Sinner's Prayer

by Seth King

  Fabian Blanco

  I watch Adam leave, wonderstruck.

  That was, without a doubt, the best first date I’ve ever had. I mean, was it a date? Sure it was, right? I went to a bar with a guy, and talked the afternoon away. Sure, it’s a date. Lately I’d given up on dating in the first place – dating apps like Tinder and Grindr had specifically been made to inflict emotional torture on me. I’m too open, too forward, too generous with myself, and I fall in love very, very quickly. I just love the idea of love – I can’t help it. But when you meet these guys on these apps, they’re already talking to literally dozens of other guys. It’s turned the dating pool into a wild pool party at all hours of the day and night, with sex usually expected on the first date, or even before. And since dating is a game now, nobody takes love seriously at all. These guys have made a sick little game of meeting you, charming you, making you think they want something serious, and then immediately moving on to the next desperate guy waiting for a cheap dinner and a pretty set of lies. You meet, you exchange lies, and then it fades away. No wonder my generation reports cases of depression at alarmingly high rates – none of us know what relationships are.

  But Adam – he’s different in every way. He’s not even in the dating pool, to be more specific. But that’s not why I’m drawn to him. I don’t even know why I’m so drawn to him, actually, but back there I felt like a puppy around a pile of steaks. I already want to see him again. What does that mean? What does any of it mean? I came here to be invisible, not to put down roots in a place I don’t even know from Adam.

  Sure, a few of his views are problematic, and he seems kind of like those “love the sinner, hate the sin” Christians. Obviously that stance alone is bullshit – you can’t love someone while also hating the biggest thing about them. That’s like walking up to someone and saying “hey, your face is ugly and I don’t like you, but I hope you have a great day!” But I can help him. He’s open-minded already. I just have to help him, guide him…and maybe even guide him into my pants, if that happens…

  Suddenly my phone vibrates with a message from the head of maintenance that makes my chest stop moving: See me now.

  Adam Venus

  I find myself smiling the whole drive home. I don’t really know why, I’m just smiling. Buzzing…

  I guess if you looked at me, you’d think I fit all the markers of a “straight,” all-American guy. Like Fabian said, I wear khakis. I watch football sometimes. My friends are all men. (My church looks down upon fraternizing between males and females.) But to that casual observer, there are a lot of things they’d know if they looked underneath. They’d know that sometimes during sleepovers with other guys, I wonder how their skin would feel if I slipped my hand under their shirts and felt around. They’d know that my sexual dreams (come on, everyone has them) sometimes do star women, but more often than not, feature men. And they’d know I’ve never gone beyond fooling around with a female date because the prospect of it just terrified me for reasons I couldn’t explain…

  That evening I pull up my iPad and do a little research, since Fabian mentioned his last name. His persona on social media is friendly and open – he smiles big for every photo, unlike me, and he seems to have friends in whatever town he happens to be living in. His friends tagged him in several videos of him singing and dancing in cars, and soon I realize what might be drawing me to him in such a way – he’s just goofy in a way I never knew how to be. He carries the light.

  And all night long, my brain keeps trying to wonder what else he’s carrying. Yikes, I can’t believe I’m thinking things like that to myself, but there’s just a magnetism here. I savored the way I felt around him, like my whole body existed just to be around his, and my brain keeps going down hallways it’s never gone before. What would it be like to touch his skin? What would that mouth taste like? What is down there, in the place my mind keeps running?

  And why don’t I care that I could possibly go to hell for thinking of these things?

  Before bed, I do my usual prayers – I pray for peace in the world, for calm for the suffering, for health for the sick. Then I see those eyes and make another prayer.

  Whatever this is, I pray, please reveal it to me. I’m going to trust You with this one. I’ll be listening. So please show me the way. Amen.

  ~

  Hands. Hands are on me. His.

  “Oh, Fabian,” I moan. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I want this so badly. Now get ready.”

  In my dream, he spreads my legs, slowly but firmly. He moves a little closer, his mouth opening. I’m terrified but I want it to happen – I am sure of it. I want to feel all he has to offer, and then some. He leans closer, closer, closer, and then…contact…

  But what comes out of his mouth isn’t a tongue. It is a serpent.

  Soon, I have a new dream. I’ve been transported somewhere dim and stifling. A large figure lords over me, and I’m tied to a bed in a burning room. Flames lick up the curtains and kiss at the walls. I struggle against the ties, then look at my hands and see bloody scars on each palm. My forehead is also bleeding, and I know what this is – the stigmata. The Catholic term for the scars from Jesus’ torture and murder. I’m being crucified on a bed.

  I look ahead again. The figure is a sort of demon, the scaly ones described in some biblical legends. And his eyes are shaped like Fabian’s. He breathes, but it sounds like a dragon spitting fire instead, jagged and menacing. He seems to smirk at me, his eyes red, then he walks forward with his arms out…

  ~

  Later that morning, I know Fabian has entered the classroom before I can even see him.

  “And that,” my professor says, talking about Judas, “was the proverbial apple that poisoned it all. That’s where he went wrong – he fell to the temptations offered by you-know-who. And the-”

  I’m in history class when the door opens behind us, and it’s like I’ve been drenched in cold water again. My hair stands up, my face goes numb, and then I hear the voice. That voice. His voice. I just know it’s him.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you had a class now…I was going to work on the windows…”

  “It’s quite alright, we’ll be done in a quick twenty, I’ll try to hurry it up for you,” the professor says.

  “Sure thing, thanks.”

  I can only breathe when he leaves. Once he does, I get to work on my goal for the day, the goal I kept abandoning because I was being distracted by daydreams about Fabian: I want to research what the Bible says about homosexuality.

  So, I’m not an idiot. I know the Bible contains many contradictions and even errors. I’m not ignorant. Then again, we were told to trust in every decision God ever made. He knew exactly what He was doing when he created me – I was told this all the time. So why would He make me with the propensity to love someone, and then ban me to hell forever for it? How did that make sense? If God didn’t want me to be gay, why am I the way I am? I can’t change this, no matter how hard I try – so why would He curse me from birth?

  I find a website fairly quickly that looks esteemed and legitimate. Instantly I am fascinated. According to this historian, there wasn’t even a word in any of the biblical languages for “homosexual” until the 13th century – before that, people weren’t as fixated on who you dated or got with. It also points out the fact that homosexuality is never even explicitly banned or addressed at all – many of the references are elliptical in nature, and stemmed from other conversations. But the most jarring thing is when the historian mentioned the fact that there is documented proof the Bible has been tweaked and altered innumerable times over the years, and that nobody can even really be sure of what the original writings said at all.

  This was always the single biggest chink in the armor for me. The Bible is our DNA, our blueprint – everything stems from this, our record of the life Jesus lived back in the day. Of course it’s proven that He was a figure who existed in all kinds of historical texts. But Christianity hinge
s upon the belief that He didn’t just exist, but existed as the Son of God. The Bible was always presented to me as rock-hard proof of that story, but as I got older and studied it from more points of view, I learned that this version might not even resemble the one He originally left us with. It’s been changed and revised probably hundreds of times, so how can we really go by what it says? Most of the time I was faithful enough to ignore this. But suddenly I’m not so sure…

  Actually, to be more descriptive, I am spinning in a crowded room, with nobody to help, or who even knows I’m lost…

  ~

  “Hi. Can I ask you something?”

  I’m at the water fountain when I hear Fabian’s voice. My hair stands, just as it always does. I turn around with a mouthful of water and a head full of confused, yet vibrant, questions.

  I swallow and wipe my chin. The look in his eyes is nervous, but his body language is open and inviting. Maybe too inviting. I try not to notice that he is wearing a shirt with a serpent on the front. The imagery is just too obvious, too laughable. My life is ridiculous. If the water coming out of this fountain turned to chardonnay, maybe then I’d believe that any of this was happening.

  “Um…yeah?”

  I can’t deny that it’s weird for me to be talking to him here, like this. He’s in his uniform, and he’s an “out” gay man…

  He seems to notice my reluctance, and his smile fades a little. My heart instantly breaks for him.

  “Oh, um…I was going to ask…”

  “Yes?” I ask. “You can talk, you know. We’re buds.”

  “Buds? Oh. Anyway…did you feel that…thing that happened last night? The spark that sort of happened? Or was it me?”

  I look around again, then swallow. Of course I felt it, and I loved it and hated it…and God is exactly why…

  “I mean…I felt something,” I finally say. “A kind of zap or something.” I swallow. “But, um…I don’t know. Maybe the air was cold?”

  He looks away. “Oh.”

  This is happening too quickly. I can’t process this. Or can I?

  “Let’s be honest about something,” I say soon. “We can’t talk about this here.”

  “What do you mean, here?”

  “At a seminary school, that’s what I mean. You know that. And you’re an employee.”

  “But wait. There are only bylaws banning male and female students and employees from fraternizing.”

  I roll my eyes. “That’s probably because this campus believes homosexuality is a pathology, and isn’t real. I don’t think they’d make rules to account for any of that happening here.”

  His face falls. “Oh. True.”

  I swallow. This is so risky. Adam and Eve were banished for this. But I can’t stay away. “But…I want to talk, obviously. We should…well, how about a walk in the woods?”

  “I know exactly the spot you mean. Sure. After you.”

  My school maintains a sort of sculpture garden behind campus filled with religious art, but it’s set into the Georgia woods at the same time. It’s deserted as we pass a simple metal cross at a trailhead and slip into the trees.

  “Here,” he says, handing me something from his bag.

  “What is this?”

  “A chocolate bar. You said you liked chocolate. Every time I see you, I am going to give you a gift.”

  I pause. “Why?”

  “Because you seem like you deserve them. And, I don’t know. It makes me happy to make other people happy.”

  “Oh, well, thank you, Fabian,” I say, taking it with a blush.

  “You say my name a lot.”

  “Because I like your name, Fabian.”

  “I like a lot of things about you.”

  I just smile. It’s rare to meet someone who just extends kindness with no expectation at all.

  “So you told me that you read for fun, yeah? What are you reading now?

  “Um. Why does that matter?”

  “Because it has to do with you.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m reading a history of the last Romanovs.”

  “How is it?”

  “Well, I know how it’s going to end, so…it’s a little bleak. It’s kind of like watching the ending of a horror movie first. I just want to get them out of there. Did you know the king of England was the Czar’s cousin, and just before the royal family was murdered they asked England if they could come live in London, and they said no?”

  He looks lost.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I get pretty into my books.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for something you’re passionate about,” he tells me, and I sink into a fuzzy feeling within myself. “I was never a big history person, though – I like to live in the moment. A little too much, probably. You could teach me a lot.”

  “Well I’m the opposite. If I didn’t have my books I wouldn’t be alive at all.”

  “So…speaking of you being a bookworm. I’m guessing your dating history isn’t too far-reaching?”

  I shrug. “Never really done that whole thing.”

  “Wait, so…you’ve never dated anyone?”

  I shrug again.

  “Haven’t you hooked up and stuff, though?”

  I just look around, thankful nobody is here to overhear any of this.

  “Wait. You mean…you’ve never had sex?

  My whole body tenses. If I let him do what I wanted him to do right now, and what I hope he wants to do to me, we would be disappearing into a closet together. “Fabian. I’m a Christian. Studying to become a pastor. I’ve kissed and stuff on dates, but…never beyond that.”

  “I mean, I know, but…I can’t…wow.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t imagine that. Love is what lights up the world. And sex is, well…worth whatever price you guys say it’s worth, at least.”

  “You mean…hell?”

  “Yeah. I’m not exaggerating. To me, life isn’t life without sex.”

  I try not to judge, but I do. Something about this makes me jealous. “Wow,” I say. “Sounds like you’re extremely learned in the subject. Interesting.”

  He blows out some air. “You sound like one of those old church ladies. I said I’ve had a lot of sex, not with a lot of people. With my ex-boyfriend, we’d have it twice a day sometimes, just because it was so amazing.”

  Something like jealousy sinks into me. “Good for you.”

  “What’s the attitude for?”

  “Nothing, I’m just…still getting used to talking about this. I’m going to be a pastor, remember?”

  “A pastor,” he says, but is that regret in his eyes? I don’t know. “Nice. And hey, I’m not anti-God at all. I pray, too. Sometimes, at least.”

  “To what?”

  “I don’t know. The sky?”

  “Hmmm….”

  “Hey,” he says. “Do I believe in the white-bearded man in the sky, judging who can and can’t get into the gates? No. But I think the universe has a certain…grace. A goodness, a sense of…style. It’s beautiful out there. I just don’t think that beauty is tied to any one deity, any one ruler.”

  “Style,” I smile. “Never heard of that one in the Bible.”

  “Yeah, maybe not. There are lots of passages about racism and slavery and sexism, though.”

  I look at it. “Let’s not go there. I’m comfortable with that.”

  “Because it challenges your man in the sky?”

  “Because it challenges everything I think my life is about. Can you respect that?” I pause, then get a little more annoyed. “Can you respect my beliefs, too? I mean, I believe in God before I believe in anything. It is the most sacred thing in my life. If we’re going to be friends, please don’t demean that.”

  He looks away, too. “Sure. Fine. Sorry.”

  A silence comes.

  “So let me ask you something else. I was thinking…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re actually not straight if you’ve never even kissed or dated a woman. So i
f you’re not straight, you’re just kind of…nothing. Right?”

  I look away. “No. I’m straight.”

  “How do you know?

  “I just know?”

  “Why did you phrase that as a question?”

  “I don’t know. Okay, maybe I’m asexual, but by choice.”

  “By choice?”

  “Just stop, okay?”

  “Well we’re going to have to cross that bridge eventually. What do you believe about the whole gay issue?”

  I bite my lip. “I don’t know. Personally, I never really cared. But I was told that…well, this is what I was told. But they said it wasn’t natural. Sex was made for mating.”

  He scoffs. “Why did God let us invent condoms, then? And what about married hetero couples who choose not to have children.”

  “Hold up. Then again…I know. I know there are inconsistencies, jagged edges. There are two schools of thought. Some pastors I know are totally comfortable throwing fire and judging the whole world for being different. Some are more tolerant.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ve never had to think about this.”

  “I still can’t fathom that.”

  “Of course I have lustful thoughts. What I do is kind of…well, I stop, I count to three, and I pray.”

  He stifles a laugh. “Every time?”

  “Every time. Nothing makes certain side effects go away like talking to the Creator.”

  Finally he starts cracking up, right then and there.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, I just think that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Praying to make a boner go away…did you not understand how biology works? Blood was going to get sent to your dick whether you wanted it to or not.”

  “Laugh, it’s fine, laugh all you want. For me it was as serious as death. And maybe still is. I mean, I was taught that gays were getting an eternity in hell – literally, that’s what I had hanging in my head. That’s the price I thought I’d have to pay.”

  “Wow. But it was still on your mind. You really were curious about this?”