LGBTQ Literature is a Readers and Book Lovers series dedicated to discussing literature that has made an impact on the lives of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer people. From fiction to contemporary nonfiction to history and everything in between, any literature that touches on LGBTQ themes is welcome in this series. LGBTQ Literature posts on the last Sunday of every month at 7:30 PM EST. If you are interested in writing for the series, please send a kosmail to Chrislove.
Waking the Old Gods
John Joseph Lang, “Jay” to his friends, set the six-pack of soda and the jumbo packet of tortilla chips on the counter of the convenience store. Behind him several people formed a line with their own purchases.
The store owner, narrow-eyed, mean-mouthed, sporting a buzz cut above his porcine face, frowned. “What are you doin’ here? We don’t serve your kind here.”
Mutterings of agreement rose behind Jay’s back.
“What do you mean, ‘my kind’?” Jay said. “My kind is the human kind.”
“You’re a faggot! Don’t want your money. Get out.”
“Discrimination is against the law,” Jay protested.
“I own this store and the only law that counts is mine. Now get out!”
“All right, I’m leaving.”
Bastard, Jay muttered under his breath. He turned to walk out of the store. He simply didn’t feel combative this afternoon. After this small-town smackdown, the latest in a series, he simply felt hopeless.
What a place. What a life. If only he could get a job, save some money to leave. But the possibility of a job eluded him, partly because he lacked marketable skills. He’d never liked school much or been particularly good in any subject except English. He’d enjoyed the glimpse into different worlds offered by his literature classes. College was out of the question, though: he couldn’t afford it, not after his parents kicked him out of the house. He might have been able to work his way through community college if he’d been able to get a job.
However, his unfortunate habit of smoking weed to calm his nerves precluded applying for the only jobs available to him—shoe store clerk, filling station attendant, and the like.
He began walking home through the mild March afternoon. Home was a trailer he shared with Hank, his closest friend. The best thing about the arrangement was that Hank let him live there rent-free in exchange for doing the housework and cooking.
As he strode along, feeling sweat beginning to trickle from his hairline down the back of his neck, he thought about the damned drug test that kept him from being employed. What if there were no drug test? Or what if there were a world in which you had to test positive for pot to get hired? He laughed aloud. There was no such world and never would be. Nowhere in the United States of America could you smoke weed openly without fear of arrest.
Nowhere except—he suddenly stopped short. There was one place. One state where you could buy weed, grow weed, and smoke weed, and not just for medical purposes, either. One state, Colorado. A quick search on his smartphone, the one remaining relic of his previous affluent life with his parents, revealed three or four other states in which pot was legal but so hedged about with restrictions that it might as well still be a criminal offense to own and smoke it.
That was it! He had to get to Colorado. But how, with no car nor even a job that would let him save the money for a long-distance bus trip?
He resumed his walk but stopped again as a high-flying red-tailed hawk swerved into the trees, causing frightened squawks from small birds. Jay watched the hawk fly away, wishing he had wings too. Or at least wings on his shoes, like Hermes, the winged messenger of the gods he’d read about in school. He wondered where all the gods were now—were they asleep on Mount Olympus, waiting for the human race to believe in them again?
For the rest of the day and even as he fell asleep that night one thought possessed him: how could he get out of this damned town and go to Colorado? When he awakened the next morning, still in the grip of a dream he couldn’t quite remember, a voice in his mind whispered, Wake up the old gods, mortal. Make an offering to Hermes.
Sitting up in bed, searching on his smartphone, he discovered that one of the ways to make an offering to Hermes was to gamble, either in a game of chance or simply by taking a risk.
All right, he’d take a risk. He’d call his Aunt Tara, who ran a roadside restaurant on the highway leading into town and ask her for a job. She’d already turned him down once but still, she was his aunt. No harm in asking again.
To his surprise, Aunt Tara agreed. “Now that spring’s here, business is booming,” she said. “Cattle auctions, land auctions, you name it. I do need extra help. You can work in the kitchen, out of sight.”
He started that day. “It’s temporary, of course,” she said. “And I’ll have to pay you under the table.”
Jay nodded, mentally calculating how long it would take to save up for a bus ticket to Colorado.
The first week went by quickly. On his breaks Jay stepped outside the back of the restaurant to lean against the wall and simply breathe. Oklahoma weather in March was a foretaste of the fiercely hot summer that lay ahead. He wished again that he had a car. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to speed down the interstate on an early spring morning, a hot, breathless morning that promised a summer full of excitement?
In his second week Aunt Tara put him on the early shift and asked him to help serve. “I’m sorry to make you come out front, but there are so many customers because of the land auctions we just can’t take care of them all. Even if all you do is serve coffee and carry orders to the booths, it would be a big help.”
“No problem,” Jay said. With luck, the customers would all be from out of town, with no locals to remark on his presence.
On the second morning Jay noticed the good-looking man who sat in the booth near the window, his fingers constantly dancing over the face of his mobile phone. Early thirties, Jay guessed, and very well off. He wore the same uniform of jeans, boots, and plaid shirt as everyone else but the watch on the suntanned wrist was a Rolex Oyster. The man looked up as Jay set his coffee down in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, and smiled.
The next morning Jay brought not only coffee but breakfast to the man’s booth. “Thanks, buddy, saw you yesterday, didn’t I?” The man looked at Jay, his blue eyes friendly, and held out his hand. “Name’s Emory Calhoun. What’s yours?”
Jay gave his name. Intrigued by this stranger, he went further. “You new in town, sir?”
“Just for this week. I’m from Bartlesville but I’m about to finish my business here with the land auction and head to Denver. Got a new job there starting Monday.”
Denver. Jay heaved a sigh of envy, not even aware that he was doing it. “Denver...”
“Been there?” Calhoun lifted an eyebrow.
“No, but I’d like to go.”
“Maybe you will, one day,” Calhoun said with a smile, and turned his attention to his breakfast.
The next morning Jay brought Calhoun’s breakfast to him again, then checked a few minutes later to see if he wanted more coffee. Just as he approached the table, Calhoun, who’d been talking animatedly on his mobile, shut the device off and looked up. He seemed agitated.
“Man! This beats everything!”
“What’s the matter, Mr. Calhoun?”
“What’s the matter is my company wants me to fly to Denver immediately to have dinner with a very important customer tonight! I was planning to take my time and drive up there this weekend and now I don’t know what to do.” He eyed Jay and his troubled face relaxed. “Hey—do you know anyone who could drive my car to Denver for me? I’d pay all expenses, of course.”
Jay looked at him. He couldn’t, of course. Or could he? Leave everything and just go? A voice in his mind urged him, Hermes would tell you to gamble everything. Listen to Hermes, mortal.
“Yes,” he said. “I could. I’d be happy to.”
“Great!” Calhoun beamed. “You seem like a good kid. Can you be ready to leave in twenty minutes? There’s a plane leaving Tulsa Airport for Denver in two hours.”
“Yes,” Jay said, thinking he’d barely have time to tell Aunt Tara. He’d have to call Hank later.
An hour later Jay parked in the drop-off zone at the airport and jumped out of the car to help Calhoun with his luggage.
“Thanks, Jay,” Calhoun said. “Here’s my card. Call me when you arrive and I’ll give you directions to my new place. I’ll help you find somewhere to stay too. Meanwhile, take this for expenses.”
He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and handed them to Jay. “Safe travels, buddy. See you tomorrow sometime.”
“Thank you, Mr. Calhoun. I’ll take good care of your car, don’t worry.”
Shortly afterwards, after a stop at a gas station and a few purchases at the convenience store inside, Jay was ready to roll. However, there was something very important he had to do first.
Carefully, he placed the coins left over from his purchases on the roof of the black Acura.
Hermes, God of gamblers, Guardian of roadways and travelers, watch over your servant and keep him from harm.
The coins fell off the car as he headed toward Interstate 70 West. Jay felt like singing. He was leaving! Soon he’d be far away from this lousy place, far away from the parents who’d rejected him for coming out as gay, far from the Mad Hetters who hated him for being who he was.
The road ahead, shimmering in the late spring heat, seemed to beckon him toward a future both limitless and free.
The End
Readers & Book Lovers Series Schedule: