“You would have gotten a lot more girls,” Jee crunched garlic bread and scattered crumbs on her wavy rainbow stockings, “if you’d done this anywhere but that Twelve Step room. It smells down there. I don’t think they cleaned the carpet after that drunk guy threw up on the facilitator.” “We won’t sit on the carpet,” Teddy said.
“None of us had a house cool enough to host something like this,” said Wilson. “And we wanted to have it at the church. It’s central and people could tell their parents they were going to a church thing without lying so much.”
“My mom nearly called the church to find out more about this thing,” said Rebecca. “I had to tell her it was being organized by some people from Omaha who were on the road doing youth events and the cathedral wouldn’t know about it.”
“Omaha?” said Teddy.
“Hey, bullshit pump not primed.”
“As long as that creepy Canon or that weird Verger don’t show up or something,” said Jee.
“The Canon’s out of town at a conference,” said Teddy. “And this is the Verger’s night to sneak around the skating rink.”
“What is the deal with Canon Moosehead anyway?” asked Julie, the non-choirgirl. She had a big hairband, frizzy dark hair, and cat glasses.
“Julie and I bailed from his True Love Waits thing when it turned into True Love Drools,” Betty added.
“He’s been under a lot of pressure,” said Randy. Teddy snorted behind his hand.
“I heard he puts this metal clamp on his ... thing to keep it from getting hard,” said Marc. “I heard it has spikes and stuff so it hurts if he starts.”
“Dude, that is so gross,” said Julie.
“Cock spikes,” said Marc. “I kid you not.”
“A crown of thorns,” said Teddy in between snorts.
“Poor guy,” Berry mumbled. “I mean, he didn’t ask to have his thing start acting up.” Everybody ignored him.
Finally the cathedral and its offices were dead enough to let the six boys and four girls sneak back in. Randy produced copies of the Verger’s “borrowed” keys. They went back across the street and down to the dark hallway under the cathedral offices. Nobody could see more than a few feet past the bottom of the stairs. “Fuck,” said Randy. “Where’s the light switch?” Marc stumbled over a huge crucifix.
“Find candles,” Teddy said.
They stumbled for a while. Berry stepped on someone’s foot. A girl’s, judging from the high “eep” that followed. Berry thought he heard a rat. One of the boys started singing some hymn about being in the dark and going astray. Teddy shut up whoever it was.
“What if we’re trapped down here in the dark? Anybody got a cell phone?” one of the girls asked.
“I can get us out again,” said Randy.
Finally, Marc lit a giant candle. “We’ve got a couple of them,” he said. “It’ll be cool to do this by candlelight anyway. That way you won’t even see the stains.”
Randy found the right key to let them all into the Twelve Step room after some trial and error. He left them with one candle and took the other one in search of the Bishop’s punch. Teddy found a censer and some incense among all the random stuff in the hallway. He loaded up the canister with incense and swung it around until smoke flowed around the room and the candlelight streamed between its fingers. The smoke and candles made cool patterns on the wall.
“Great,” said Jee. “Now it smells like perfumey smoke in here.”
“It’s romantic,” Teddy said.
“I guess,” said Rebecca, “in a Satan’s armpit way.”
Randy rolled in a big barrel. “I think this is it,” he said. He opened a big stopper in the top and poured some of the contents into an empty three-liter Coke bottle.
“Careful,” Teddy said. “Like we really want to leave the Twelve Step room smelling of punch.”
The punch smelled sort of vinegary, but Berry still took a big swig. He wondered if the punch’s secret ingredient was actually communion wine that had been left out too long. Mixed with extra fruit juice and/or water, it might have been drinkable. Maybe. “Gross,” said Becca.
“Good for your small intestine,” said Teddy.
A second empty Coke bottle showed up for the traditional spin-the-bottle game. Every lurch of the bottle made Berry jumpy. He was terrified the bottle would point at him, but also that it wouldn’t and he’d be left out.
Apart from “no gay stuff,” whoever spun had to kiss whomever the bottle pointed to. Then the recipient had to spin. Teddy kissed Becca. Becca kissed Wilson (who looked flustered). Wilson kissed Julie. Julie kissed Randy and then the bottle rolled to a stop facing a pair of huge, shredded Reeboks that belonged to no teen.
“Can I join in?” asked a tobacco-wrecked woman’s voice.
Randy grabbed a candle and held it up. Marge, one of the homeless people who hung around the cathedral for the Hungry Souls and other services, had joined the circle. The
candle light made the many lines on her face look infinitely deep. Even in an incense cloud, she smelled of sweat. Marc, whose parents knew Marge, hid his face in the shadows. “What are you doing here?” Randy demanded.
“Sacking out. Or I was until you guys made all this noise. What are you guys doing here?”
“What does it look like?”
“Hmm. Judging from the bottle and all the lipstick on the boys’ faces, I’d say Yahtzee. Or Monopoly. Speaking of which, aren’t you girls young for lipstick?”
“Oh, fashion tips from a bag lady,” sniffed Julie.
“I heard Skank magazine needed a new columnist,” said Jee.
“Hey,” said Marge. “You think I wasn’t a teeny bopper sneaking into the church after dark once? You think I was always old and trashed and sleeping outside?”
“Like I’ve given your life story so much thought,” said Jee. “Look,” said Randy. “Neither of us is supposed to be here. So why don’t we just leave each other alone, and we won’t tell if you won’t?”
“Fair enough,” said Marge. “But if I were you guys, I’d move on from spin the bottle. Gets old fast, won’t get you into anyone’s pants. You run through all the combinations pretty quick. Now Truth Or Dare, that’s a player’s game.” “Thanks for sharing,” said Teddy.
“Trick is, make the questions really personal and unpleasant—nothing about menstruation, mind—and the dares deceptively easy at first, then raunchier and raunchier. You’ll have ’em down to bra and panties in an hour, sucking twinkies in two. Of course, you got all night, right?” “Thanks. See ya,” said Teddy.
“We’ll try not to disturb your rest any more,” said Wilson.
After Marge finally ambled off, the ten kids sat around the candles in silence. Berry felt the punch eat his stomach and the incense jerk his gag reflex.
“So,” said Teddy. “Wanna play another game?”
Jee had a cell phone in her hand. “How much do you think a cab would be from here?”
“I’m in,” said Julie. “I got ten bucks.”
“Who wants punch?” Teddy asked desperately.
Nobody wanted punch. Within fifteen minutes, the girls had a cab. The boys sat a spell, watching the candles burn down. Then Randy stood. “I’ll put the punch back. Get this mess cleaned up, nobody’ll know we were here. With luck, we’ll catch the last bus.” Berry and Wilson were the last to stand up.
“Sorry it didn’t pan out,” said Berry.
“Hey,” said Wilson. “I got to kiss two girls.” He gave Berry a hand up.
9.
The wind baited Berry. It found every path into his robes and chilled his head. His cassock and surplice barely protected him. He hadn’t had time to grab his blazer from the choir room. The further he got from St. Luke’s, the dumber he felt in his robes. People eating burgers or pumping gas kept turning to watch him tread the sidewalk. When Berry tried to walk the way a choirboy should, Maura or Lisa pulled his sleeve to speed him up.
Maura and Lisa flanked Berry and swung
their outer arms. A lily scent came from one or both of them. Berry felt escorted, mostly in a good way. Sunlight brightened Lisa’s muslin dress and turned it transparent. Lisa looked like a twenties Parisian girl whose picture Berry had masturbated over, even down to the pointy shoes and round hat. Maura wore a black cleavage gown and kept talking about going on an adventure.
“I want to go back and change,” Berry said again.
“You’ll fit right in where we’re going,” Maura said.
“I don’t look like someone who should be where we are.”
Berry looked straight ahead, only partly to avoid seeing the stares. Lisa kept smiling up at him. He didn’t know what kind of look to give her back.
Lisa chattered about her weekend—she’d gone to a glass-blowing shop where actors in historical costumes formed vases and bottles from goo—and the day’s service, especial-
ly the crimson stain Berry had left on Canon Moosehead’s crotch. Berry fidgeted whenever the communion wine spill came up. Berry’s clumsiness had made him a minor hero to the other choirboys.
“You should have seen the look on his face,” Lisa said.
“It was an accident,” Berry said for the millionth time. Then he changed the subject and asked Maura where they were going. Maura had led Lisa and him to one of the neutral parts of the city, one that bordered the “bad” part of town as well as the shopping drag.
“We’re going to the Botanical Gardens.”
Berry had never heard of any Botanical Gardens in the city. Maura led them down back streets, past ancient houses with windows nippled by the passage of time or artisan-ship Lisa could barely explain after her visit to the glass-blowing place. Passing men in baggy beltless pants and muscle shirts in front of a liquor store, Lisa grabbed Berry’s hand. He wasn’t sure what to make of the gesture until he remembered her dad drove a Lexus.
Berry was about to ask if he could wander the streets in regalia some other time when they found the gate.
Vines almost covered it, heavy with dust instead of fruit or flowers. A hand-painted balsa sign read: “The Wasteness.” The hand-twisted flourishes of the wrought-iron gate sagged with rust. Decay and plant anarchy had eaten the fence too. If this had been a public garden, it had long closed. The air smelled spore-heavy.
“They couldn’t decide between ‘Wasteland’ and ‘Wilderness,’” Maura explained, pointing at the sign. “So they compromised.”
“Why not ‘Wilderland?’” Lisa asked.
“Because that sounds like a real word,” Berry guessed.
Beyond the gate, Berry could make out a pebble walkway which dead leaves and grass had almost dispersed. Tags on sticks proclaimed places along the path to be the territories of orchids or rare African blooms, but bracken and wild roses swarmed. On the left, dandelions had made a kingdom where a herb garden had sheltered.
“It’s amazing,” Lisa said. “What happened to this place?” “Whatever the opposite of urban renewal is,” said a man in a Bishop’s outfit beyond the gate. “Every now and then they fight over whether to turn this place into a parking lot or a mall or another park. But they can’t all get behind one plan, so it stays wild. I think it fell apart after Black Monday or Beige Wednesday or some other color-coded financial disaster day.”
Berry stared. The man wore a mitre and shining vestments, but not like he’d seen on Bishop Locke or other bishops visiting St. Luke’s. For one thing, the V-shaped overhanging part of the robe was bright lavender. For another, a UV neon light bulb glowed inside the mitre. Even at noon, the effect said raver. Then there was the curling mustache and goatee.
“Berry, Lisa,” said Maura. “This is Bishop Bacchus.” She gestured at Berry. “We just came from church.”
“Seems we have a lot in common,” said the pseudo-bishop, “being men of the cloth.” He yanked a chain off the gate and swung it open.
“The difference is I’m a real choirboy,” said Berry.
“Hey, I’m a real bishop. Got my ordination papers from the Church of Ungainly Joy,” said Bishop Bacchus.
“How many members does that church have?” Lisa asked. “A handful,” said the Bishop. “But we’re really sincere.”
The Bishop led Berry, Maura, and Lisa along overgrown paths. Weeds and the hardiest flowers had called a truce and colonized. At one point, Berry and the others had to climb over a bonsai tree that had gone lopsided; a massive elephant trunk blocked the path while its other side remained delicate. They came to a Japanese-style bridge over a stream steeped with algae.
“Friends and flock,” the Bishop said. “I bring newcomers!” Twenty people clustered around the bridge. Many of them wore costumes. A few men wore women’s clothes, including one bearded guy with pigtails and a calico dress. Others wore tie-dyes or turtlenecks. Bottles of champagne and weirdly shaped water pipes littered the bridge ends. Berry immediately looked at Lisa to see if she was okay. She nodded at Berry and smiled, she was pocketing some fear but it was fine for now. She was still holding his hand. “These are some of my friends,” Maura told Berry.
Here, Berry stood out less than on the street, but felt further from the people around him than ever.
Someone handed Berry a basket covered with linen. Inside he found muffins, fruit buns, and pies. “Brunch,” a pixie in a leotard explained. Berry took a muffin and handed the basket to Lisa.
“My dad doesn’t know where I am,” Lisa said as if it had just occurred to her.
“Is that a problem?” Maura said. “I’m sure someone has a cell phone.”
Lisa shivered. “Nah. I guess it’s okay.”
Berry and Lisa munched buns and looked down into green-and-white swirly water. “People are weird,” Berry said. A middle-aged woman in a big fairy skirt approached the two of them and smiled. She wore heavy make-up around her eyes and big red circles on her cheeks. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Anna Conventional. Welcome to our weed party. We’re all weeds here, one way or another.” She turned to Berry. “I love your costume.”
Berry decided not to bother telling her it wasn’t a costume. “Thanks,” he said instead. “How often do you guys do this?” “Once every couple months. But there are often fun little gatherings of some sort on Sundays. Us nonconformists gotta stick together, you know. ”
Berry wasn’t sure whether he saw nonconformists or just conformists in costumes. “Can you tell me five verbs you hate?” he asked Anna Conventional. She thought about it.
Berry and Lisa watched a man in a white jumpsuit teaching Scottish country line dancing to a woman in a sari. Some other costumed people were doing some kind of Pagan ritual. Berry wondered what had happened to Maura. “I’m glad we got to hang out,” Berry said tentatively. “It’s nice just the two of us.”
Lisa took both Berry’s hands and kissed him lightly on the lips.
The kiss felt like the first time Berry filled his eyes and nose with sound and breath. It felt like that sweet spot choirboys struggle to reach. He had a sudden rush of energy to his diaphragm. You stagger your breaths, so nobody ever hears you breathe, the music just comes from nowhere, like this did. He thought: So that’s what they’re all so excited about. “They” meant the choirboys Berry’s age and a little younger, with their porn stashes and jokes.
Berry hadn’t felt this way after kissing Wilson. It had been too rough and Wilson had acted weird before and after. The kiss with Lisa felt romantic, even though Berry didn’t know what romance was supposed to feel like.
“Uh,” Berry said. “I’m not sure ...” He had a million things to say and no way to say any of them. Was he Lisa’s boyfriend now? Were they supposed to have sex right away? Or soon? What would the popular people who hung out with Lisa at school and sometimes at church say about Berry? Never mind what Lisa would think about having a boyfriend with a swelling chest.
“Don’t worry.” Lisa smiled. “We’re still just friends and everything. I like you a lot, that’s all.”
Now Berry was really confused.
T
hey stood on the bridge and heid hands for a while. The air cooled and the plant smells deadened. “I hope my dad’s not worrying,” Lisa said. “He’s totally rationalist but he freaks easy.”
“He’s not religious?” Berry said.
“Nah. He lets my mom drag me to church and stuff. In return, she goes along with his ideas about how to bring me up.”
Berry remembered the French guy. “Underwater therapy?” He tried to make it sound light and friendly.
Lisa nodded. “We have a swimming pool.”
Berry guessed it would be dark around five or five thirty, and it was probably already four. “Where has Maura gone?” he asked the river scum underfoot. He looked around and saw fewer people than before. Anna Conventional walked through a semi-clearing near the bridge. Berry waved at her. “Hey.”
“Dictate, mutate, criticize, betray, befoul.” Anna Conventional saw the blankness in Berry’s eyes. “My five verbs I hate,” she explained.
“Oh, okay,” Berry said, uneasy. “Have you seen Maura? She was wearing the black dress with the sequins on it.”
“Not lately,” Anna Conventional said. “A bunch of those guys went into Darkest Arboretum to do some mushrooms an hour or two ago. They could be wherever by now.” Anna laughed and pirouetted so her skirt billowed.
Lisa suddenly looked terrified. “I really gotta get home.” “Maybe I could give you a ride,” Anna Conventional said. Berry expected Anna to drive a beat-up old Bug or Pacer, two cars Wilson often laughed at. Instead she had a gleaming Mercedes van. Anna Conventional put Berry and Lisa in the back and then went to find her boyfriend Robbie. This took a while. Berry and Lisa sat in the back separated by a big empty space where a third person could sit. They held hands in silence.
“Don’t worry,” Berry said. “I’m sure your dad won’t mind. Just tell them you had a church event to go to. Anyway, you’ll be home before dark.”
Lisa nodded. “What about your folks?”
Berry shrugged. “They go through phases. Sometimes they worry about me. But right now, they’re on the we-have-no-son trip. It makes getting around easier.”
Choir Boy Page 10
