Date: Sun, 30 Oct 2022 20:52:08 +0000 (UTC) From: James Breitbart Subject: Skinnydip Creek Chapter 9 The next meeting of the creek committee was held at my house. We knew we were still winning in the short term, but the long term seemed more uncertain than ever. Matty, who had spent the night at my house, began the meeting with a debriefing about the lawsuit. He confirmed that his father planned to continue suing for damages even if the town opened a similar facility for girls. He'd invested his organization's money and credibility, and another bungled case was sure to get him fired. Sophia and Matty's mother had wanted to drop the case after the article came out, when it became clear to them who he was getting in bed with but gotten shouted down. Matty had stepped into the argument to protect Sophia, which was how he got the black eye. Uncle Jack was at the meeting to explain his recommendation to the council, but he seemed equally concerned for the Farrellis. "Where is Sophia now?" "Upstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Murchison set her up in a guest room and she hasn't been downstairs this morning." Amir had preferred cuddling up with his brother and me to his own guest room. We'd all woken up soaked in his piss, but I didn't really care -- we had plenty of money to replace sheets. "Have you thought about going to social services." "They'd split us up." "Foster care doesn't have to be the first option. I can put a word in with the family court and they'll make your parents go to counseling." "You can guarantee that?" "Unless there's more serious abuse you aren't telling me about." "No. They're not the people you see on TV who torture kids for the sake of torture. They just can't control their tempers." "Then you're okay for me to call after the meeting." "Okay." I squeezed Matty's hand encouragingly as Uncle Jack continued. "Now, as for the creek, I'm going to propose that the town deed Skinnydip Creek and the girls' creek to a nonprofit organization, so they aren't liable for any injuries or illegal activity that takes place. If it's necessary to get Mr. Farrelli to drop the lawsuit, I can also suggest a token settlement payment." Everyone agreed that that sounded like a good plan, and we picked at sandwiches while Uncle Jack called social services. He kindly waited until we'd finished eating to inform us that they wanted us to drop Matty, Sophia, and Amir off at the social services office so they could complete interviews and arrange a reunion with their parents. Mom got Sophia, Amir, and Matty into the Suburban, and we followed Uncle Jack's BMW to the social services office, located in a nondescript office building behind the library. Us kids sat in a waiting room while the adults talked to the social worker. Sophia, who hadn't said anything throughout this whole process, looked at her shoes and muttered "I'm sorry." "Huh?" "I'm sorry I showed up here and fucked up everything for your little town." I took a moment to formulate a response. "I'll accept your apology if you accept my thanks for getting me a boyfriend." "So, we're even, then?" "Even Stevens." "God, that show sucks." "Huh?" "It's on Disney...you know what, never mind. You're better off not knowing." Uncle Jack emerged from the office and addressed the Farrellis. "They want you to come in the office and do a few interviews. Your parents are going to be here in a few minutes. Sam, they're going to be in there for a while, so you might as well find something else to do." I surmised he wanted me out of the way when Matty's dad showed up because he was afraid I'd make a scene otherwise, and he was probably right, but the idea of `playing,' whether at the creek or elsewhere, didn't hold much appeal to me at the moment. After a bit of deliberation, I announced "I think I want to go to church." I walked across the square, my steps quickening as I realized that an afternoon thunderstorm was brewing. I had been holding back my emotions because I thought that seeing me upset would make it harder for Matty, but they were welling up to the fore and I was running out of energy to stop them. The storm arrived with a clap of thunder just as I entered the empty sanctuary. I knelt at the communion rail but was too emotional to formulate a prayer. I abandoned myself to desperate sobs and tried to stammer out the first line of a psalm in lieu of anything more coherent. "The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. The Lord is my..." After several repetitions of this, I became conscious that I was not alone in the sanctuary and heard Reverend Whaley's voice finishing the psalm. "He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff-- they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me. all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord." my whole life long." "I'm not interrupting a service, am I?" I asked. He wouldn't typically be in the sanctuary on a weekday unless there was a wedding or funeral. Reverend Whaley knelt down beside me. "No, I was in my office finishing up my phone calls and I just felt like I ought to visit the sanctuary for some reason." I looked up at the stained glass window and decided that Someone was looking out for Matty and me. "I take it you're the reason?" "It's my boyfriend Matty. He was in church yesterday." "I remember him. He seems like a nice boy, and quite fond of you." "His father beat him last night. Uncle Jack's trying to arrange something for them with social services, but I don't know if it will work." Reverend Whaley sighed heavily "It's important to remember that God is with Matty even if Matty doesn't realize it, or if it doesn't look like He is answering our prayers. It could be that God put you in Matty's life to comfort him in a time of need." "So, what can I do for him?" "Well, the best place to start is always prayer." Reverend Whaley suggested appropriate language and we prayed together until Uncle Jack found us after the storm had cleared. Uncle Jack informed me that the Farrellis would be subjected to home visits from a social worker and required to attend counseling every Tuesday, starting the next day. I bought Matty an ice cream cone and waited outside the therapist's office until they came out, by which point most of the ice cream had melted and ran down my hand onto the sidewalk. I offered the remnants to him apologetically. "You were in there longer than I expected." "It was kind of a lot. On the bright side, she got them to promise they wouldn't try to stop me from seeing you. I have a 10 o'clock curfew, but until then, I'm free to go wherever I please." He attempted to lick the remaining solid part of his ice cream and realized that the most effective way to deal with the rest of it was to suck the liquid chocolate out through the bottom. By the time he'd finished, he was as messy as me. "I think we need to wash off." "We could use my pool, or the creek." "I'd rather go to your pool. I don't really feel like being around people right now." We got to my house, stripped, and dove into the pool, swimming and dunking each other until the remnants of the ice cream dissolved in the chlorine. The dunking turned into kissing, and we got out of the pool for a gentle session of mutual masturbation in the grass. Matty stayed for dinner and thoroughly enjoyed Mom's meatloaf (the secret is pimientos). When he left, I couldn't help worrying, but I took Reverend Whaley's advice and prayed until I was able to fall asleep. The vote on the creek was the next day but turned out to be anticlimactic. After Uncle Jack's presentation the council voted three to four to sell the designated land to a nonprofit formed for the purpose. As Uncle Jack explained, this made the land private, and no matter what your interpretation of the public indecency ordinance was, it didn't apply to private property. The next day the Wray County Nudist Trust was formed with a donation of $4.5 million from my parents (who also made up the trust's board of directors along with Uncle Jack and my confirmation mentor, Mr. Koch), sufficient to buy the land in question at fair market value. One hundred dollars of that formed a settlement split between Sophia and her father's nonprofit in restitution for not having provided adequate bathing facilities for girls in the past. It probably wasn't as much money as they were hoping for, but they put out a press release taking credit for ensuring "equal access to recreational facilities," without mentioning the precise nature of the recreation in question. Matty reported that they'd managed to get a pretty good haul from their donors out of it. Of course, this all made the Baptists furious, and the next day their recruited candidates delivered their ballot petitions in unison to the county clerk's office the next day and then held a press conference led by Reverend Watkins. It made the national nightly news broadcasts; a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage had failed in the Senate the previous day, and, according to Uncle Cecil, anything to do with homosexuality had the potential to turn out votes in either direction. The idea of a bunch of hillbilly preachers going up against a town that had decided to dedicate space for teenagers to jerk each other off proved too much for the late-night shows to resist, which kept the story going for another couple of days. Meanwhile, Reverend Watkins was busy closer to home. The bylaws of First Baptist Church of Bartlett, citing biblical precedent, require a specific-set of confrontations before a member can be expelled for sinful conduct, with the idea being to give the sinner opportunities to repent. Reverend Watkins had kicked the process off Sunday afternoon by visiting the Atkinson home with a copy of the Mountain Review. He brandished the picture of Robbie in his face and demanded that he confirm or deny the allegations. According to Wyatt, Robbie broke down in tears and confessed to being gay but couldn't bring himself to call his boyfriend and break up as Reverend Watkins demanded. Watkins then demanded that Mayor Atkinson publicly rebuke Robbie, and he responded in so many words that he wasn't thrilled about his son's lifestyle but was not going to turn his back on his own child. By the time a delegation from Mayor Atkinson's Sunday School tracked him down at his car dealership the next day he had come up with a scriptural retort, the parable of the prodigal son. They were initially flummoxed by this, but Reverend Watkins apparently pointed out that the prodigal son had repented before being forgiven, and it was counted as another failure to repent, which set up the next step in the process. Mayor Atkinson and Robbie received letters signed by a panel of elders formally announcing the charges against them and announcing that they would be read to the church at the following service, followed by a vote of the congregation as to whether to expel them. The sermon at St. Joseph's that morning was about Christian attitudes in civic life, using the Girl Scouts' registration table in the narthex. Reverend Whaley implored us to seek the good of the community when voting but to be wary of the temptation to support a candidate just because they shared our denominational affiliation or to try to impose Christianity on others through political power. It would have been a good sermon for Reverend Watkins, if he'd been willing to hear it. Nevertheless, I judged the sermon a success, as I saw a short line to fill out voter registration forms on my way out after the service. When we got home, Dad turned on the public access channel that broadcast First Baptist's services. They were just getting to the vote, by a show of hands. It was closer than I think Reverend Watkins had counted on, and one of the deacons insisted that they take time to tally up the hands in favor, but they ultimately lost. Dad sighed and turned off the TV. "It's a damn shame."