Sinner's Prayer

by Seth King

  But this stranger, this Fabian – he looks at me like whatever I am, whatever is in here, is just fine with me.

  “Okay,” I smile. “Let’s go.”

  And just like that, I agree to essentially go on a date with a man.

  Adam Venus

  I meet him outside the school ten panic-inducing minutes later, and he smiles so big when he sees me, it makes me feel like I am swimming in some cold kind of liquid. In the sun, his hair is black and silky like outer space. And those eyes – they’re so bright I could find them from across a football stadium. What is this?

  Across the street I notice someone I vaguely knew in high school. I avoid his eyes. My friends growing up were…well, jocks. I was quiet, but I was kind of just on the edge of the “popular crowd,” if you will. I know the things they said about gay people, but I also knew that many of them would so some pretty questionable things behind closed doors – many of them would even fool around. But they’d never do anything like this. Not in public.

  “What?”

  “Just glad you showed up. That’s all. Follow me.”

  I try, and fail, not to watch his body as we head three blocks down our town’s tiny main drag. He holds the door for me, and I blush. The dive bar is straight out of an 80s movie – there’s some broken-down juke boxes, a ripped pool table, rumpled linoleum titles. The air smells like urine and old water, and there’s a few lost souls along the counter. From the seminary to the dive bar – looks like he’s already making me change my rules.

  We sit, and I consider taking the seat two stools away from him, to keep distance. But I take a breath and do something I’ve never done before – I sit next to a man in public.

  I press my eyes closed. For a moment I imagine all the eyes in this place are on me. They know who I am, they know why I’m here, they know my guts are boiling for Fabian…they’ve figured me out…

  But then I swallow and tell myself I’m being crazy. Nobody knows me. Nobody cares.

  As we sit there, not really sure of what to say, a beleaguered server appears and stares at him.

  “Ah,” he says, “I’ll have a PBR. And you?” he asks, turning to me.

  “Um…alcohol. A cup of alcohol?”

  He smiles and turns back to the woman. “He’ll have a Bud light draft, cold glass, please. And you’ll like it,” he tells me. “It tastes like sugar water at this bar. It’s a great starting point for a casual drinker.”

  I chew on my lip. I don’t know how to be myself around someone this beautiful. And yes, I just called him beautiful, and I’ll have to deal with it. Because he is beautiful. He makes me feel like I am skydiving with no parachute.

  “So, what’s your story?” I finally ask, not wanting to sound too interested, but hanging on every word that may come.

  “I told you. Just moved here. Got a job at the Jesus college.”

  “Jesus College?

  “Oh,” he laughs, “sorry, that’s what everyone on the outside calls it. But isn’t that technically accurate, though?”

  “I mean, kind of. What about before that?”

  “Army stuff,” he says, fidgeting a little.

  “Ah! Awesome.”

  “Yeah,” he says, but he looks furious. I look down and study his arm, his unique skin tone, translucent but bright at the same time.

  “Can I ask you what your background is? You look so…unique. Your skin is lighter, but your features are…”

  “Not?” he laughs. “I’m Colombian. There’s a bit of everything in there somewhere.”

  “You’re from there?”

  “Yeah, until I was six. My dad got my mom pregnant then broke up with her and moved to the States. But since I was born down there, it took a long time for him to take responsibility and submit the papers.”

  “Do you remember it?”

  He smiles up at nothing. “I remember…I remember our shitty, tiny house up on a hill, out in the rainforests in the middle of the country. I remember dogs, all these stray dogs all over the sidewalks, with the saddest eyes you’ll ever see. Mostly I remember my grandma, Mama Francisca, and the way she got up at dawn every morning to milk the cows and get the eggs from the chicken shack. She was Taino, a real old-school chick. I never saw her again after I left.”

  “Aw.”

  “It’s fine, she had a great life. Raised twelve kids, too, meaning I’ve got cousins out the asshole. Anyway, what about you?”

  By now I’m chewing on the inside of my cheeks. Something about being around him just makes me so…tense. But not in a bad way. Just in a way that makes me second-guess everything about myself. Even more than usual, I guess. But I have never, ever been like this before.

  “Um. Not much to tell. Raised by my dad.”

  “And mom? Where’s she?”

  I look away and, like I usually do, tell a white lie to avoid admitting the real issue. “Gone, like your grandma.”

  “Damn. Sorry. Guess we have that in common.”

  “Yeah…”

  The stale-sounding, 80s-rock song playing from the jukebox ends, following by a familiar slamming drum beat.

  This was never the way I planned, not my intention…

  Yes, God certainly does have a sense of humor. As Katy Perry gets to her chorus about how much she liked a same-sex kiss, both of us turn away from each other. That tenseness opens up again, and I blush. I always said God had a sense of humor, and this would be one of those moments when He is showing it. Just in the worst possible way, though – I want to jump out of my own skin right now.

  “So, I was wondering…” he asks soon.

  “Yes?” I ask way too quickly.

  “What’s with the whole religion thing?” he asks, I sigh. “It’s unusual for someone so young. You go to seminary, you wear that cross necklace, you have a Bible in your backpack…”

  “How did you know?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I noticed it earlier, your zipper wasn’t totally closed.”

  The taste of her cherry Chapstick…

  “Anyway,” he says. “You just don’t immediately seem like the preacher type, you know?”

  “Oh, I’m going to be a pastor, not a preacher. Pastors can preach, sure, but overall they’re like the leaders of the little communities that are churches. Preachers are strictly for the pulpits.”

  “Okay. Why do you want to do that?”

  “I gave myself to God at summer camp in the third grade,” I say after a pause.

  He nods, but I can’t read his expression. “Fair enough. What made you do that?”

  “I don’t know. I just decided I liked it. I remember the hymns we’d sing around the campfires, the sermons we’d hear after dinner at Bible time…I’d never felt so happy or so high, so I made the decision and bam, that was it. People assume I was raised in the system, but I wasn’t. My dad wasn’t even religious at first. I brought my family into it.”

  “So why are you still in it?” he asks, with a touch of disgust in his voice. Or am I imagining it? “As people get older, a lot of them…well, drift…

  “I never drifted. I hope I never will. I like this life because you never have to wonder where you stand with Him. You always know there’s something firm under you. It’s the one thing in the world I’m totally sure about. Trust me, I didn’t have many homes before this, many safe spaces.”

  He looks down at my hand, his mouth open, looking somewhat aroused. “So you doubt other areas of your life?”

  I go dark red. “I don’t know. There were certain…never mind. But God is just…there for me. I can feel it.”

  “Hmmm. And yet you can’t see Him…”

  “Ha,” I laugh.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I’m sure you loved your grandma, right?”

  He gets a little defensive. “Of course I did.”

  “Prove it, then. Prove your love. Show it to me.”

  The look in his eyes changes. “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe I un
derestimated you.”

  “Maybe so. Anyway, I’m fine with living this way, even if some people don’t get it. It gives me strength and structure. Part of me doesn’t understand how…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, sometimes I wonder how someone like you – or maybe someone sort of like you, since I don’t know you – but how they can sort of drift through life, not knowing where they’re going, or even caring.”

  “Ahh. You think I’m a drifter?”

  “I mean, I’d guess so, yeah.”

  “You want to know why?”

  I nod, and he smiles.

  “Because I think life is a lie. And figuring out that it was a lie made it a hell of a lot more fun.”

  I drink my beer. “You’re gonna have to explain that one.”

  “Okay, just…look. I think people are brought up to believe in a bullshit system built around a bullshit foundation of beliefs that were just made up by other humans. Boys play with guns and girls play with dolls? Who decided that? Who said you have to get married? Who said you have to wear khaki pants and get a mortgage? Who decided any of this? So one day, I had a bit of an existential crisis, and then after my breakdown I decided to stop believing in rules I didn’t understand. That’s where the fun started. You see me as drifting. I see it as just living. I get up every day and feel zero anxiety, I have nothing in the world holding me down. Who else can say that?”

  I lean back a little. This guy really is something, isn’t he? “Not me,” I finally say when I can speak again. “I’m also going to overlook the fact that I’m wearing khakis.”

  “Don’t apologize.” His voice drops. “Your ass looks great in them.”

  I stop breathing. But still, good Christian boys are raised with manners, so that’s what I use: I use my manners and say thank you.

  “Anytime,” he smiles. I clear my throat, but it sounds hollow and awkward.

  “So. Are you…um, do you officially prefer the company of…”

  “Are you asking if I’m gay?” he asks, and I nod.

  “Yes, indeed I am. Well, besides a few forays in high school. But very quickly I learned I preferred the dick.”

  Oh, wow. “Okay, oh. And do…do people know?”

  “Sure they do,” he shrugs. “Not that I care. I was almost always open about it. I am guessing you…are not?”

  I hold my breath and look away.

  “I figured. It’s fine.”

  “I didn’t even say I am…what you think I am.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, but…”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just that energy doesn’t lie, and the air between us is on fire.”

  I completely ignore his comment, because I know how correct it is. “So you dated girls before? How did that compare to…the other thing?”

  “It didn’t. There is no comparison. For me, at least. Everything before men was like drinking water when you have a cold beer right in front of you.”

  “I don’t drink, so I wouldn’t get that analogy…”

  “Wait – ever?”

  “I mean, at my cousin’s wedding I had some red wine? And today I’m drinking again?”

  “Wow, just…wow. Okay, never mind. Anyway, life begins for someone the second they are allowed to be exactly who they are. That’s it. Everything before that is just dress rehearsal. With women, I didn’t know what I was doing – I was just fumbling. I didn’t even care enough to learn.”

  I bite my lip.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “It’s just…if that is true, about people who never be honest with themselves, never actually getting to be alive…what about the people like those two cowboys from that movie, who never got to be those people at all? Are they just written off?”

  “I think you just answered your own question. I don’t think they’re ever alive. Maybe a few little moments scattered here and there. Not much else. If I had to ever go back to the darkness, I would kill myself.”

  “But that’s so…sad.”

  “I know it is. That’s why this is all so important to me. So many people wake up every day and still never live a day in their lives. I hate it.”

  Katy stops singing her next song, about Vegas. An awkward silence comes.

  “So, Adam, what do you do for fun?”

  “Easy. I eat chocolate. And read.” Books are the one concession I make to the secular world – I try to monitor the music I hear, the movies I see, even my inner monologue. But books are off limits to my own self-censorship. “What about you?”

  “Masturbate.”

  My eyes grow.

  “Chill, dude,” he laughs. “You look like someone died. I like to watch trashy reality shows, I like to jog, and then I like to watch more trashy reality shows.”

  “Sorry, you’re just very…deadpan. It’s hard to ever tell if you’re serious or not.”

  He leans closer than ever. He smells like crisp, expensive perfume – yes, perfume, not cologne. But it works on him. “I am serious when I say I would like to see you again. Is that…a possibility?”

  “I mean…”

  “Want to know something I’ve noticed? This whole time, you have not been able to say the word ‘gay.’ You talk around it every time.”

  “I mean, true…”

  I sit up and take a breath. “Gay,” I say, and I feel better the instant I say it. “Gay gay gay. Is that better?”

  “Much better,” he laughs. “So – another time? What about tonight? Did you have plans?”

  I look down at his pants, and I see something that takes my breath from me – he’s, well, he’s hard. And you can see it through the fabric…

  I turn away and blush. This is too much. An hour ago I had never let my attraction to a male show in public before. Ever. Or even admitted it to myself at all, really. And here I am, sitting in a bar with an open homosexual. Even if I want to disappear into the bathroom with him and figure out some things…

  See? No. I can’t think like this. I can’t do this. Not me. Not Adam.

  “I don’t know,” I say more stiffly. “And honestly, this is awkward, talking about this in a biker-ish bar. What if we’re surrounded by bigots, or something? What if we get jumped?”

  His eyes dance. “It’s not a biker bar. It’s a gay bar.”

  I almost spit out the last of my beer. “What?”

  “What’s the issue? In a tiny little town like St. Marys, they just can’t be too open about it. Did you think there would be male strippers and disco balls everywhere? We’re not trading in stereotypes, are we?”

  I turn around, and that’s when I see the giant poster of Shania Twain in a glamorous stage outfit. Yep, it’s a gay bar. I just wasn’t really looking for the signs.

  “Okay,” I say, turning back to him. “You got me. Looks like we’ve already knocked my first gay bar visit off the list.”

  “And when can we knock off the next?”

  I deliberate, but the still-visible bulge in his pants tells me I won’t be able to resist. “Give me your number,” I finally say. “Then we’ll talk.”

  ~

  On the way out, the bartender calls after us.

  “Hey, you two, you miscalculated your tab. You’re thirty cents short. And no tip, either. What gives?”

  Fabian pats his pockets. “Shit, my bad, I’m all out of cash. Do you have thirty pennies?”

  I think of the image – thirty coins. The same price Judas was paid to cross to the dark side and betray Jesus. The rest of the story led to Jesus’ death.

  Then I smile. “Nah, I got it.”

  I head back and leave a five-dollar bill on the bar for the exasperated bartender. Fabian opens the door for me again, and I feel his hand on the small on my back, leading me out – it feels natural, though, like how a dad leads his daughter. I smile for one moment, and then I go cold.

  “Why’d you stop?” he asks after he bumps into me, but I can’t respond. I can’t even think. Because my eyes are stuck in th
e eyes of Professor Kinnan, one of my teachers, and also one of the most hard-line men at my entire school. He’s across the street. And I am currently being touched on the back by an openly gay employee of that school.

  I turn around and hide my face. “Across the street, in front of the post office. Old dude, greying hair.”

  “He just looks like some white guy. What’s the problem?”

  “That white guy is my professor at school.”

  Instantly, he inches away. “Oh. Let’s walk.”

  We head down a side street, then turn for the school the back way. When I can breathe again, he looks over at me.

  “What was that? What did that mean?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he see me touch you?”

  “I don’t know, either. But he was looking at me like I’d killed his cat.”

  “Will he say anything?”

  I take a breath. “I mean…I don’t know? He doesn’t really have reason to.”

  “God, why couldn’t you have been a hot guy out in the world? Why did you have to be a hot guy at my new job?”

  “Because then it would’ve been simple,” I say. “And simple is not involved in the vocabulary of my life.”

  He swallows his lip. “Adam, I gotta tell you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “One day – maybe soon, maybe in a long time – you are going to have to decide exactly who you are. But will it be an identity the world gives you, or one you create for yourself?”

  “I don’t know. But right now I can’t do anything with them watching.”

  His eyes flash. “Well, at least he won’t see me do this.”

  He leans forward and plants a kiss on my cheek. It is so gentle, so casual, that it takes me totally off guard – but also literally weakens my knees. My brain spins, and I have to reach over to steady myself against a brick wall.

  “Too much?” he asks, his face still inches from mine.

  “Just right,” I finally murmur. “But any more, and if it’s ever in front of Kinnan, you might need to collect my body at the morgue.”

  “Well if that reaction in my chest to kissing you was any indication, you might need to collect my body.”