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Whizzer Brown had never really been a religious man. His father had been Catholic, mother Jewish.He’d been through all the typical religious stuff, on both sides, but it had never really stuck.The people at mass whispered, commented about his mother and how their whole family was going to hell.Synagogue had just been apathetic, with no friends, no connections, just hours of useless praying that never took away these feelings he wasn’t supposed to be having.Instead of having both Christmas and Hanukkah, he’d had neither. There was a pile of gifts at mom’s house, then the rest of the day watching tv at dad’s. He’d never gained a strong connection to any religion.Of course, it all went to shit when he was 16 and got caught with a boy at his mother’s. God hadn’t helped him when he was being shoved out the door and told to never come back.He had stopped praying at this point, stopped going anywhere religious. They wouldn’t want a homosexual. And he wouldn’t want them either.As he laid in his hospital bed one night, during a rare bout of insomnia, he thought about these things.Perhaps if he accepted God now, he’d go to heaven and not wherever they send homosexuals. Maybe renounce it as a phase, get off scot free.In his head, he started a prayer.Hello God,It’s me. Whizzer Brown. Or perhaps you remember me by my born name. Micah Brown.I know I have not been a good Catholic boy, or a Jewish one if you care. I haven’t been good at all. I don’t think I’ve been truly good ever since I realized I was different.I can’t say I know how to do what you do, but I have some critiques. First, if you love all your children so much, why did you let those things happen to me?Why didn’t you zap me a miracle, a bed, a warm meal? Why did you just watch me struggle and fight and get pushed down? Denied jobs?Is it because of my gentile father or my Jewish mother? Were you so furious with their decision to procreate, so you made me have a shit life?I do have one thing I think you hit the mark on. I don’t know how you crafted such a family for me. Did you sculpt them with your own hands?Because you managed to make the perfect combination of people, mashed together into one stew of love and compassion and joy. I just don’t get why you made me wait until I’m so close to being dead to meet them.And for the last thing, if you didn’t intend for me to be gay, why did you gift me such a perfect man? He’s handsome, kind, caring. He yells at the nurses when they try to skimp on my care. He asks how I’m doing, even though we know it’s the same. He strokes my hair when he thinks I’m asleep.I think that maybe you wanted this to happen. That you were watching from up there, on your golden throne. Maybe it was the miracle I was supposed to get at 16. Do miracles get delayed?All in all, this whole life thing is ending soon, and I have a feeling I’m gonna see you.I don’t want to go to hell. Or heaven, if it’s full of prudes. I think that there should be a middle ground, where all the average people can stay. I’d like to stay there, if I can. And put my boyfriend there, too.Amen.He sat in silence before closing his eyes and sinking back into the darkness. God was listening.