Dreams of Us Read online

  Cami Clark was a year older than me, and happened to be one of the best athletes on the team. She was the starting shortstop, and I had moved to second base since she had seniority. The two of us were a force to be reckoned with defensively. Our teammates joked that there was an impenetrable wall up the middle. Everyone said it was impossible to hit the ball past the B's and C's since our names were Bailey Black and Cami Clark.

  We had become really good friends before one tiny insignificant thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were in a relationship.

  I don't even really remember the exact moment when we became more than friends, but somehow it morphed into that. Cami was definitely the initiator, but she was so sweet and gentle about it compared to Justin and Cameron, that I remember thinking it was definitely a more pleasant option than being with either of them.

  So there you have it.

  I'm not even sure how it happened, but I fell backwards into a relationship with another girl.

  I remember thinking it was odd at first that no one seemed to care, but everyone just assumed that girl athletes were like that.

  I had a few run-ins with frat boys that only served to remind me that men were sex-crazed lunatics. Plus, there was this older creep who came to all of my softball games and stalked my social media, making weird comments that seemed like he thought we were closer than we really were. Men in general seemed scary and unattractive.

  Cami wasn't weird at all. She was my best friend, and I grew more and more confident with my decision to be with her as time went on. She graduated a year ahead of me, but we stayed together. I took her place at shortstop my senior year, and she was in the stands, cheering us on when we made a run for the national championship. Our team finished third, but it was obviously a very exciting time that was the icing on the cake to my college softball career.

  I graduated with honors and had a good job lined up at a reputable ad agency in Chicago.

  All was right with the world.

  Cami and I had been together for over three years, and I was comfortable and content. She had studied journalism, and had a prestigious job as a sportscaster on the local news station. She wasn't the main sports anchor, but there was a growing market for beautiful women who were good on camera and knew their stuff about sports, and Cami fit the bill perfectly. She was really good at it, and quickly began getting more and more airtime.

  The two of us gave each other space to focus on our careers. We had a lot of friends—some of whom were gay, and some who weren't, but all of them accepted us for who we were. We never had to explain our choices to anyone—if anything we were celebrated for them.

  People assume that lesbians look a certain way, but she and I both happened to look like the girl next door. We both had long hair and dressed like women, so guys always thought we were hot when we went out together. We got a lot of attention. I was shy about it at first, but the longer you do something, the more natural it becomes. Cami was smart and beautiful, and hands down a better option than any Justin or Cameron I'd come across.

  She and I had been together just over three years when everything changed. I went home to see my parents for the weekend, and I went to church with them as I usually did when I visited. I never mentioned my lifestyle to my family, so I just assumed they didn't know about it. Cami and I had always downplayed our relationship when she came home with me. As far as I knew, they thought we were best friends and nothing more.

  My parents went early for Sunday school, and I told them I would meet them at church for the main service. I was walking up to the front door when I ran into my little cousin. My mom had a big family, and I had a hard time keeping track of all of them, but this one's name was Cole. I wasn't sure how old he was—roughly middle school age. He was my cousin Tracy's little boy. He asked me why in the world I was going to church, and what followed was an extremely awkward, candid conversation where I found out that my family and basically the whole town knew I was gay.

  The funny thing was, that word didn't even seem to apply to me when Cole said it. He accused me of being gay, and I flat out denied it—not just to get him off my back, but because I honestly didn't believe it.

  I did not go to church that day. I waited for my parents to get home and told them goodbye and that I was heading back to Chicago. It was the first time I remembered being confronted by my own choices, and it didn't feel good.

  My relationship with Cami became strained as I spent the next month or so evaluating everything.

  I thought about my future.

  I thought about the possibility of being a mom and having a normal family. I wasn't sure if any good man would have me after the choices I'd made. I honestly wasn't sure if there was such a thing as a good man. I began to slowly slip into depression as doubt and fear took over my thoughts.

  Cami knew something was bothering me, but I didn't tell her what it was. I hit rock bottom during those weeks, and started praying again for the first time in years. I wasn't sure if God was listening, but I felt that I had no other option but to try. I was beginning to realize that I was uncomfortable with my own choices, but I was terrified at the idea of breaking up with her. She was good to me. We finished each other's sentences. We had a dog, for goodness sake.

  One day when I was really struggling with my doubts and emotions, I went to a random church. I thought maybe I would hear from God more clearly if I went into an actual church building. I just drove down the street and chose one at random. I'm not sure what my plan was. I think I assumed I could just go into the sanctuary and pray. I honestly didn't think I would have to speak to a human being, so it took me off guard when a man yelled at me in the hallway as soon as I entered.

  "Hey, we're back here!" he said as if he was expecting someone.

  I peered down the hall into what looked like an office, and saw him waving at me. I could tell by the shape of the building that the sanctuary was in the opposite direction so I just shook my head at him and pointed the other way before taking off in the direction I indicated.

  "Are you here with the pizza?" he asked, coming into the hallway so I could hear him more clearly.

  "Do I look like I have pizza?" I asked, holding out my empty hands and feeling more desperate and confused than ever.

  He laughed. "I'm sorry," he said, "I can't see anything without my glasses. Can I help you?"

  "I don't really need anything. I was just hoping to sit down in the auditorium if that's okay."

  "Of course, but are you sure you don't want to talk? I'm an excellent listener."

  "I'm not sure you want to hear what I have to say," I said.

  The words sounded foreign coming out of my mouth. All my life, I had been a positive, upbeat person. I was a leader, a mentor, a smiler, a joker, the life of the party. I didn't even recognize this sad person who was being less than friendly to this unassuming random church guy. I let out a long sigh as he smiled at me patiently.

  "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a few things off my chest if you have a minute. Are you a preacher or something?"

  "I'm the pastor here, yeah." He smiled. "Does that make you reconsider wanting to talk to me?"

  "No, but it should probably make you reconsider wanting to talk to me."

  "Aw, give me a little credit," he said with a smile. "I've been at this for twenty years. I've talked with some pretty rough characters in my day."

  I stared at him. "Do you think people are born gay or do you think it's a choice they make?" I asked.

  His eyes widened at my direct question. I could tell it was the last thing he thought I'd say, but he quickly recovered and regarded me with an accepting smile. I knew he was going to say it was a choice we make. That's what all Christians thought. It was his job to say that.

  "That's an excellent question," he said. "I guess the best way I could answer that is to say both."

  Chapter 2

  Both? What kind of answer was that? I looked around wondering what sort of church I'd chosen. I figured it w
as one of those where they told you anything you wanted to hear as long as you had your checkbook handy. My skepticism must have been written all over my face because he smiled and put a hand on my shoulder.

  "I'd be happy to explain what I mean by that if you'll stick around and talk for a few minutes."

  I nodded, and he motioned with a flick of his head for me to follow him. I assumed he would take me into the main auditorium, but instead, he headed down the hall in the direction from which he came.

  There were four or five people sitting around an office, and I instantly got embarrassed and uncomfortable. I was in a bad place when I left my house, and I was pretty sure I'd never looked worse in my life. My instinct was to make eye contact and smile at everybody, but I just didn't have it in me. I followed him, staring down at the floor the entire time we walked.

  "Look out for the pizza guy," he said as we passed through the room and into a door on the far side. He motioned for me to have a seat on the small sofa and closed the door behind us. I figured it was his office. I'd never been in a preacher's office before, and it felt like a mix between the principal's office and a psychiatrist.

  "You were asking if I thought we were born with certain tendencies," he said as he took a seat in a nearby chair, "and my answer to that is a resounding yes."

  I was glad he was comfortable getting right to the point because the last thing I wanted to do was sit around and talk about the weather. "I thought Christians thought being in a same-sex relationship was a choice."

  "It is a choice," he said.

  "But you just said people were born with certain tendencies."

  "They are."

  He knew I was confused by his conflicting statement, but he just sat there and regarded me with a patient smile as if waiting for me to get it. I sighed and sank my face into my hands.

  "I'm gonna tell you something that I don't tell too many people," he said.

  I regarded him, waiting for him to continue.

  The hint of a regretful smile tinged his lips. "I'm a thief."

  I shifted my gaze around the room, looking for a hidden camera or something that could explain his off-the-wall statement.

  "When I was in high school, I worked at a popular tourist attraction," he said. "I only had access to a cash resister for a few days before the temptation became too much for me to bear. I instantly started skimming money out of the till." He shrugged. "In my mind, I was justified. I thought, how will they ever know if a few less people come through here? Besides, they're not paying us enough anyway. I'll just take it into my own hands to make up the difference of what I should be getting paid to come to work." He paused and regarded me with a sad smile. "I was really good at it. I was a great employee, and no one had the slightest clue about what I was doing. It was too easy. And you know what?"

  "What?"

  "I haven't changed a bit. Even now, I walk through the store, and my brain calculates ways I could steal big-ticket items. I'll be shopping with my kids, and I'll start thinking about ways I could get a flat screen TV or laptop out the side door with no one noticing."

  I narrowed my eyes at him, unable to believe what he was saying.

  "It's true," he said with a humorless chuckle. "I'm a thief to my very core. I could easily do it as a career. I could be one of those long-con guys like on Ocean's 11 where they plan a complicated heist that takes months to pull off. That's just how my brain works." He paused again. "It's not just the end result I like, either. It's the whole process. I like the adrenaline that comes from the fear of getting caught."

  "Are you being serious right now?" I asked, looking around again to make sure I wasn't on some sort of hidden camera show.

  "I'm being totally serious. I'm a thief. I was born a thief. That's the way I think." He sighed. "Do I act on it? No, I don't—not anymore at least. I came to know Christ when I was twenty-two years old, and since then, I've depended on Him to give me the strength I need to get past my tendencies. The bank teller gave me fifty dollars too much the other day, and I turned around and made the twenty minute drive back to the bank to return it. It was hard, but I did it. The old me would have never in a million years done that."

  He paused, but I just sat there waiting to hear what he'd say next.

  "What I'm getting at is that we're all born with our own things—our own struggles. Mine are different from yours, or Cindy's, or Bobby's. It doesn't matter what our sin is, and no one's sin is better or worse than anyone else's. The bottom line is that it separates us from God. Period. Everyone, no matter what they struggle with, is a sinner. Everyone needs Jesus."

  "Well, I accepted Jesus at summer camp when I was fifteen," I said. "And I'm still struggling with all my junk. You did it at twenty-two, and you were just miraculously able to stop everything you were doing. Why didn't it work like that for me?"

  "Just because you accept Christ doesn't mean you're perfect. You're gonna struggle. You're gonna slip."

  "I'm in a three-year slip right now. A bad one."

  "So? Some people accept Christ and then go on a forty-year slip. You're here now, aren't you?"

  I stared down at my feet, not knowing what else to say.

  "Sin isn't God sitting up in Heaven wagging his finger at us and making this big long list of rules we have to follow just for his own entertainment. Sin is sin because it hurts us. He is a loving father, and in His wisdom, He knows the things that will hurt us, and He warns us against them. He made men and women to compliment each other, and He knows straying from that will ultimately cause us harm. It's like a parent telling his two year old not to play with a knife. We as parents see the danger in it, so we can warn our child, but they think it's a cool, fun, shiny object and they cry when we take it away." He reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. "We all have our issues, and no one's are better or worse than the next person's. We're all sinners saved by grace. I have to choose on a daily basis to stop playing with knives. My humanity still sees them as shiny and fun."

  "Do you think it worked when I accepted Christ when I was in high school?" I asked.

  "Of course it worked. Salvation never fails."

  I could hear people in the next room and smell pizza. I let out a long sigh. "I guess I should let you get back to your lunch."

  "I'm not in a hurry," he said. "I want you to ask any questions you might have."

  "I guess I'm just scared."

  "Scared of what?"

  "Scared of trying to make a change. I'm not even sure how my life ended up this way, but now that it has, I'm comfortable with it—or at least I thought I was. I had a bad experience with a couple of guys in high school and college, and there's this creep that's always on my Instagram. I guess I just sort of have a bad taste in my mouth with men. I mean, I have some friends who are guys, but I never looked at them like that."

  "Are you frightened by this social media guy?"

  "No," I said, shrugging. "I think he's just a fan or whatever. He just comments on all my stuff the second I put it up there like we're best friends or something."

  "What do you do for a job?" he asked.

  "I'm a graphic designer at an ad agency. I called in sick today."

  "And graphic designers have fans?" he asked, seeming concerned by the fact that I had a social media stalker.

  I cracked a smile. "He's not a fan of my design work—although he comments on all that stuff too. I'm talking about softball. I played softball in college. I didn't think it was weird that he came to all of our games. Lots of random people did that—you know, just softball fans or whatever. It is a little weird that he's still all over my social media, but really, I was just telling you that to emphasize that I'd had pretty bad luck with men in general."

  "How about me?" he asked.

  I cracked a smile. "You're pretty cool, I guess."

  "How about your dad?"

  "He's good too."

  He sent me a caring smile. "I'm not trying to tell you what your next move should be, but please don't judge us
all for the mistakes of the ones you've had bad experiences with."

  "I'll try," I said. I was terrified at the thought of my next move, but I tried not to think about it. "I'm glad I came here today. Thanks for talking to me."

  "I'm glad you came too. I didn't get your name."

  "Bailey Black."

  "It was a pleasure, Bailey Black. My name's John Malone. I hope you'll call or email if you need anything at all."

  "I will." I stood, dusting off my thighs even though there was nothing on them. He brought me into his arms and hugged me like a caring father would. "You're a beautiful person, Bailey, inside and out, and you're very important to God."

  "Thank you," I said, holding back tears. He asked if he could pray with me, and I agreed. It was probably a mistake because he said very specific things that touched my heart in unexpected ways. Tears freely flowed down my cheeks as he asked for God's grace and favor and blessings on my life and said other sweet things I didn't deserve. He hugged me and handed me a tissue, and I took a minute to get myself together before we ventured out to the office pizza party. He asked if I would to stay to eat, but I refused and walked through the office without speaking to any of the people who were in there.

  The changes in my life were not instant. They were hard and scary, and I had to take them slowly, but the more I started seeking God, the easier it became.

  My break up with Cami was a fairly big ordeal. It may seem odd to imagine this, but she and I were popular amongst our circle of friends and had become accustomed to a somewhat glamorous lifestyle together. Everyone was completely shocked when I decided to leave her, which made it that much harder. I didn't make any sort of big proclamations about a lifestyle change—I just told her it was what I needed to do.

  I went home to stay with my parents for a couple of weeks, but ultimately decided to stay in Chicago since I had friends there and a good job. I got a small apartment downtown near my office building. It was close enough so that I could walk to work.

  The whole transition took a couple of months, and I ended up on the other side of it with mixed emotions. I still had good friends, but my home life seemed empty and lonely for weeks. I kept thinking about that pastor saying I had to make a conscious effort not to play with knives and that it would benefit me in the long run. It was hard to imagine Cami or my past life as something that was harmful, but somewhere deep inside me I knew it was the truth. For weeks, I trudged along, going through the motions and hoping it would get easier.