“Not intentionally.”
“You’re a pathological liar, Jay. I’ve known it from the beginning, but you’ve taken this a step too far. Get out of my life before I break your neck.”
“I love you, Sami. Please don’t abandon me.”
“I don’t do love, and even if I did, you’d be the last person in the world who’d be on the receiving end.”
“Please—”
“I’m going upstairs,” Sami said, cutting off the plea. “You’d better be gone by the time I return.”
“Or what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Sami took the stairs to his room and locked the door once he was inside. He didn’t make idle threats, and he itched to cut off Jay’s pathetic pleas with a resounding slap or, better still, a sock down his throat. He ached to teach the stupid twat a lesson, but it would involve engaging, which would probably lead to sex. It was their pattern to argue and make up with increasing regularity. But things were different this time. The dynamic had changed and other people—strangers who couldn’t possibly understand—were involved. There was no reasonable explanation for this unhealthy attraction, and it had to stop. Even if a part of him was sorry to let Jay go, it was probably for the best. They were a toxic combination.
Chapter 13
Sami assumed I would obey a direct order, and I was too shattered to do otherwise. My jacket was in the hallway closet, and I went to retrieve it. The handgun I’d tossed aside earlier was still on the floor instead of securely locked away. My earlier plan to dive off the Golden Gate Bridge was replaced by the sight of this instrument of death. People had survived falls from bridges, and a bullet was much more reliable. I picked it up gingerly and stuck it in my pocket. It would serve Rino right to find my bloody corpse when he got home from work. He’d promised to keep Sami’s identity a secret, but he’d broken his word. Once again, I’d placed my trust in the wrong hands.
I left through the service exit in case the people following me were still outside the front door. From there, it was easy to navigate the backstreets without being spotted. As I headed down California Street toward the Embarcadero, the handgun in my pocket got heavier and heavier. The thought of using it sent shudders up my spine. Jumping off a bridge felt more freeing. Should I wait until nightfall when traffic was lighter and the odds of being stopped by cops or pedestrians were less likely, or should I rush toward my death right now? Something niggled at the back of my mind. Hadn’t I read somewhere about new measures they’d installed on the Golden Gate to prevent jumpers? Perhaps the Bay Bridge would be a better option and it was closer.
The bells of Old Saint Mary’s Cathedral on the corner of California and Grant announced the hour. I couldn’t believe it was already one o’clock. It had been shortly after nine in the morning when I’d arrived at Sami’s place. Habit pushed me in the direction of the church, seeking the comfort of the familiar before I made an irrevocable decision.
The smell of a hundred burning candles reassured me, as did the peaceful silence. There were a few parishioners exiting the pews closest to the confessional, and for a brief second, I wondered if I should make some attempt at reconciliation. However, expecting forgiveness when I had every intention of committing the worst sin of all was hypocritical to say the least.
An elderly priest stepped out of the wooden structure and glanced around to see if he’d missed anyone. His gaze rested on me, and I shook my head to let him know I had no need for his services. Nonetheless, his sixth sense must have picked up on my state of mind, and he slowly walked down the aisle in my direction. I was in civilian attire, with a ball cap hiding my hair, and I wasn’t worried he’d recognize me. Even if we’d met before, I doubted he’d connect me with the self-assured pastor from St. Peter and St. Paul.
“God’s blessing be with you, my son,” he said softly after he approached.
“Thank you, Father. The same to you,” I mumbled without lifting my head to face him.
“May I sit?” he asked.
Although I hadn’t come in for spiritual guidance and a lecture was the last thing I wanted, his presence had to be a sign of some sort. Maybe this was God’s last-ditch effort to get me to reconsider my objectives.
I scooted over to make room.
“My name is Father Spencer. Without presumption or malice, I offer a listening ear and a shoulder to lean on,” the priest intoned.
I wasn’t an expert, but I could detect the faint hints of an Irish accent.
“You’re free to leave if my presence disturbs you in any way,” he continued softly, “but if I can be of assistance, I’d like to try.”
“I’m not worthy,” I retorted bitterly. “Don’t waste your time.”
“Pray with me,” he suggested.
“Why?”
“Prayer puts our lives at peace with God and sets a place for us in eternity.”
“Romans 10: 9-10,” I answered automatically.
“I’m impressed,” he said. “A lad who knows scripture isn’t beyond redemption.”
“It’s one of the few things I know with certainty,” I replied. “If only the rest of my life were as simple.”
“Some of us have to strive harder to make sense of things. There’s no shame in admitting you’re confused or disheartened. What’s important is keeping an open mind.”
“If I told you half the shi…stuff I’ve done, you’d understand why I’m in such a state.” I lifted my head to gaze upon Father Spencer’s face and was struck by the kindness in his eyes. He radiated goodness and it gave me hope. I reached for his hand and he gave me a reassuring squeeze.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he prompted.
I began by reciting the Act of Contrition and didn’t stop talking until the bells rang the next hour. He interrupted once to ask questions about my biological parents and was visibly shaken when I told him I’d been placed in an orphanage and forgotten. I assured him my adoptive parents had been caring but over scrupulous, a fact that did nothing to erase the concern on his face.
After I finished telling him my most grievous sins—the loss of faith, my obsession with sex, specifically with Sami, and finally my plan to end it all—I waited for his reply. Would he cast me aside as I deserved or attempt to bring me back into the fold? I held my breath.
“God will forgive you if you’re truly sorry, but what about the person most affected by your sins?”
“My order will deal with me in a way they see fit.”
“I’m not talking about them, my son. First you have to forgive yourself.”
“Easier said than done,” I said despondently. “I’ve made a mess of everything and wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Let’s borrow a page from St. Francis of Assisi. Start by doing what’s necessary, then do what’s possible, and suddenly you’re doing the impossible. You’ve made too many concessions in an attempt to find a place in this world, and it has turned your life into a nightmare.”
“Tell me about it. As a teenager, I realized there were certain physical needs even prayer couldn’t control. I resorted to masturbation, a mortal sin which left me profoundly ashamed. The first time I stumbled on a porn site—and stayed instead of logging off—I waited for the proverbial lightning bolt. When nothing untoward happened, I ventured back online and was well and truly hooked. Jerking off to graphic videos assuaged some of my needs, and although I knew it was wrong on so many levels, the alternative, actually having sex with another human being, was far worse. Eventually, the novelty of porn wore off, and I was no longer content being a voyeur. I wanted to be one of the guys inside my computer.”
“I believe it was Pope Francis who said the internet was something truly good, a gift from God. He also mentioned it could cause us to lose our bearings.”
“I’m living proof,” Jay admitted. “Succumbing to my true nature would entail walking away from God.”
“Not necessarily,” Father Spencer said. “You can be in a loving relationship and still be in the Lord
’s good graces.”
“Not if I remain a priest.”
“Celibacy is a gift, Justin. A call that is not granted to all, but given to some. Other people are called to marriage. Too often individuals in both vocations fall short of the requirements of their state, but this does not diminish either vocation, nor does it mean the individuals in question were ‘not really called’ to their vocation. The sin of a priest doesn’t necessarily prove he shouldn’t have taken a vow of celibacy, any more than the sin of a married man or woman proves he or she shouldn’t have married. It is possible for us to fall short of our own true calling.”
“I’ve poured over scripture looking for answers.”
“And what did you find?”
“Contradictions,” Jay confided.
“Because there is no other subject about which so many confusions exist. The first and most basic confusion is thinking of priestly celibacy as a dogma or doctrine—a central and irrevocable part of our faith believed by Catholics to come from Jesus and the apostles.”
“A lie?”
“More a misinterpretation than a lie. Jesus and Paul were unmarried, so many assume this is the correct way. Peter, our first Pope had a wife. Record keeping back then was sketchy at best, and there’s no way to know for sure what’s right or wrong.”
“I could never be married and remain in the Society of Jesus.”
“You’re right, but you can’t stay in the order because you’re afraid. Do what’s good for you, not what’s expected,” he counseled.
“Are you the devil’s instrument?” I asked. “Any other priest would be hurling accusations and dragging me before a ruling body.”
He laughed. “I’ve been called worst, but in your case, I’m simply stating facts. You won’t go up in flames if you walk away from your vocation. You’ll be a much happier man, and your friends will reap the benefits.”
“Even if I’m in a same-sex relationship?”
“Personally, I don’t think God gives a damn who you love as long as the relationship is mutually beneficial. I’m hoping to see changes in my lifetime, but if not, we’ll get there eventually. Catholics move at a glacial pace when it comes to reform.”
“A fact I can’t argue. But, with regards to my life, I’m afraid the person I love has lost faith in me. I’ve lied repeatedly and compromised his identity.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. If he sees positive changes, he might reconsider.”
“And if not?”
“There will be someone else for you.”
“I wish I could take you back to Sami’s place so you could be my advocate.”
His ready smile was reassuring. “I’m afraid it’s beyond the scope of my responsibilities, but you know where to find me the next time you want to talk.”
“What’s my penance for today?”
He tapped his chin with a bony finger and hummed as he considered. I expected something difficult, like several Stations of the Cross on my knees or thousands of Hail Marys. Instead, he made me promise to return Sami’s gun, go back to my parish, and tell them the truth.
“Can you do this for me, my son?”
“How soon?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “One more day won’t make a difference to your superiors, but you might lose your nerve if you wait much longer.”
I nodded.
“As for the friend who betrayed you. I would give him a chance to explain before you cut him out of your life. He was there when you needed him.”
I thought about Rino and made a derogatory sound. “Why can’t people mind their own business?”
“When you reached out to him for help, you became his business.”
“He should have stayed out of it.”
“I would have done the same in his shoes.”
“Really?”
He nodded and then recited the familiar words granting me absolution. When he was through, tears traced down my cheek.
He wiped them away gently. “Think of this as a new beginning. You’ve just taken the first steps to reclaim a lost life.”
“Thank you, Father.”
I took a streetcar down to the Embarcadero, then switched to one going up Market Street, toward my neighborhood. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and I was tired and hungry. Fear and shame washed over me in waves as I finally climbed the stairs to Rino’s apartment.
When I pushed the door open, I found a bunch of strangers crowded in the room with a distraught Rino at the helm.
“Where have you been?” he asked frantically.
“Walking.”
I turned my back on the group, hyperaware of their skepticism, and my utter lack of self-confidence in getting them to understand my motives. The heavy silence did nothing to ease my discomfort. I already regretted my decision to return to this apartment, which now felt more like a prison. Sami’s gun was an unfamiliar weight in my pocket, and I pulled it out to ask where I might keep it safe until tomorrow when I heard someone yell gun!
They fell upon me like a pack of wolves, shouting orders to drop the weapon. In the confusion, I hung on tighter and must have squeezed the trigger accidentally. The boom, when it came, reverberated in my ears, and I was so startled I dropped the gun and found myself pinned to the floor by unyielding arms and a cold muzzle pointed at my temple. It was terrifying.
“Drop the gun,” the stranger ordered.
“I already have.”
He looked up and one of his buddies brandished the weapon.
“Is anyone hurt?” Ethan asked.
The answering whimper wasn’t reassuring, and I searched for the source and found Rino on the floor, clutching his calf with bloody fingers.
Ethan’s expression was ferocious, but he quickly got into doctor mode, ripping Rino’s cotton scrubs at the hem to inspect the wound.
“Motherfucker winged you,” he bellowed. “Call 911.”
“No,” Rino insisted. “It was an accident and it’s only a flesh wound.”
Ethan tossed his car keys at one of the strangers. “Will you get my bag out of the trunk? I’ve got basic supplies to hold him until I can get to the hospital.”
“Please let me go,” I asked my jailer.
“Not on your life.”
“Come on,” I insisted. “I had no intention of using the gun on anyone but myself.”
“What the hell,” Ethan muttered, shooting daggers in my direction. “You’ve been nothing but trouble since you walked into our lives.”
“Ethan, don’t,” Rino scolded. “This is all a terrible misunderstanding.”
“He shot you!”
“Not on purpose,” I protested. “If you people hadn’t crowded me, I would have turned the gun over for safekeeping. I have to return it to Sami tomorrow.”
“Your fucking boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protested weakly. “I wish he were.”
“You’re pathetic,” Ethan rebuked.
“Ethan, give him a break,” Rino entreated.
“Why should I? He’s a lying sack of shit.”
“I can explain if you give me a chance.”
“Let him go,” Ethan ordered.
My jailer loosened his grip slightly, enough for me to sit up, but he continued to point the barrel of his gun directly at my forehead.
“Please lower your weapon,” I begged. “I’m not armed anymore, and I have no intention of going anywhere.”
“Do it,” Rino said. “Tell us exactly what’s going on, Jay. We’ve been worried.”
“First, tell me why you broke a confidence. I thought I could trust you.”
Rino looked contrite. “I asked Ethan to hire people to watch the apartment in case you slipped out. Unfortunately—”
“They barged into Sami’s apartment and now he wants nothing to do with me.”
“A mistake on our part,” Bobby interjected. “I apologize.”
“Why would you go back to him after he assaulted you?” Rino asked.
&nb
sp; “Because most of my story was fabricated.”
“Told you,” Ethan remarked. “He’s leaving out pieces to cover his sorry ass.”
“Is it true?” Rino asked. “Are you holding back critical information?”
Chapter 14
I wanted to burrow through the cracks in the baseboard as all eyes in the room turned in my direction. In a moment of clarity, I realized I wasn’t a soulless shit like my biological father. Whatever genes he lacked by way of remorse and plain old humanity were alive and well in my DNA. That was the good news. The downside was trying to come up with a good explanation for the lies I’d concocted in the last few days and most of my adult life. It would have been easier to say I’d inherited Dad’s sociopathic traits, but I worried about repercussions and often lay awake at night, reflecting on my constant failings. In short, I was nothing like the carefree individual who’d abandoned me without hesitation.
Admitting this to a bunch of strangers had to be the most humiliating part of this ordeal. But, as Father Spencer mentioned, I had asked for help, and once it was turned over and accepted, I was honor-bound to give my rescuers a reasonable explanation.
Before anything, I had to know why Rino had broken a confidence. It was uncharacteristic for an ex-seminarian and made me doubt his sincerity.
“You promised to keep Sami’s name out of this.”
“I never mentioned his name.” Rino insisted.
“Wait a second.” Ethan stopped swabbing the gunshot wound and glared at Rino. “Are you telling me you deliberately kept me in the dark?”
“I omitted a few details because I gave Jay my word.”
Ethan turned bright red and looked like he was about to explode but resumed his doctoring without further comment. Before putting his bag aside, he pulled out two syringes.
“Why do I need shots?” Rino asked.
“To prevent tetanus and infection. I’d feel better having you checked out at the hospital, but they’re obligated to report gunshot wounds to the police, no matter how minor, and I’m sure y’all would rather avoid an investigation.”
“Thank you,” Jay said softly. “There’s no need to involve the authorities.”
Yield Page 10
