Inclination

by Mia Kerick

  There’s more music and then there are church announcements that help me to recognize that this is a living and breathing, working community, made up of the people sitting around me. We receive no communion, as that is distributed only on the third Sunday of the month. And I’m okay with that, given that this isn’t a Catholic church.

  By the end of the service I feel enlightened…and maybe lighter, in general. My burden of worries simply doesn’t feel so heavy.

  Celebrating God is different at Journeys Worship Center, but it is Christ-centered and very real—and incredibly alive. As I trail my family to the minivan, I can’t help but smile, but I cover it up with one hand.

  David and I actually play footsy at breakfast.

  Yeah, Anthony Duck-Young Del Vecchio—playing footsy in Linda’s Hometown Diner! It surprises me, too.

  Gabby and Fred are absolutely enthralled by my little sisters. David’s dad is the lucky one who gets to help arrange Lulu’s torn off toast pieces into a smiley face. They got a good taste of life with four little girls at breakfast.

  If any of the customers in the restaurant are looking at us this morning they see two happy, “normal” families, sharing breakfast after church. They see a couple of teenage boys, both wearing crucifixes on short gold chains, and four bubbly little girls. They see two happily married sets of parents who love God, live right, and put their children first.

  Halfway through my plate of pancakes, I look around our busy table long enough to stop and wonder. How very well this perfect picture hides the pain that both David and I have endured at the hands of… well, I’m exactly sure at whose hands I can place our pain. Because I’m no longer convinced that God’s plan is for us to suffer over homosexuality. Maybe it’s organized religion and society as a whole that require us to deny how God made us.

  And then David’s combat booted foot taps down playfully on my sneaker, driving me from deep thought, and making me shiver with the thrill of it. That’s when I just let it all go. I allow myself to slip into the taste of maple syrup and the sounds of my sisters’ happy chatter and the feeling that maybe it’s going to be okay.

  First Home Match

  Father Joseph comes to my first home tennis match. Seeing him there as he watches Laz and I play, completely throws me off, to be honest. It doesn’t help that David, who has apparently lost his distaste for the game of tennis, is pressed up against the court’s chain link fence, dressed in layers of emo black and sporting the new addition of a tiny diamond stud in his nose, is being very vocally supportive of his sort-of boyfriend. Major violation of tennis etiquette, not that David gives a hoot. I fight the urge to tell both David and Father Joseph to get lost. And I struggle with my opponent who I should have beaten easily and soundly.

  A few guys are at home, sick with a nasty stomach virus that has swept both the girls and boys tennis teams, so I’m paired with Laz in doubles. That doesn’t go well either. Laz and I haven’t interacted once since the afternoon he gifted me with that severe wedgie, and I haven’t missed him too much—or maybe it’s that I’m simply relieved to be off his bullying radar. This afternoon’s match is a testament to Coach Wesley’s recurrent “doubles partners need to communicate” pep talk, a speech our coach has long been drilling into our brains. Laz and I don’t offer forgiveness for mistakes or encouragement for excellent shots, our court positions are all wrong—to sum it up we totally lose sight of the fact that we’re in this battle together. We hand our opponents, who aren’t nearly as strong as us technically, points and then games and then sets and finally the match. Coach is at first shocked and then appalled, which was closely followed by livid (if I cared anymore, I’d say that was a good SAT word), and when everybody else is packing up to leave, Laz and I are running disciplinary lengths of the adjacent football field.

  To top it off, both David and Father Joseph wait around for us to finish our laps, and they stand by patiently—and very together—as Coach Wesley rants and raves and threatens our seed rankings.

  “I wish I could say ‘great match’ to you boys, but I’ve seen both of you play much better,” Father Joseph says as he steps up beside us. He can be counted on for honesty, but then he is a priest.

  “Well, yeah. I guess my head wasn’t in the game,” I offer weakly.

  Laz stares at the ground and says nothing.

  “I chatted with David as we watched you play. I’m glad, Anthony, that you and he have become friends. I miss having David and his family at St. Mark’s, just like I miss you and your family.” Father Joseph looks at me directly and I feel shamed, like I’ve been stripped naked in public. “It certainly is quieter in Mass without the four little Del Vecchio girls.”

  I blush and nod like always, and then I shrug, certain that one of the three is the appropriate response. Whatever.

  “In any case, Rinaldo and I have been meeting quite frequently to discuss a private matter, but he has confided in me some disturbing information about the conduct of certain boys at school.” Father Joseph turns toward Laz.

  Because I never confided this in him, David has no clue about the second full week of Laz’s “locker room antics”, and so he seems confused, but tries to hide it with his cool attitude.

  “I think it is time that we sit down for a large group discussion. Rinaldo and his mother, Laz, you and your parents, and Anthony, you and your parents. I want this rupture in our church family to be repaired.” The priest’s eyes travel from me to Laz, and then back again. Apparently David isn’t a major factor here any longer. “Anthony, I want your family to return to St. Mark’s.”

  “Father, with all due respect, none of the…the controversy…was started by me. All I have done is be myself.” Sometimes I wonder at my own fortitude and this is one of those times. “I think it’s okay if you keep on meeting with Rinaldo, but honestly, he’s already changed his attitude and I consider him to be on my side in this whole thing.”

  David’s pointy chin drops. I clearly have some explaining to do.

  “And I think it might be a good idea for you to have a chat with Laz and his folks, because his parents won’t let him hang around with me if I keep on ‘being gay’.” I emphasized my words with air quotes, because they’re pretty effective when Elizabeth uses them. “But I don’t need to sit down and explain myself…and my sexuality… to all of those people. It has nothing to do with either one of those guys or their parents.” When I finish my sentence there’s a bone-chilling silence. All three of them stare at me, as if Anthony Duck-Young Del Vecchio has somehow moved a mountain to expose a mustard seed.

  Father Joseph, though, must have realized what I said was right. “I see your point, and I believe I will get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair later on tonight.” Laz turns a shade of purple I’ve never seen before. “But Anthony, please remember, the door to St. Mark’s Church is always open to you. I can counsel you on how to deal with your feelings in a manner that will glorify God.”

  His words might as well have been a very sharp knife, as they sliced easily into my heart. I now know the truth of many Christian denominations—I can’t be married and worship openly with my husband, and maybe even with my kids, in a church that doesn’t recognize and bless same-sex marriages. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Father.”

  David smirks and Father Joseph doesn’t miss it. “Our doors are always open to you, as well, David.”

  I can tell that David wants to tell the priest, very politely, of course, exactly where he can go, but instead he simply says, “My family is very happy worshipping at Journeys Worship Center, but thanks for thinking of us.” He stares at me, as if expecting me to inform Father Joseph that the Del Vecchios have decided to officially join Journeys, too. But our family decision isn’t yet final, so I don’t say a word. The momentary silence is deafening.

  “Very well, then. Lazarus, I can give you a ride home. And Anthony….”

  I take in the expression in Father Joseph’s soft blue eyes, and I note that there’s no anger o
r irritation in them, but neither is there resignation. “Yes, Father?”

  “I will also be in touch with your parents. It is essential that you all do not allow hurt and angry feelings to cut you off from your church.”

  “That’s fine.”

  And then Father Joseph and Laz turn and head for the parking lot while I await my figurative spanking from David. Which I incidentally fully deserve.

  “What did Laz do to ya?” His face had turned red a while ago and he appears to be sweating. “And why didn’t you tell me? Huh?” He’s hurt and angry and I don’t really blame him.

  I hesitate for a minute, while I consider my answer. When the answer comes, it is definitely not a direct one. “Sometimes talking about things makes them seem real.”

  “Bullying, or whatever he did to you, is very real, Tony.”

  “I know—you’re right,” I say, and crumple to the ground, patting the place beside me. As soon as David sits down, I proceed to blurt out a complete list of Laz’s locker room “pranks” and how Rinaldo not so mysteriously put a stop to them. He listens intently.

  “You shoulda told me, dude.” His face is no longer red and angry, in fact, it is now quite unreadable. “Thought us two were getting pretty close, you know?” David reaches over to take my hand and I find myself looking around to make sure nobody’s close enough to see his gesture. Harshly, I shake his fingers from mine and tell him pointedly, “Don’t touch me, David! Not here—not in public!”

  The pain I see on his face can’t be missed; his lips quiver and then twist to the side in a wounded grimace. In fact, I’ve never before seen David react to anything this obviously. It’s as if something suddenly snaps inside him and he slams a door on me. His expression hardens as he hops to his feet, and then he pivots in the direction of the parking lot, “I’m outta here.”

  I get up and walk toward my car, about ten awkward paces behind him. My heart is frozen with a new sort of panic. And I know I’ve gone too far.

  Just Fooling Around

  The next day at school, David is way too quiet in lunch period—no sarcasm, no harmlessly inappropriate wit, no outrageous stories recounting the Del Vecchio family’s visit to Journeys Worship Center. And no flirting, whatsoever. It’s like we’re strangers.

  I take the blame for his distant and aloof behavior. After all, it is my fault. By pulling my hand from his like he had a disease and snapping at him yesterday after the tennis match, I proved I was ashamed of our relationship, one time too many.

  And when I see him this cold and distant, even beyond the coldness of the at-school-David I knew before we were friends, I understand the meaning of the term bitter regret. Everything we’ve built together, as friends and more, is crashing down around my feet because I can’t make up my mind if a virtuous gay Christian can exist. I haven’t treated David right—I haven’t valued his compassion or his affection. I’ve honestly taken him for granted. This guy means more to me than anyone outside of my family, and judging by the way he’s acting now, I’m convinced he’s had enough of my uncertainty.

  The very second I realize I’ve lost him is the same second I become sure of one thing. And that is how much I want and even need David Gandy in my life.

  In the hall after lunch period, I grab him by the arm and pull him toward the hallway in front of the boys’ room. I don’t even check around us to see who’s looking. “David, talk to me a second.”

  He brushes my hand from his arm with equal harshness to how I’d yanked my hand from his yesterday, and he stares past me with glassy eyes, like he’s bored. “What do you want?” I haven’t seen this side of him in a long time now. No, I can honestly say I’ve never seen this facet of David.

  “Can we talk? After tennis practice?”

  David pretends not to hear me. He tugs a black elastic off of his wrist and pulls his hair back into a low ponytail, as if I’m not there.

  “Look, I’m sorry. You’ve done so much for me and I haven’t… I haven’t showed you how I feel for you.” I realize how confused David must be with my hot and cold behavior. I’m confused myself.

  He looks at me squarely, his blue eyes shining. “And how is it that you feel, Del Vecchio? Huh? Maybe it’s time to fill me in.”

  This is extremely hard for me to do, especially in public, but I can’t lose David. I’m fairly certain he’s worth the effort as well as the awkwardness. “I… I feel like I want to be your….”

  “Spit it out dude.” No change of expression—a cross between bored and all-business, with the added bonus of sparkling, pissed-off eyes.

  I make a serious effort not to lower the volume of my voice. “I was hoping that we could be…like, boyfriends.”

  David possesses an excellent poker face. I still can’t tell how he’s feeling. “Like boyfriends?”

  Again, I fight not to lower my voice. “No. Boyfriends, period. I want us to be boyfriends.” I can feel my cheeks burning, but I hold his gaze. This is hard for me, but I need to do it. I have too much to lose here.

  “Boyfriends hold hands. Like, not everywhere they go in a total PDA way, but once in a while.”

  “I know.” I so hope I can handle that.

  “Here’s the big one, Tony. Boyfriends don’t think they’re sinning when they’re together—at least not the kind of boyfriend I want.”

  David’s right—and this part is huge. “I guess I think it’s okay with God… how we feel for each other. And, um… maybe I didn’t realize that till…like, today.” I’m trying to be honest, but I’m trying harder to hang on to him. Maybe it’s possible that I’d say anything to keep him right now, because I’m freaking out at the thought of losing my one dependable connection to God.

  David very obviously looks me up and down, clearly sizing me up. “You mean that, dude?”

  I nod, but it’s partly a lie. “I really think I do.”

  His brittle expression softens, and then he fake-punches me on my bicep, breaking the tension a little bit more. “Okay, then. Come over after tennis and we can talk more about this.”

  Intense relief causes my forehead to break out in a cold sweat because David buys it. He believes that I’m sincere when I say I’m fine with being a gay Christian. I nod again. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  I watch as David walks away, not with his usual cocky saunter, but with what more closely resembles Cam’s grandmother’s speed walking. I think maybe I’ve thrown him off his coolness game.

  I sigh loudly and give in to the urge to glance all around me. I don’t think anyone heard our conversation.

  There are no cars other than David’s black Honda truck in the Gandy’s driveway, which makes me pretty sure that we’ll be alone. I park and jump out of my car, then I run up the walkway to the front door. There’s nothing cool and collected about me—sweating profusely, I’m like the polar opposite of a guy on an Axe deodorant commercial. But I’m dying to see him, to make sure everything’s okay between us.

  This is very unlike you, Anthony. Why are you acting impulsive like this?

  David answers the door after three short knocks, and I wonder what took him so long. “David!” I pull him into my arms on the doorstep.

  He hugs me briefly and then pushes me back with purpose. “Aren’t you worried that somebody from Wedgewood High School will see us all over each other at my front door?” His voice is soft but the tone is bitter—he’s testing me.

  He knows I still have doubts.

  “I…I don’t care right now.”

  “Right now?” He repeats my words, and I think, I just can’t say or do the right thing with this guy.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Be my guest.” More sarcasm.

  As soon as we’re in the living room, I say, “I’m sorry for yesterday at the field. I wish I held your hand, but I was confused. You know, with Father Joseph and Laz…and I made a mistake.”

  “You screwed up, that’s for sure.” But with raised eyebrows, he nods slowly, in the way of a person accepting w
hat is nearly impossible to believe, and then he cautiously asks, “Wanna come up to my room and listen to some tunes?”

  “Yeah, I do. More than anything.” I follow him up the stairs wishing he’d move faster. And when we get to his bedroom, I close the door and lock it. Part of me wonders what the heck I’m doing, but I can’t fight the desperation any longer.

  “Wh-what are…why did you lock.…” I don’t let him finish whatever it is he’s planning to ask me, and I don’t even give him time to start the music. In fact, I don’t even allow myself time to think this through—I’m already on top of him, pulling his body against mine, still trying to assure myself he’s really here with me.

  And then something comes over me and I start grinding my hips into his as we stand in the middle of his bedroom. He pulls back a little bit, but I drape one arm around his shoulder and hold his backside firmly with the other. “Kiss me.” My voice is deep and husky and demanding. I’m acting reckless and I know it and it’s like I can’t stop myself.

  David leans down quickly and complies. His eyes are closed. I’m incredibly relieved by his action and I don’t hold back, kissing him with an open mouth.

  This kiss proves he’s still into me, doesn’t it?

  But a kiss isn’t enough. The fact is—and I don’t claim to understand why—that I’m still incredibly scared. Not so much scared of what I’m about to do here in David’s bedroom, but scared I’ve already lost him. I haven’t treated him right and I regret it—bitterly. With a firm grip, I take his hand in mine and lead him to the bed.

  “Lie down, David.” I don’t know this Anthony Duck-Young Del Vecchio. He is rash and impulsive and needy.

  David stares at his bed for a moment, like he doesn’t know what it is or what it’s used for, but then he climbs on.