Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

Mom left with strict instructions for me to text her as soon as I meet my roommates. She was nervous to leave without having met them, but she has a ten-hour drive back home that she insisted on starting right away. I think she was afraid that if she stayed she’d try to drag me home tomorrow.

I take a deep breath and sit on my bed, grateful for her restraint. Sitting here, in this room, is giving me a few quiet moments of self-assessment. Why did I want to come here? What I’d told my mom about being “undecided” was true. Sure, being valedictorian of my Connecticut high school left me with my pick of the nation’s top universities, but that didn’t mean they had what I was looking for. I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, either, to be honest. But, for some reason, I know it’s here.

I wasn’t sure I’d even be accepted to Carter University. I mean, for God—goodness—sake, we had to write our personal testimony in our application. I had never thought to put it on paper. Truthfully, I didn’t even know what a “testimony” was supposed to entail. I had to frigg—freak—I had to google it.

Sure, it may have been easier to just throw my birth father’s name on the application, but neither of us is ready for the kind of attention that would bring. He says he is, but I’m not. And neither is my mom. She insisted that she watch me send in the electronic application immediately after she read it over so she could rest assured that I hadn’t tossed Roland’s name into the mix. I rolled my eyes but let her do it anyway, despite feeling like an untrusted toddler. I knew it was a miracle she was allowing me to attend CU, so I kept my mouth shut. As lax as she is with everything else—birth control, curfew, and swearing—Roland is one area she’s adamant about in the other direction.

My stepdad is a doctor. Sports medicine has kept me in a spacious, comfortable house for the last fifteen years, with everything I could ever want or need at my fingertips. But orthopedic surgery has never appealed to me as a vocation.

Mom works in public policy. That’s where things get sticky between her and Carter University. The young men and women who spend their college years here are seemingly tapped through to the best internship spots and then professionally groomed to take on Washington. Focus on the Family and The Family Research Council? A quick inventory of their staff will show a strong representation of Carter University diplomas.

Not that they aren’t nice people, but they lobby—some of them, even many of them—to squash gay marriage. Meanwhile, I’m part of a Christian church that recently elected a gay bishop. My mom took me to marriage rights protests starting when I was ten. After I’d made the decision to apply to Carter, I realized that I was likely standing across the battle lines from future classmates. Gay marriage is just the tip of the iceberg of my political differences with everything Carter stands for—or seems to stand for.

That’s not why I applied.

Roland Abbot took on the role of pastor at New Life when I was a sophomore in high school. At that time, college was barely on my radar and Carter was a distant planet. I spent the next two summers taking various workshops at Harvard and Yale. When it came down to applying for colleges, though, something tugged at me. Just…try, something said. Someone. I don’t know.

Before I have time to give it much more thought, the doorknob turns, causing me to jump to my feet and fiddle with my bags. I feel the need to look busy, not like I was sitting around waiting to gawk at my new roommates.

Fluttery giggling precedes the entrance of two devastatingly gorgeous girls.

“Hi!” they squeal at the same time.

I miss my best friend. What’s so great about Yale, Mollie?

I put up my hand and offer a soft wave, suddenly feeling more shy than I have in my entire life. You’re a fraud, and they’ll know it in a second. No, you’re not. You’re a college student searching for meaning just like they are. They can’t judge your salvation. But they will. Maybe.

“Hi,” I finally speak above the spinning thoughts in my head. “I’m Kennedy. Kennedy Sawyer.”

The long and lean stunner with shoe polish-black hair in a tight ponytail extends a hand first. “I’m Bridgette Nelson.” Bridgette’s eyes are blue. Not just blue, I should mention, but… scary blue. The kind that makes you want to stare to see if they’re real, but gives you goosebumps if you stare too long. Her skin is soft and her smile heavenly. It really is. It’s the most bizarre thing. I try to remind myself not to view students here any differently than students at any other school I might have gone to, but that’s proving near impossible.

Cerulean. Her eyes are cerulean! I finally place the color thanks to years attending the Crayola University of Broody Children.

People…

Bridgette drops her hand and steps aside so our other roommate can introduce herself.

Roommate #2 is the most beautiful person I’ve seen in my entire life up until this point. Her skin is the color of a latte, her eyes an unrelenting green that sit in stark contrast to her sandy, bouncy curls. Her smile reveals picket-fence straight teeth.