rodger says as he pulls away from me, smiling sadly. He keeps his arm over my shoulder and leads me towards the coffee shop entrance. Fortunately, there aren't many people out, so Rodger and I can act any way we want. As 'weird' as we want, or comfortable, or whatever. He's my best friend and I'm not going to pretend like we aren't as close as close can get. We're as close as any two best friends, guy or girl, can get.

"What's that?" Rodger says, pulling me from my thoughts. I blink and look over where he is pointing; on the window beside the door to the coffee shop is a flyer. It shows the picture of a microphone and guitar, and says 'Mic Night, Tuesday, June 1st, Come Listen to Emmanuel!' I furrow my brow and look at my best friend, who seems more interested in it than he should.

"There's Mic Night every Tuesday," I say to Rodger, brushing his arm off my shoulder and opening the door to the coffee shop.

He looks at me and follows me inside. There's only two other people here, one a boy a few years younger than me and the other obviously his mother. They don't look at us, just continue eating their sandwhiches and drinking their coffees. I don't know why someone would have a coffee in the summer; they must be insane.

"But they're from out of town," he says, stepping in front of me at the line. The teenage girl working back there, who I don't recongize, smiles fakely and asks what he wants to order. He tells her an iced coffee and she goes to make it. "I mean, I don't know any Emmanuels."

"Point?" I roll my eyes and tell the girl what I want when it's my turn, biting my lip. My cheeks automatically pink because I'm talking to someone I don't know and I wish I wasn't such a woman. It's embarrassing, honestly. "I don't see the big deal."

"We're coming," he says, smirking at me. When I get my own iced coffee, he leads us to a booth in the far corner, sitting across from me. He folds his arms on the table and looks out the window.

"You know my parents might not let me," I say quietly, twirling the straw in my cup.

"You're an adult, Abe," he says, widdening his eyes incredulously at me. I lower my gaze and chew on the inside of my cheek, my leg starting to bounce on its own accord. "Fuck what they let you do, you can do whatever you want." I don't say anything and Rodger sighs loudly, running a hand through his long auburn hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cuss."

I smile to myself, taking a sip of the coffee. It tasted like chocolate because I asked for extra syrup; it was my addiction, chocolate was. Of course my parents saw this as an overindulgence and something I shouldn't do.

"Hey Rod," I say, causing him to look at me with a brow raised. I smile to myself. "I told my parents I was going to have more quiet time tonight to sweeten the deal of letting me come here... But I don't think I am."

"Look out," he laughs loudly, throwing his hands in the air obnoxiously. I smile. "We got a badass over here!" He says loudly.

"Shh," I hiss, laughing quietly to myself. I shake my head as Rodger nods his head at me, letting out a sigh. I know where he's coming from, and I wish I could help, but the need to please my parents overpowers pretty much every other thought I have. I just want prolong the moment they disown me, is that so bad? Because it will happen. They will do it.

"Seriously, though," Rodger says, deadpinning in a way that makes me smile impressively. "We're coming to his show, simply because we don't know him."

"Fine," I huff, sloutching my shoulders. I smile as I look down at my drink, slurping up some more chocolate. "I'll go," I agree, "but only because I'm hoping the guy is hawt."

"Oh god," Rodger says, covering his face with his hands, causing me to giggle femininely. "You are so gay."

"Dang straight!" I laugh, causing Rod to laugh as well. I wish I could be like this around everyone else. What would they all say, if they could see the real me?

I know what they'd say: Nothing. Then they would hate me.