Running Toward Hope, Part Six
By: James Finn
Tags: Homeless, Fiction, LGBTQ, Transgender, Gay

“Can I tell you a story, Luke?”

That’s what Grampa asked me before he died. I was in the hospital room with him. Just a few weeks after he heard me praying in the bathroom at church. I got worried for a while when I figured he heard me asking God to save me from being gay.

But then I decided he must not have because he never said nuthin’.

I was wrong. At least I’m pretty sure I was.

“Listen, kid,” he growled. “I gotta tell you about this friend I used to have. In the Army. Long time ago. Before we had your mom.”

He sounded terrible, Grampa did. He kept pushing this button that gave him more medicine for his pain. So, I didn’t really want him to talk. You know?

But he kept going, even though he had to bite down really hard sometimes.

“Luke, I had a best buddy back then, kind of like you and Brad. We did everything together. We were close like brothers. Spent every minute we could with each other. Sort of like you two do now.”

He had to push the button and stop for a while after that. He got this dreamy look on his face. When I think about it now, I think the morphine was helping him dream about his friend. Or maybe his ghost came to visit. Who knows?

But he started back up again pretty soon. His voice was real soft at first, but it kept getting stronger.

“We weren’t supposed to be friends, you know. I was a corporal. He was a lieutenant, an officer. We didn’t care. One bit. Every time we had liberty or a pass, we left post and met up somewhere and had fun together.

When were with each other, everything was better. Everything was OK.

“We did all kinds of things we weren’t supposed to do, boy. I wish you were older. I wish you were old enough to hear it all.

He reached out and grabbed my hand, even though it hurt him. I could tell.

“I just want you to know that you have to be who you are. You can’t let made-up rules stop you from being who you are, son. I’m proud of you for being Luke. Luke’s a good kid. A good young man. And God? He’s proud of you too, or I’ll eat my cigar. You hear me?”

I didn’t really understand him then, or maybe I only did sorta half way. But I remember that I felt warm and good when he said that. He wasn’t finished, though.

“I don’t regret marrying your Gran. I even loved her in my way. And of course I got your mom and you and your sister outta the bargain, and that’s pearls beyond price, boy.

“I never forgot LT, though, That’s what I called him. LT for lieutenant. We saw each other a few times after the army. We tried, but being together made us more sad than anything. So, we stopped.

“What happened? Eh, he died a long time ago. He got that sickness, that AIDS. Wrote me a letter. Said goodbye. Your gran, she found it and threw it away a long time ago. Long story.”

Grampa sighed really big after that and I could see his eyes get sad. I never understood why till later on — after Pastor Tim and the blow job in the basement.

“So, listen here, Luke Thomas Sanders, and you listen good. Don’t you believe that you’re any worse off than any of God’s creatures. Like I tell you and tell you, God’s a lot bigger than any of us can imagine. Don’t you go listening to people who wanna put limits on him.

“And listen to one more thing. Your initials are LT, right? Well, that ain’t exactly a coincidence. Your mom, she wanted to call you Luke Mark. I convinced her she had the wrong apostle. Talked her into Thomas. So LT is my gift to you, boy. Anybody ever gives you trouble, you just tell em your name’s LT, and you remember your grampa, and you remember he says you’re just fine the way you are.

“You hear me, boy?”

I squeezed his hand real soft and held it for a while. He had to push the button again. A lot. He fell asleep then, and that was last thing Grampa ever said to me.