by Mia Kerick
“David? It’s Anthony.”
“Yeah, I know. I have caller ID.”
“Where are you?”
“What’s it to ya?”
“I want to know if I can see you today.”
There’s a long silence. The very silence I both dreaded and deserve. “I’m busy today.”
“Then how about I treat you to breakfast tomorrow morning?”
Another seemingly unending silence and then, “Look, Del Vecchio, I forgive you already. It’s not in my heart to hold a grudge. You can rest easy now and go back to whatever rock you crawled out from under.”
I reply quickly, before he has a chance to end the call. “I need to see you, David. I need to apologize to your face.”
“Dude—I accept your apology. It’s a done deal. I’m at the worship center prepping boxes of food and shit for the homeless now and it’s real busy here. I gotta go.” He ends the call without a goodbye.
His response—his forgiveness—is not good enough, though. I’m not ready to call it quits with David without a fight. Plus, I know what God wants me to do. And I know God will help me do it. So I don’t say goodbye to him either—because it’s not a goodbye—instead I start the car, my destination in mind.
Once I step inside the Journeys Worship Center, I listen for voices. I saw David’s truck outside in the parking lot among about six other vehicles, which lets me know he has to be around here somewhere. Hearing no voices, I make my way to the room in the back of the church where my family was ushered the Sunday before last to meet church members before the service.
And then I hear his voice—it sounds super emo and I get chills. He’s talking about what toiletries need to be added to each donation box in a voice that sounds kind of sad and hollow, but maybe that’s just my imagination working overtime.
I step into the room. About ten teenagers, over half of whom I don’t recognize, are filling a long line of boxes with food and toiletries and cleaning supplies. There are donations everywhere—the place is a mess. When David looks up and sees me, his shoulders stiffen, as if he’s automatically steeling himself to prevent me from hurting him any further. Sarah, Cam, and Beth are also there. When they see me, all three take a protective step toward David, and Sarah places her hand on his shoulder.
“Hi. I…um…I came here to see David.” In that brief statement, my voice cracks twice. I swallow with an audible gulp. And I’m afraid to meet his eyes, but still I try. David, however, is studying the floor.
“Well, here he is. See him? Now you can leave.” I’ve never heard Cam speak to anyone in such a harsh manner. I deserve it, though. And then some.
“Please, David. Come and sit in the church with me for a minute and let me explain a few things. Please….”
When David’s bright eyes meet mine, they’re shining with emotion—intense and piercing and even sort of puffy around the rims. “Okay. You guys, I’m gonna go take a quick break.”
No one says a word to stop him, and for that I’m thankful. But Cam and Sarah shake their heads as they watch him get up and walk over to my side. David follows me into the big hall where the Sunday service was conducted. We sit beside each other in the pew in the very front row.
I start with an apology—it is the only thing I can think of. “I need you to know that I’m sorry.” I want to take his hand in mine, but I don’t think he’ll let me. He just stares up at the wooden cross above the altar. “David, I was wrong in more ways than one.”
He tilts his head to the side and sighs.
I continue. “I treated your body and my body and the gift God gave us of, you know, of intimate relations with total disrespect. I know very well being close like that is intended to be shared only with my lifelong partner. And I’m incredibly sorry.”
David nods once so I know he hears me, but he keeps on staring. Finally, he says very softly in his sad, empty voice, “That’s not the reason I’m pissed off.”
I know exactly what he means. “I know, and I want to apologize for being cruel. For saying we weren’t boyfriends, and for ignoring you and for pulling a disappearing act. I regret all of that—I was wrong!” Tears fill my eyes and I make no effort to stop them from flowing. A few trickle down my cheeks and I refuse to wipe them away. David has the right to see them.
“You said that we weren’t anything to each other…before you took off.” He’s still studying the simple wooden cross and not my regretful face.
In an effort to connect, I rest my palm on his thigh, and then wait for him to brush it off. But he doesn’t. “That could never be true—you mean way too much to me to be nothing in my life.”
I can tell that he wants to look at me, to see if the expression in my eyes matches the passion in my words, but he resists. “Why did you say those things? Why did you take off and not come back?”
David Gandy—the cool and suave—sounds like a vulnerable child. And I love him more for it.
I love him.
“I was living a life of nothing but reacting… to my feelings and my fears and…. I knew, immediately after the tennis match, how much I loved you and that I almost lost you. I grabbed onto you with everything I had, including my sexuality. I was so afraid of losing you, and at the same time, so afraid of loving you.” I blurt it all out and hope he understands.
Finally, David closes his eyes. “You love me?” I wonder if he’s telling me that, or asking me. “But you hurt me. A whole lot, Tony.”
I grasp his shoulders, and when he opens his eyes, he finally looks at me. The fire in his blue eyes is gone; his expression is one of complete surrender. So I plead. “Please forgive me. Let me into your heart again. I’m not afraid anymore, though I know that you are now. I’ll show you… let me show you how I feel.”
And again, a long, torturous moment of silence ensues, one that it is my obligation to endure. And during it, David studies my face with his lack-luster eyes. Finally he nods. “God calls me to forgive you, and so I do, but he doesn’t call me to take you back in a romantic relationship.”
“I love you, David. So much.” It isn’t even hard to say.
David nods, and rubs his nose in that nervous way he has. And then he says something I don’t expect. “But the thing is, I think I believe what you’re saying.” He rolls his eyes at himself and then shrugs.
I wish his eyes would glow with their usual intensity, but I know that might take time. I squeeze his thigh with my trembling hand. “Thank you… thank you.”
“And I love you, too, Anthony.”
At his words, chills cover my chest and arms. I start to shiver—a lot. Memories of everything David has done to help me accept myself as a gay Christian come flooding back to my mind. Memories of how we became so close. “Can we continue our Bible studies together?”
“Course we can, dude.”
There’s still no fire in his eyes, but the term dude never sounded better to my ears, because I know it’s a term of endearment when coming from him. “And can I hold your hand in the hallways at school?”
“Every once in a while I might let ya.” He winks at me and I see a touch of coyness in his demeanor, which comes as yet another small relief.
“And will you let me take you out to lunch today, along with Sarah, Beth, Cam and Lenny, because I wasn’t very kind to them either, and I’d like to say sorry?”
“I can’t speak for them, but I’m starving.” He cracks a tiny sideways smile, and I fight the urge to kiss him.
“And can I help you finish packing boxes after lunch? Because, as a new youth member of Journeys Worship Center, I think it’s time I start participating in volunteer activities.”
At that news, he smiles wider. “You’re gonna to have to officially join the youth group, too. I’ll tell you all about how to join up over lunch.” And with that, a flicker of the lively spark returns to his eyes.
The sense of relief I experience is actually quite intense, but it’s nothing compared to the friendship and love and appreciation I feel f
or this guy who has shepherded me through my life’s darkest time. Before we leave my new church, I bow my head and take a minute to properly thank God for sending David my way and keeping him here, even when I don’t deserve him.
Love Is Patient, Love Is Kind
“I think Our Way is a lot more of a bible study group than most Catholic youth groups are. I mean, we volunteered and we sang songs about God and went on an occasional field trip, but most meetings were discussions of Bible verses and the sermon of the previous weekend. It was like we were trying to better understand the Bible, but all of our conclusions had to be Vatican-approved rather than conscience-approved.” I’m indescribably happy to be sitting with David at his cluttered kitchen table, setting up shop to do another “Discussion of Christianity as it pertains to David and Anthony”, that I don’t want to come off sounding bitter, or even feel bitter, about our experiences with Catholicism.
“I wonder if Christian churches that condemn homosexual acts, have ever, or will ever, sit down and take a long look at the Biblical “clobber” passages—you know, the ones that I showed you—and try to figure out what God truly intended,” David says as he pulls out his pad of paper and red Sharpie marker. “But then maybe they have, and their conclusion is different than ours, you know?”
“I guess. Pope Francis seems to be a little bit more open-minded, don’t you think? He seems to want to get the focus of Catholicism back on love and off of gay issues.”
“I read that he said something like ‘who am I to judge?’ in regard to gay priests.” At David’s words, I’m reminded how much I’ve loved that particular question, ever since Mom asked it of me on the morning after I was outed by Mrs. Martine. “Maybe the Catholic Church will stop obsessing over sexuality, you know, if the person is searching for God in his life and is a good person.” David seems hopeful. “I respect Pope Francis. He seems like a very humble and compassionate guy.”
“And a whole bunch of Protestant Churches and non-denominational churches have taken some huge steps forward in accepting same-sex relationships, so that is good,” I add. Our conversation flows, as if the weeks of separation hadn’t even happened.
“Maybe there’s hope, after all. And we have Journeys Worship Center, and Pastor Sutton knows that God loves us just the way He made us.” I love the way David’s eyes sparkle when we sit close to each other and talk about religion. “Besides, don’t ya think Jesus would be hanging with the outcasts like us, in any case? He isn’t the kind of dude to be influenced by all the powerful institutions.”
“So we have Jesus…and I have you, to show me the way.” Cheesy, maybe, but ask me if I care.
David reaches over and takes my hand from the table. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“What are we going to focus on today? I’m ready for my Bible lesson, Professor Gandy.” I squeeze his hand back. Flirting is a two-way street.
“Well, Tony, glad you asked.” He pats my hand and then pulls out his Bible. “I was thinking that today we could have a chat about love.”
“That’s a good topic.”
“I’m not talking about romantic love, dude.”
“I still like the subject.” Yeah, more flirting.
“Okay, then.” David may have started to blush, but before I can size him up, he drops his head and his hair falls in front of his face, so I can’t be sure. “I searched out a whole bunch of Bible verses about love, but what I’m looking for, and what I think we can look for together, is what God expects of us in terms of love.”
“Well, I know that the first two commandments deal with love—love God and love your neighbor.” I remember more. “Jesus says these are the greatest commandments and they both involve love.”
“And that’s what we as Christians should focus on—living a life of serving love. We shouldn’t be all distracted by other technicalities that take us away from this goal. And as for me loving you, Tony, it harms nobody, right? So, let’s move on to loving our neighbor and loving and serving God.” I like the way he sums it all up.
But there isn’t much about this guy I don’t like.
We take a few minutes to reflect on loving our enemies, which makes me think of Rinaldo and Lazarus. Rinaldo, who’s no longer even close to an enemy, told me that in the fall he’s going to switch youth groups, from Our Way at St. Mark’s to His Way at Journeys Worship Center, even though he’s still a practicing Catholic. He isn’t happy with some of the things that he participated in when he was a member of Our Way, the interventions, in particular, and he wants a change.
Laz and I still haven’t talked, and I’m not very happy about that fact, but I realize he can’t reasonably disobey his parents if they say he’s not allowed to hang around with me. My goal is to focus on loving him, and not holding a grudge against his parents.
After our discussion, David pours me a glass of lemonade and asks, “Wanna take our drinks upstairs to my room and listen to tunes? Got a homemade CD—Josh Groban live from online—you’ve probably already heard a few of the songs, but I think you’ll be into it.”
My reaction to his suggestion is to absolutely freeze up, deer in the headlights style. “I-I…uh….” I haven’t been back up to his room since the night I basically threw myself at him, and I’m a little freaked out about being up there alone with him. My major concern is that he’ll think I want more from him sexually than he’s willing to give.
David notices my distress. “Don’t worry, Del Vecchio. I’m not gonna jump your bones.” He winks at me. “Not that I don’t want to, cuz I do. You’re the picture of Asian hotness.”
It takes me a couple of seconds to find my voice after the compliment. “I was worried that you’d think I was gonna jump you.”
David swipes my drink from my hand and heads upstairs. I follow a couple of steps behind. Once we’re in his room, he places our drinks on his bureau and spreads out the blue comforter on the floor, and then he gestures for me to sit down on it, but still I stand there.
I can tell he suspects that I’m dwelling on the last time we stood in this very spot. He says, “That one night we made a simple mistake—a mistake we’ve already been forgiven for. And you know what?”
I shake my head. “No. What?”
“We’re gonna make more mistakes, Tony, cuz that’s what human beings do. And we’re gonna keep on trying to be better for God. Cuz that’s all we can do.”
I study my boyfriend—his long dark hair tumbles over his shoulders and his blue eyes shine with that intensity I love. I lift my hands and placed them on either side of his angular jaw. “I really love you, David. I want you, too. And not too long ago admitting that would’ve freaked me out. But now it’s like, I can want you and celebrate it, knowing that if we ever, you know, get married when we’re old enough, God will bless our love.”
“He’ll bless our love in every way.” The piercing look in his in his eyes intensifies, and then he leans forward and kisses me. “Now, lie down and close your eyes. I want you to listen to something.”
“The Josh Groban thing you told me about?”
“You ask too many questions, my friend—lie down and listen, ‘kay?”
He pushes me gently backwards, and I do as he says. I stretch out on the blanket and close my eyes, trying to relax. “This sorta goes with the love topic that we were onto in the kitchen.”
I nod, my eyes still closed.
And then David recites a Bible verse I’ve heard many times over, but never actually thought much about. “First Corinthians 13:4-7. Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
I open my eyes and see that David is gazing down on me, a gentle smile making his lips curve up a little. “You memorized that?”
“Uh huh—wanted to say it to you
when we got to be alone. Cuz this is the kind of love we’re building together, Tony.”
“I know.” And I do know that, because I love him, and I trust him, and I’m going to try to protect him from all things, even from us disrespecting each other. And if we mess up, which we might do, I’ll apologize to God and to David, and then we’ll keep on trying to do better. “Will you lie down beside me?” His eyes meet mine and I see trust there.
“Now it’s time for the tunes, Tony.” As soon as he stretches out beside me, he reaches under his bed and grabs the remote.
Within a few minutes, I’m listening to Josh Groban sing “Amazing Grace”.
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Painting A Rainbow
“I wanna make the purple stripe on the bottom of the rainbow, Tony!” Lulu grabs a paintbrush with one hand and swings the can of bright purple paint with the other. We all cringe in anticipation of a downpour of unwanted purple rain. “Purple is Lulu’s bestest color!”
“That sounds like a plan, Lulu. You are the official purple stripe painter!”
“Mary did red and Frannie did yellow and Daddy did orange and Resa did blue and Mama did green and I wanna do purple!”
Mom, who’s standing on the bottom rung of the ladder that’s pushed up against my bedroom wall, touching up Frannie’s sloppy yellow stripe, soothes my baby sister, saying, “Lulu, Anthony already said you could paint the purple stripe three times. Now calm down and ask Daddy to help you with the purple paint can.”
As Dad moves across the crowded room that has been almost entirely covered in old sheets to set up the purple paint for Lulu, he mutters under his breath, “This is one messy-looking rainbow…and it is only going to get messier with Lulu’s purple stripe.”
I laugh and reply, “My coming out has been a family affair, with changing churches and all. So, the rainbow painting on my bedroom wall is going to be a family affair, too.” I study my cloudy sky blue walls and the kites my mother and I painted when I was twelve. Then I check out the crude-looking rainbow that my family has created for me, and it makes me probably a bit too happy for a normal teenage guy, but I’m not going to dwell on that now. And who’s to say what normal is, anyway? “The rainbow, itself, is a symbol of gay pride, and to have my family paint it for me means way more than if it was painted perfectly by professionals.”
