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Page 49

It was about this point in time when Scott and his father, an even pudgier version of Scott, showed up at my door. Evidently they had been alerted to my presence in the area, and since my recent hospital stay had made me late on my motorcycle payment- they were hovering like vultures over rotting carrion.

I still had insurance in effect that would cover my payments while I was out sick in the hospital and unable to work, but it was the same old story. Scott and his father wanted the bike now. They didnít want to wait a month for the insurance to come up with the cash.

It pissed me off that they were unwilling to wait- and as I mentioned before, it was probably going to cost them more to repossess the bike from me, when eventually the payment would be made and back on track.

"Weíre here for the keys to the motorcycle," said Scottís father - and it was as simple as that. Once Scott had decided he was gay, and I had rebuffed his advances, he had decided that I was no longer worthy of his parentís credit.

I didnít feel well enough to fight it out with them, and my bike wasnít even on the premises. I had parked it at a friendís during my convalescence, suspecting that it might disappear if I didnít. Without saying a word I turned back into the apartment and retrieved a key. Handing it to them, I shut the door. Now they had two tasks - figuring out where the bike was and then figuring out how to start it with the key to my grandparentís outhouse.

I was just buying time. I knew that eventually they would find the bike and that eventually they would be back for the real key. In order to really keep them all off my back, I would have to pull another disappearing act - but my health was just too lousy to pull one off.

Dorinda had covered my portion of the rent that month- and I didnít have any more immediate income coming in. Though my insurance would cover a vehicle payment - it wasnít going to cover rent for me - and it wasnít fair for me to ask Dorinda to continue covering me while I got back on my feet. Although I had made some improvements in my health, I was still pretty damn sick and holding a job down wasnít going to be possible in the immediate future.

I wasnít going to be able to stay in this apartment indefinitely. Something was going to have to give, and maybe it was my ego and my pride.



Religion has always had a strong influence on my life. It, like most things, can be used for good or evil. My experiences with religion have ranged from the very negative to the very positive.

On the negative side - religion has caused me to be ostracized from my family and friends and cast out into the street. On the positive side - religion has provided me with outstanding moral guidelines, though mostly ignored, friends, and relatives - such as my grandparents - who have provided excellent examples of living an honest, upstanding, and ultimately satisfying life. That religion plays a prominent role in these peoples lives, I think, is no accident.

By the same token, horrific experiences earlier in my life have caused me to ignore much of the good in religion, because I have experienced what it is like when people misuse religious authority and get power hungry.

When I was younger, my parents were heavily involved in a religious organization called The Way Ministry. Many people would label this a cult, but a lot of religions are eager to brand any one, with beliefs that are slightly different than theirs, a cult. And, despite being excommunicated from a portion of the Way Ministry - I would hesitate to call it a cult. It was not necessarily the overall teachings that I disagreed with, but one person who was a power monger and used his position to destroy me.

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