Free

PG (Some themes may seem offensive.)

No pairings.

One Part

Note: This takes place near the end of the DJ's senior year at Roscoe High. RFR has continued throughout all four years of high school.

Summary: Ray realizes he can be free.

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As I walk into the sanctuary with my mother in front of me, my brother beside me, and my father behind me, I dip my hands in the holy water and make the sign of the cross across my chest. My mother guides us to the front of the room, and I look straight ahead as my family takes our usual seats in our usual order. My mother sits at the end of the row after genuflecting in front of the Tabernacle. My brother follows suite, then myself and my father.

My brother's hand-me-down dress shoes are biting my toes and I want to say something, but talking one we've entered the sanctuary is forbidden.

Another mindless hour and a half spent sitting in the most uncomfortable pew ever, listening to the same sermon I've heard time and time again.

As my family sits in the family room and my father reads from the Bible, I close my eyes and send my own kind of prayer to God.

"Please, set me free. This can't be what You want from me." I start to pray. "I'm stifled. My thoughts are always hushed and my questions are never answered. Even my alter-ego won't be able to talk soon."

At the end of another pointless Sunday spent not moving a muscle because "If God rested, so do we!", I lay out my clothes for the next day and I gaze at my calendar. One more week of school and I'm free---sort of. No more RFR, but no more overbearing parents. College.

As I arrive home from another mind-numbing Monday at school, my mother tells me I have a package on the front desk.

It reads: University of the City of New York. New York---thousands of miles from my family and my crazy, fundamentalist church.

And it's a thick package. Slim packages are for rejection letters, thick packages are for freshman orientation.

Three months later, my father finishes hooking up my computer with the website filter still installed and my mother finishes making my bed.

"Now, you'll go to class every day..."my mother starts.

"...and spend at least an hour with my Bible every night. Yes, mother." I finish for her.

My mother hugs me almost lifelessly and my father pats my shoulder.

A month later, my roommate tells me about our floor party. I know my mother and father wouldn't approve. I think of my priest, and the congregation that stared at me every time I sang too loud.

I take my Bible from the top of my textbooks and put it in my desk drawer. I finger the silver cross around my neck and I feel---in my heart---that what I want is ok. And I want to live. And I want to start living now---with this party.