Page 2 of Broken Halos
“What time is Bible school?” I asked after several minutes.
“One o’clock in the afternoon.”
“I’ll be there,” I said, earning a smile. Little did I know how much the decision would alter my life.
“FOURTEEN YEARS AGO TODAY, WITHthe help from a great man, I chose to stay clean and sober. I was eighteen and in jail serving a six-month sentence for breaking and entering and selling the stolen items.” I paused for the typical gasp from new meeting attendees. “I had zero potential for a happy life. My body had already started to detox from the poisons I’d put into it for the past two years. When I looked into the late Randall Givens’ eyes, I knew he was my only hope at redemption. I wanted it very badly. There was never a day living on the street where I didn’t crave a better life for myself, I just never thought it was attainable. I had given up believing in miracles. I’d stopping waiting for a hero to come along and rescue me from a miserable life. But Pastor Randall did come along, and he made me believe again. He restored my faith in humanity and the god I was convinced could never love me as I was—gay and proud of it.”
One of the newcomers looked away and squirmed in her seat. It was never my goal to make anyone uncomfortable, but I always started out with the same story when someone new arrived just in case they didn’t thoroughly read the pamphlet their counselors gave them. I wasn’t going to deny my sexuality or my faith, because there were plenty of other chapter meetings they could’ve chosen. My mission in life was to provide a safe place of worship for the rainbow community and a Narcotics Anonymous chapter designed with LGBTQ+ persons in mind because they had additional needs and issues their straight counterparts didn’t. It wasn’t like I hung up a sign that read: No Straights Allowed, but I made it abundantly clear in all my signage, descriptions, and even with my rainbow logo that this was a safe place for my community.
“Don’t worry,” I said jokingly. “I’m not going to preach to anyone, and I’m not here to convert you to a religion. My only goal is to help you stay clean and sober.” The woman met my eyes once more and smiled slightly. “I took the chance Pastor Randall gave me and never looked back. I had many hurdles and temptations to overcome, but my need for a better life outweighed the desire for drugs. I want to help you reach that point too. The first way to do it is always to be honest. Pretending you aren’t having cravings isn’t helping you and standing up here and talking about your struggles could help someone else who isn’t ready to talk about theirs yet.”
I caught and held a particular member’s eyes for a few seconds before glancing around the room again. Keeton had been attending meetings for months but had never felt comfortable enough to stand up in front of the group. When he had first arrived; angry, bitter, and so very alone in the world, he made snide remarks when someone shared their story. So, instead of seeing his silence as a negative thing, I saw it as a victory.
“Speaking in front of the group is always voluntary, and I’m available for private counseling an hour before each meeting. Other arrangements can be made in emergency situations. You’ll also pair up with a sponsor who you can reach out to any time. We’re a family here, we care about one another, and we’re in this for the long haul. Are there any questions before I step aside for someone else to come up and speak?” No one raised their hand or asked a question, so I asked for a volunteer to come up and give testimony. Rebecca raised her hand.
“Come on up, Bec,” I said and returned to my seat.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Rebecca, but my friends call me Bec.”
“Hello, Bec,” almost everyone said to her.
“This is my third attempt to get clean and sober.” She gasped and looked at me with wide, panicked eyes before continuing. “My lack of success has nothing to do with Ollie or his program. This is only my second time attending one of his meetings. Maybe I should back up to the beginning.”
I nodded at her encouragingly then listened as Bec talked about deciding to quit on her own after she was nearly beaten to death by her pimp. Her sobriety didn’t last long; she returned to prostitution and was arrested a few months later. The judge had offered her rehab over jail, and she’d chosen wisely. A stint at rehab isn’t the cure-all everyone thinks it is. Sure, you get medical attention and therapy while your body detoxes, but you’re on your own most of the time after that unless the court mandates meetings. In Bec’s case, she was required to attend meetings and chose mine because she didn’t want to be harassed at other meetings when her sexuality came up in conversation.
Only straight people thought sexuality shouldn’t be a factor in anything because they’d never had their own used against them as a weapon. A person’s sexuality is a huge factor in teen homelessness, drug addiction, depressive disorders, and suicide. I couldn’t change the world by myself, but I could build an army of people who could combat hate and intolerance. Instead of using bullets and machines to kill, we’d use words to heal and educate. It all started right here in this room with acceptance, love, and encouragement.
“The second time, I came here to one of Ollie’s meetings and felt hope for the first time in decades. Everyone was so nice to me, but I guess I wasn’t ready yet. I went back to rehab for sixty days where Ollie visited me weekly and let me know how welcome I’d be when I was released. And here I am. I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about the things that led to my addiction, but I do want to say you’ve all chosen a great program if you’re serious about getting help.” I noticed her gaze connected with the new lady who’d looked so nervous when I introduced myself, and she didn’t shift away for a few seconds. It felt like a host of things were being communicated between them during the brief interaction.
“Thank you, Bec,” I said from my chair. “Who’s next?”
“I’ll go,” Paul Windsor said.
Some meetings were over with quickly, and others took longer because we had more speakers. Most of the time, I wouldn’t be upset if meetings lasted hours because people were free to come and go as they pleased, and I didn’t want anyone in the group to feel rushed. After the meetings ended, a small group of us usually went out for burgers, fries, and milkshakes before going home, but lately, we started going to Queen City Divas after dinner to watch drag queens perform.
It probably wasn’t something many pastors did in their free time, but I would never be considered anormalpastor, nor did I want to be. I didn’t try to stifle my sexual desire, because to do so felt unnatural to me. Loving God didn’t mean I couldn’t love my body, and those of other men, or had to give up sex. I wasn’t a priest for crying out loud.
Andy, one of the guys in the group, dated a performer, so that’s how our weekly field trips started. It was during one of those late nights at Queen City Divas when Milo introduced me to his former drag mother, Archie White, who was responsible for the antsy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I tried to keep an eye discreetly on the time. Archie had retired from drag to run an HIV transition home he named Ryan’s Place to honor his friend who’d died from complications of the disease, and the drag revue was hosting a charity event to raise money for the home. The owners at QCD decided to donate a huge portion of the profits every Wednesday to Ryan’s Place, and Archie showed up to emcee the event. His previous life as a drag queen and his ownership of the transition house were the only things I knew about the man I couldn’t get out of my mind because he kept me at arm’s length every time I tried to get close enough to ask questions. He preferred not to be in the same room with me at all, but it hadn’t always been that way between us. For a brief, shining moment, Archie looked at me with keen interest and longing, until he found out about my profession.
“Ollie,” Keeton nudged me. “No one else has anything to share tonight.” Dang. How long had I tuned out? “About twenty minutes,” Keeton said.
“I asked that out loud?” I whispered.
“No, but you have this dazed look on your face and the question in your eyes. Don’t worry, no one else noticed with that serene smile slapped on your face.”
“I bet he was thinking about a certain someone with mesmerizing green eyes and pouty lips designed to kiss and suck.” The comment came from Tyler who was a CFO for a major corporation whose headquarters were in Cincinnati.
“Ew,” Adam said. He was a pediatrician at Children’s Hospital. “He’s a man of the cloth.”
“Beneath the cloth beats the heart of a man,” Brent said. For an engineer, he sounded romantic at times. “And the heart wants dirty, back-clawing sex with a man he can bend in half and—”
“Guys,” I whispered, cutting him off before he could finish. “You don’t usually get crude until we go to dinner. Let’s not change that now.”
“Besides,” Andy said, “Archie is one of Milo’s best friends. I’m not cool with hearing this.”
“Mr. Sensitivity,” Keeton teased.
I ignored them and walked to the podium to close out the meeting by expressing my gratitude they all came and my hope to see them again the following week. Some of the veteran recovery addicts attended meetings biweekly or monthly, but most showed up weekly. As I explained many times, it was good to connect with people who understood and related to your daily struggles.