Uncross My Heart

by Andrews

  “Is that what dykes believe or what Christians believe?” The voice rang out from the back of the room, and I was stunned to see Roger Thurgood III standing in my classroom as if no one had ever bothered to mention to him that stabbing me was a bad idea. He looked less psychotic and simply more arrogant, self-assured, and I had to assume that his grandfather’s “mop-up” simply meant putting everything back in place and upping his medication.

  “It’s what many scholars, male or female, know to be true. It isn’t a political statement but an historical one.” I pressed on, not waiting for his commentary, but it was difficult to keep track of my lesson plan.

  I felt unsafe, threatened. My hand, though less bandaged, was still wrapped, a reminder of what had occurred.

  “In 313 Emperor Constantine granted the Christians freedom to worship, and over time Roman law found its way into the church. Soon the Council of Nicaea said if you attacked Christianity, you were attacking the Roman Empire. The Latin translation of the Bible, known as the Vulgate, was specifically translated from the Hebrew and Greek for the Roman upper class. The Bible was the basis of Roman law during the European Middle Ages as much as it was spiritual law.” I kept my eye on Roger, who seemed to settle down a bit on hearing the words “Bible” and “law” in the same comforting sentence.

  “With each redacted translation of the Biblical text, new phrases and concepts were attributed to Christ. A second-century document translated in the fifth century by Rufinus of Aquileja was rewritten to assure that Christ handed St. Peter the keys to the kingdom and forever made Rome’s popes Peter’s legal successors.” Roger was sitting forward in his seat glaring at me, but since he wasn’t Catholic, I assumed he’d decided to let the pope and St. Peter fend for themselves.

  “Later in history, homosexuality as ‘sin against nature’ became popular, and the reference cited was often the Pauline Epistle to the Romans, in which God purportedly gave up on pagans who dishonored their bodies with unnatural acts.” Roger made a little hand-pump gesture and got a laugh from the students around him who, I suspected, loved having a human Molotov cocktail in their midst and the excitement of never knowing when it might explode. “But ‘unnatural’ has been found by translators to mean not just homosexual, but everything from anal intercourse in marriage to coitus interruptus.” I was aware that the last statement would evoke unavoidable snickering in a room with so many raging hormones.

  A serious older woman raised her hand. “But the Bible is filled with passages about homosexuality being an abomination.”

  “The New Testament & Homosexuality establishes context for homosexuality in ancient times, citing evidence that many Biblical passages were directed at older men who took advantage of young boys under their tutelage and a societal belief that semen should not be wasted.”

  Another female student raised a respectful hand. “But what about Sodom and Gomorrah?”

  “Biblical purists often mention Sodom and Gomorrah as proof God hates homosexuals. To refresh your memory, Lot’s home was stormed by men who demanded sex with the males inside. Lot offered the invaders his two virgin daughters instead, but the men refused, wanting sex exclusively with the males. Their homosexual lust purportedly sealed the doom of Sodom and called down God’s punishment. Believers who refer to this passage neglect to reflect on the possibility that offering up one’s virgin daughters for gang rape might have hacked off a Universal God as well, perhaps making Him rethink downtown Sodom as one of His premier real-estate holdings.”

  I checked the clock. “Any questions?” When no one spoke, I added,

  “You might note there are virtually no passages about lesbianism in the Bible, women being of such little consequence they weren’t worth the ink.”

  “I have a question. How did you hurt your hand?” Roger’s voice made a stab at sincerity, but he was clearly taunting me in front of the class to let me know he was still in control.

  “A student who didn’t share my beliefs felt the only way to shut me down was to kill me. But nothing shuts me down.” A boy on the front row laughed raucously, obviously thinking it a morbid joke. “Roger, please stay after class.”

  The bells chimed, signaling a class change, and I moved toward Roger with deliberate efficiency. With my good hand I grabbed his arm and propelled him to the front of the room, away from the door as the last student trailed out. The surprise of my attack threw him off balance and enabled me to steer him up against the whiteboard with a force I didn’t know I possessed. I whipped a letter opener out of my waistband where I had stashed it in a moment of doubt about my safety, knowing no one on this campus was prepared to defend me. I poked the rather blunt instrument at the zipper of his pants, which psychologically paralyzed him, causing him to freeze.

  “I welcome you in my class. You may ask as many questions as you wish. But don’t come here to taunt me. I am completely out of patience with you. Your tactics and your arrogance are bringing out a very unreligious side in me, and I fear I could…snap!” I jabbed him with the letter opener and he yelped. “Do you understand what you’re dealing with here?”

  He nodded, looking at me wide-eyed as if he thought I was dangerous. I am dangerous, I thought. I let go of him slowly, and he waited until he was completely free of me, then turned and ran.

  I was aware that perhaps I’d merely fanned his fanatical flame and that he might come back and try to shoot me, but at this point, I didn’t care. I was so disillusioned about the school and its leadership and my relationship or lack thereof with Vivienne, nothing seemed to matter.

  Dear God, am I losing my mind? Help me, please.

  But even as I was saying that prayer, my internal steam powered me across campus as I nearly ran to the parking lot and jumped into my car and headed for Vivienne’s house. I hadn’t felt this kind of angry energy surge through me since my college days. Why bother with her?

  She obviously has someone and doesn’t need you. But I simply couldn’t leave things where they were with us. You just want to see her, own it, my inner voice demanded. Fine, I want to see her.

  The friendly front porch beckoned, and I bounded up the steps and banged on the door. It seemed like several minutes before the latch turned and Vivienne stood there in a long, tailored sleep shirt that hit her just above the knees and no pants, barefoot and her hair awry, no makeup, and she looked exquisite.

  “I didn’t know you’d be asleep at this hour.”

  “Not getting much sleep at night.”

  “I rang earlier and someone answered—”

  “That was me. You hung up.”

  “That was you?” I felt myself brightening. “You sound like that in the morning?”

  “I guess so.”

  “That’s a nice sound.” I realized my voice was unintentionally low.

  “Why are you here?” she asked in a more businesslike fashion.

  “May I come in?”

  “I don’t think so.” Her words stung and surprised me. I began backing down the steps slowly. “To be candid, I’ve got a problem. I’m caught up in you and you’re…unable to reciprocate. Seeing you just makes it more difficult, so I don’t want to do that anymore.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I’m here.”

  “To sleep with me?” She laughed gently. “Because that’s where we left off.”

  “No—”

  “Then why are you here? What’s your point?”

  “Can’t we talk?”

  “Phone me sometime.” She started to close the door, and I bounded back up the steps and used my foot to prevent her from closing it, then yelled at the pain of being a doorstop.

  “Please wait, listen to me.” I pulled my foot out and hopped around on the porch.

  “Your cleric collar’s so tight it’s a choke chain. You can’t tell your father who you are and who you love—or your employer, or your church, or your God. Consequently, you live in hiding, Alex. Hiding even from yourself because you don’t know how it feels to walk freely through t
his world uninhibited and unconstrained. I do know. I’ve spent my entire life making sure I stay free. We’re polar opposites, and I can’t let you drag me down with you.”

  “Drag you down? What do you want from me? My body, is that what this is about? You just want me to take off my clothes?”

  “I want you to take off your cloak. I want you to quit hiding. If anyone knows what’s real and what’s not, you do. Why would you let archaic principles, established by men two thousand years ago to control their own lives, ruin yours? Think about it, Alex. If God hates homosexuals, why in hell did he make so fucking many of them?”

  She slammed the door in my face and I knew it was over.

  * * *

  I drove away from her house and phoned Dennis because I had no one else. “Would you go get drunk with me?” I asked.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said as pleasantly as if I’d asked him to escort me to the opera.

  An hour later we met in a small Irish pub not far from campus, and two hours later I was smashed.

  Dennis waited until I was knee-walking drunk to ask about Vivienne.

  “She wants to sleep with me,” I said.

  “Yes, I think we covered that. Actually, she probably wants to make love with you.”

  “Yes, I imagine.”

  “And do you desire the same?”

  “Can I have another drink?”

  “Only if you answer the question.”

  “Yes, like St. Augustine and his concubine, I’m obsessed with Vivienne Wilde. I would climb mountains for her, slay dragons, wage religious wars.”

  “As I recall, one of the bishops in your mother church in England recently said it would have to close its doors if forced to manage without its gay clergy.”

  “Yes, well, the U.S. church said they’d close their doors if they had to manage with them.”

  “But a few openly gay clergy function in the U.S.—Newark and Albuquerque, as I recall.”

  “Do you think I could ever come out as a gay priest while my father is alive?”

  “Ahhh, so you are living your life in the name of your father, not the Father.”

  “Do I get another drink or not?” I asked, and Dennis waved to the waiter, who brought me another.

  “Let’s get back to the part about lust and love. I adore that part.”

  “You’re a very weird priest.” I grinned at him.

  “I didn’t become a priest until I was in my forties, so I know a bit about true love. And here’s what I know. If it appears, grab it.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I had true love for twenty years and then…he died of AIDS.”

  His revelation literally sobered me.

  “Dennis, I’m so sorry.” It hadn’t occurred to me that Dennis had ever had a true love or even that he was gay. I merely saw him as a Catholic priest. “So you joined the priesthood after that.”

  “I like helping people. I believe the church makes a difference.

  And hey, I like being around men, what can I say,” he joked. “And you seriously get in the way of that, being my best friend and all.”

  “Why didn’t we have this talk before?”

  “Because we were busy hiding.”

  “That’s what Viv said. She said I’m hiding.”

  “Smart girl. Maybe you should go find her?”

  “I will.” I tried to stand up.

  “But tomorrow, when you’re sober. Or the day after, when you’re not hungover and looking like hell.” He waved for the waiter again.

  “And now, for our next act, we’re going to put coffee in you for several hours so you can drive home, because I’m not schlepping you out to the farm tonight and then retrieving you in the morning. Friendship has its limits.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I awoke Saturday morning feeling as if a small grenade had gone off in my head and an incessant ringing was taking place in my ears. Ketch howled, letting me know it was in his ears too—someone was ringing the doorbell. I staggered to the front porch to greet the driver of a white van, who was bearing a vase of roses. I signed for them as he tipped his hat, then opened the card as he hopped back in the truck and drove away. The note read, Thinking of you. Hope you are well. My heart was filled with amazing joy. It wasn’t over. She sent me flowers. I headed for the phone and read the note again on the way . I’ve missed seeing you…Gladys.

  Gladys? Omigod, not Viv but Gladys. Oh, good Lord. I paced and fretted. She reports to Hightower that I’m having lesbian liaisons and then sends me roses. Why in the world did I ever lay lips on that woman? I’ve stoked a fire that’s giving hell a run for its money. What am I going to say to Gladys? Just a casual thanks for the roses. Or act like I never got them. No, she can check that. Maybe say I kept them for a day and then took them to the local nursing home. That might turn her off. I need to turn her off.

  “That phrase ‘Love is in the air.’ Well, it’s true, Ketch. It’s like a virus. Even Gladys has caught it.”

  I grabbed the phone and dialed Viv’s number by heart. I got her answering machine and left her a message. “Viv, this is Alex. Don’t punch Erase. Let me take you to dinner. I want to start over. Can we talk?”I hung up and Ketch stared at me.

  “Come on, ride with me. I need someone to talk to.”

  Suddenly it dawned on me that today was the book signing. My heart leapt. I could find her. Instead of heading for campus, I checked my watch and drove across town to Borders.

  “You’re going to have to wait in the car for a minute,” I warned Ketch.The parking lot was packed and people were walking in, some with The Untruths already purchased and under their arms, apparently wanting an autograph. Across the store, toward the back, a line formed and I headed in that direction. People were queued up in front of a small table with a stack of books on it, and Vivienne Wilde, looking smashingly beautiful, greeted them and asked each person her name and how she would like the title page inscribed. Then for a brief moment she wrote something in the book and looked up with a big smile, handed the book to them, and thanked them for coming.

  I waited in line thirty minutes, watching her every move. She stayed focused on the individual directly in front of her as if that person were the only one in the world, and it appeared her fans felt that singular focus and loved it.

  As the tall older woman ahead of me moved on, I appeared in front of Vivienne and she looked up, registering surprise as I reached over and picked up a book from the stack beside her.

  “Would you autograph this for me?”

  She paused, looked into my eyes for a split second, then opened the book to the title page and asked, “How would you like me to make it out?”

  “To Alex.”

  She bent over the book and I watched her inscribe it, the beautiful fingers of her right hand moving slowly as she shielded the words from me with her left, then fanned the ink dry, and closed the book on me.

  “Thank you for coming.” Her eyes went to the person behind me, and I was moved aside by a young girl with horn-rimmed glasses.

  I paid the young clerk with the nose-piercings and reluctantly exited the store and headed for my car. Clasping the book like a Bible, I climbed into the front seat, sank back in the leather, next to Ketch, and opened the book to the page she’d just signed.

  It said, Alex, I love you. Viv.

  I read it again and again and again as if they were new words no one else had ever heard. So what if they were on every Valentine ever sent, on the lips of every lover who ever loved. These words were meant for me only. My entire being changed and I could hear nothing but Alex, I love you, Viv. Alex, I love you, Viv. Alex, I love you, Viv. I couldn’t stop smiling.

  I drove Ketch to campus with the top down, energized and emboldened, and told him I’d come to a decision. I was going to lead an authentic life if it killed me and harelipped the pope. “I’m also going to make love with Vivienne Wilde,” I said, and glanced over at Ketch.

  He looked at me
for a second, then hung his head out of the car. “You can refuse to hear it, if you want to,” I shouted above the wind, “but I’m going to be happy.”

  * * *

  Monday I parked in the lot nearest Hightower’s office, and Ketch and I jogged across campus to meet him. Eleonor reminded me, as I arrived slightly winded, that I didn’t have an appointment.

  “But since you look like both your hair and ass are on fire, I’ll ask if he’ll see you.” She eyed me suspiciously. “What’s going on with you?” She waggled the phone in the air as she held me captive, refusing to buzz Hightower. “Wearin’ a sexy shirt—”

  “I’ve had this shirt for—”

  “Face all rosy—”

  “Do you mind?” I pointed at the phone, reminding her of her mission.

  “Somebody’s busted into your aura, girl, and from the looks of it, your heart could be next.” She changed her tone as Hightower came on the line. “Dr. Westbrooke needs a minute with you for something important.” She hung up. “You better make up something important or he’ll bust my butt for the rest of the day.”

  Moments later, I was standing in Hightower’s office as Ketch ate part of a breakfast muffin at Eleonor’s desk.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” he said, glancing down at my palm, no doubt to ascertain if my wound was healing, and therefore his school.

  “I haven’t been honest with you,” I said.

  “Roger didn’t stab you, did he?”

  “What? No, of course he did. My moral dilemma is about—”

  “That woman Gladys saw you with?”

  “No, it’s about—”

  “Please don’t tell me Gladys has hit on you.” He smiled for the first time.

  “She did send me roses.”

  “What?” His shock was humorous, then quickly switched to annoyance. “What are you rambling on about, Dr. Westbrooke?”