A Queer and Pleasant Danger: The true story of a nice Jewish boy who joins the Church of Scientology, and leaves twelve years later to become the lovely lady she is today by Bornstein Kate

Author:Bornstein, Kate [Bornstein, Kate]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2012-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

PART 3

Chapter 12. The Lost Boys

I’ve such gaps in my memory of what happened next—though I can recall the most vivid details of what I do remember. Most all of us who served back when the Old Man was alive and in charge have had difficulty remembering the days and weeks immediately after we left or got kicked out. I’ve recently been getting back in touch with friends and shipmates whom I’ve not seen for thirty-five to forty years, and they’ve been helping me remember.

A lot of us left before there was an Internet—no listservs or online forums. We had telephones, of course, but it was easy to get an unlisted number—some ex-SO members changed their names to avoid retribution by the Mother Church. There were no toll-free hotlines or phone trees like there are today. Most of us were out on our own, scattering to the darkest corners of our lives and figuring out for ourselves how to reenter the world. Here’s what I remember now.

It’s a twenty-hour drive from Clearwater, Florida, to the Jersey Shore. I made it in twenty-four hours, sleeping in rest stops because it was drilled into us that a sailor sleeps when he can. I pulled up the driveway. My parents and big brother must have heard the truck pulling in—or they were watching out for me—because they were all around me as soon as I jumped down from the cab.

My father stood and walked with a pronounced stoop—some calcification in his spine, he muttered. My mom looked older; no, she looked old—so many more lines in her face. We hugged, and I held her face to my chest. She felt impossibly small and light. My father grasped my shoulder and turned me toward him. He studied my face. His doctor fingers followed the tightly flexed and straining muscles of my dystonic neck. He held my head and pulled me closer to kiss my cheeks. My brother and I gave each other short manly hugs and thumps on the back.

They took me inside, and lay me down on the sofa facing the television set. My mom made my brother and father gather up pillows from all the bedrooms, so she could build and feather a nest for my twisted neck. My father had been watching football, and the game was still on. He maneuvered his own twisted body down into the same red leather recliner he’d had since before I was born, and gave out a loud sigh of comfort and satisfaction. His equally arthritic black Labrador was stretched out on his footstool, and all was right with his world. My dad watched the game—cursing the referees, belittling the players, and grunting at the good plays. Alan had left—he was dealing with problems of his own at the time. My mom sat with me on the couch. We couldn’t take our eyes off each other.

They had my old bedroom ready for me. I had nowhere else to stay, and no money for rent. My parents brushed aside my apologies for being such an inconvenience in their lives.

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