You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Thirty Eight

Harry:

Some people will trot out that childish phrase, love is love, as if there are no differences at all.” Coach Simon said, the
campfire casting dancing shadows over his narrow face.

The seven boys huddle close around the fire, looking attentive to his words, but were mostly trying to keep warm. Behind us, somewhere in the dark, the counselors loomed.

It was our first night after being settled in, and the utter mistake of coming here—of agreeing to come here—was sinking in with the cold and filling me with dread.

“But there are differences, aren’t there?” Coach said.

“The very fact a woman conceives a child after the physical act of sexual intercourse in order to propagate our species tells you that’s what the act is for. No other reason.”

I withheld a snort. What bullshit. I sincerely doubted the porn industry existed to help “propagate the species.”

This guy, Simon, was a lot dumber than he had been in our living room, explaining
his program.

“What about love?” I asked.

The others snickered but I held my chin up, my gaze unwavering from Coach’s.

“You have thoughts you’d like to share, young Harry?” he asked, studying me.

“Mom told me when two people love each other, they screw. And not just to make babies.”

A gasp went around, followed by more snickers. No one was afraid.

Yet.

Coach smiled with condescension, unrattled. “I’ve no doubt she was speaking of the love between a man and a woman—”

“What if I love someone?” I asked. “A boy. What if I love a boy?”

The other guys in the ring froze; only their eyes moving as they darted glances at one another.

Coach Simon’s icy gaze held mine. “Go on.”

I felt the promise of danger in those two words and the emptiness of his eyes. The first sliver of real fear slid into my gut, but I couldn’t—wouldn’t—stop myself.

“What if I love how he laughs, or the funny things he says, or how he’s polite to little old ladies, or how he loves dogs, or how he recycles religiously because he cares about the environment?” I stared defiantly. “What about that?”

Coach Simon never blinked. “Those are only reasons your mind gives in order to make the physical act seem justified. But it isn’t.”

“You’re saying—”

“I’m saying, young Harry,” Coach’s voice rose up in the night, hard and stony, like a preacher on Sunday morning.

“That in your present state, there is no love. Only lust that will twist all reasoning to make the unnatural seem natural.”

Booted footsteps crunched the dead leaves behind me.

Simon addressed the group. “I’m grateful to young Harry for advancing our lessons with these thoughtful questions. Because the first lesson you’re here to learn, boys, is that you have sinned. You are sinners in the eyes of God. Only if you get that, feel it, and know it to be true, can your path be clear. Do you know that to be true?”

Heads nodded.

“Time will tell. But it’s clear Harry does not know that to be true. We’re going to help him.”