I grew up in South Carolina, a misplaced child of the 80s. I was raised in a fairly religious family, though I think my dad was never into it. He never went to church. In his defense, he worked 6 days a week, and he took his rightful day of rest. We started Baptist, but eventually went to Presbyterian. For those of you less versed in the many denominations, Presbyterianism is like Christianity 2.0 Light. Less literal, some would say more evolved...others, hell bound. But I believed. I have read the Bible cover to cover twice, though that was years ago. Around the same time I tackled the Lord of the Rings trilogy. First time I finished it, I was about...13, I think? I have gone to church retreats in which the pastors informed me I had a calling, due to my ability to help older kids through their questions and calamities of faith. They all believed in me. I believed, and I was happy, because I was able to do the lord's work, I was able to help people.
Also around that time I met my best friend, who shared my name, Kevin. He and his family had started going to the same church. It took us all of about....15 seconds, to realize we would be friends, and not long after to realize, best friends. We did everything together. Explored the woods, of which there was plenty, read comic books, played video games, etc. I used to stay out past my curfew just to hang out with him. He lived a short bike ride from me. Things remained pretty much the same, all through middle school, but around 10th grade, in Highschool, things seemed to change...I know not how, but I believe that, somehow, I suspected that my friend, the closest and most intimate person in my life, was gay. I never really came to it fully, but thinking back on it, I can't help but think that I at least suspected it. He never said, and I never asked. Don't ask, don't tell, lol. I think it was because of the number of times we had gone over the subject of Christianity and homosexuality. A subject that was quite clear, both to everyone in the community, and in the Bible itself. I answered many of his questions with scripture. I never judged him, but the thing that was most important to me at the time certainly did. He became more reclusive, quit the marching band, quit everything in school, and stayed home, wouldn't go outside much, though at the time, I thought it was because of the greatest video game system ever unleashed, the Playstation.
On March 20, 1999, I went to his house to find that his parents weren't home, which was unexpected, as they were always home on the weekend. I went home. I got the phone call several hours later. Kevin, my best friend, had drank antifreeze, and killed himself. He left a note. An apology to the world for what he was, for his inability to be what God commanded of him. He was gay, and had tired of trying to not be. I have the words reading out in my mind even now, as I type this, but I'll never repeat them. No one but those who knew him deserve to know his final thoughts.
He was so pale. He didn't look like himself. His was the first dead body I had ever seen. During the service ( a religious one), his parents, nor anyone else, (especially not the pastor) made any mention of his being gay, which he outed himself in his suicide note. I alone spoke the truth that day, the reason why he was dead, why my best friend would never go hiking with me again. His parents were OUTRAGED, and mine as well, and the pastor, to his credit, calmly, but FIRMLY, ushered me out of a side door, to the quoir room, where I stayed for a long time.
I have never spoken to his parents again. I have never seen them again. They can't die soon enough, as far as I'm concerned. Gallons of alcohol, 4 years of college with an entire new set of great friends, drugs, nothing, well ever erase my crime. It won't wash the blood from my hands, and it won't blur the memory of it's feel, it's vivid color. It won't remove his name nor his face from my mind, and it won't make my actions justified. I will never be free of it. My faults during that time of my life will dog me till the day I die. I used to think, things will change over time. But I'm 33, and I'm typing this for all the world to see. Clearly, the years have not chipped away at this as I thought.
And now, what to do with it? This bottled up guilt and rage? An anger such that, truly, my hands shake as I type this, my body shivers. All I can say is, for those of you who adhere to these beliefs, and who are, genuinely, good people, I'm sorry, I really am. But how good can you be, when you adhere to something so obaminable, so awful, so segregating and divisive? How good can you be, when you adhere to something that kills in so heinous a way?
