Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved

by Laveen, Tiana

  I hope you are okay, Dane...

  She turned the corner and began to sing along with the lyrics, “...You can’t tell me it ain’t right, when you love someone...”

  ~***~

  Dane sat quietly in his parents’ living room. The only sound that could be heard was the bubbling of the nearby aquarium, filled with assorted tropical fish swimming about, a tranquil scene during a distilling emotional storm. Heidi panted as she made her way toward her former master. Dane had always been her favorite and the old canine seemed to be wearing a smile, her mouth spread wide and the long, pink tongue hanging lazily out of the side of her mouth. Pushing her golden head into his hand, she let it hang over the arm of the dusky blue lazy boy chair.

  He looked across the way at his parents, studying them in the deafening silence as he played with the crucifix around his neck. His mother remained despondent as she looked down into her lap. She had built an invisible wall, a fortress, but he could still feel her discomfort, the emotions bubbling underneath as she tried to keep her cool.

  She was so angry, she was rendered speechless from his announcement in the garden. Knowing his parents well, he’d expected this reaction after thinking about this scenario a million and one times. Still, that didn’t make him any happier. Sometimes, knowing the truth doesn’t dissolve the lump in your throat when you know you’re about to break someone’s heart. Regardless, he wasn’t completely shaken by it, but he was going to have his say, and then be on his way.

  “Mom,” he paused and gathered his words, “I know that you’re shocked about what I said to you while we were outside … If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to you privately.”

  He looked at his father. Their eyes locked. Dane felt calmer, although his father’s tense body gave his mood away. The man’s hazel eyes tinted, concern filling them—no doubt fearing that Dane would let the old, dead cat out of the bag. He shook his head as if saying ‘No’ to his father, in an effort to offer reassurance, then watched the man sigh and slowly rise from his seat, soon disappearing up the steps.

  Dane sat for a moment, frowning, his large hands clasped. Bracing himself, he looked at her, but her head was still down, as it had been five minutes previously, and five minutes before that.

  “I know that you were very proud that I became a priest, and I understood why, Mom. I’m sorry that you’re upset about this, I’d expect you to be, but... I refuse to make my decisions according to other people’s expectations anymore, even yours, Mom.”

  She finally raised he head, her eyes narrowed as she seemed to tussle with mixed emotions.

  “Dane.” Her voice shook. “You told me that you wanted to be a priest while in college, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. I was excited to tell you that I had been accepted into the seminary, too.”

  “I supported you, even told you to stay in college, to make sure! You said, ‘Okay.’ Yes, I was very proud of you. It was a serious decision, you knew the gravity of it...I just,” she shook her head angrily, “don’t understand this.” She ran her fingers through her dark brown, shoulder length hair.

  Dane threw his arms up in the air. “I have a feeling that nothing I say to you will change anything right now, but you needed to be told. It is a matter of—”

  “Have you told anyone else?” she asked, her eyes pitiful and glossy.

  He knew what that overwhelmed look was all about. She wanted time to talk him out of it, to stop the rocket of shame from blaring through space before it crashed and burned. She wanted to make it all right, fix the mess he was about to ignite. She had hung tightly onto her proud father’s hand on his dying bed and the words he said regarding Dane being a priest. Even on his death bed, he wanted to give glory to God, and to his grandson, whom he told everyone who would listen, was a priest, preaching the word of their Lord and Savior. It gave her joy that the man showed that type of exhilaration, though he didn’t show her a kind word once she reached her mid-teens. She’d only received affection from a distance, through her son. Dane also came to realize something more; he was his grandfather’s favorite, but for all the wrong reasons.

  “No, you are the first to know.”

  She sighed with relief. “Please don’t tell Bishop Thayer or Fr. Kirkpatrick right now. Dane, you need to think about this; this is very serious. You are being too rash, you’re…you’re confused!” Her voice trembled, her hands flew to her face as though she could hide from the cruel world.

  “Mom,” he said on a sigh, trying to be as gentle as possible. “I am going to tell you some more things you will not like. I’m tired.” He sighed heavily, angst tearing him up inside as he slumped in the chair. After a while, he rose and sat beside her, taking her hand, but she kept her eyes averted. “It’s time for everything about me to be out in the open, for me to come clean, and this time, you are going to listen to me.”

  She lifted her head and stared at him, and he let his frustration show.

  “Do you even know who I am? Do you know who Joseph is, Mom? Antonio? Daisy? Do you actually really know your children?’

  “Dane, how dare you.” She snatched her hand away and rubbed her palms nervously up and down her thighs. “Of course I know my own children!”

  “I don’t think so, Mom. I don’t think you nor Dad do, quite honestly. You live in this…bubble,” he said, gesturing with the words. “It keeps all the stuff out that you don’t want, all the debris. But the funny thing about that is that it doesn’t really keep it out, but only delays it from showing. Dirt is still on the floor, whether we see it with our own eyes or not.”

  “No, I don’t want to hear this nonsense.” His mother put her hand up and shot up from her seat as if she were on fire.

  Dane sat back, prepared for this, as well. He watched her move about, pacing, nerved up and twitching with anxiety. “Dane, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I suggest—”

  “What? That I bury it all...ignore it and start drinking again?!” He was coming undone.

  A look of bewilderment crossed her face. Her brows dipped.

  Dane leaned forward, his eyes on her as he clasped his hands together. He cleared his throat and smirked. He didn’t mean to, but he was at the end of his rope and he couldn’t take this anymore.

  “Yes, Mom.” He nodded, his tone calm, cool and collected. “Your third son, Dane Giovanni Caruso, is a functional recovering alcoholic. You are going to hear this, rather you like it or not. You need to know the truth, once and for all. I’ve had a sponsor in AA since I was twenty years old. Sometimes I’d have to drink a bit in the car to even walk through this front door. I hid bottles of booze under my bed and some were not hidden at all. You did my laundry, I’m sure you saw something a time or two.”

  At that, she gasped and covered her mouth. He stood, took her gently by the arm and helped her sit back down.

  “Dane,” her voice trembled as her eyes watered, “you...you can get help. You don’t have to leave the priesthood over this. I didn’t know...”She shook her head, her face a mask of grief. “I thought you were, maybe, just experimenting. I never saw you drunk and you never got into any trouble.”

  “But I was in trouble, Mom...deep trouble. Just because I appeared fine, doesn’t mean that I was. You of all people should understand that,” he shook his head, “But Mom, that’s not the problem anymore. I haven’t touched any alcohol in months, and don’t plan to again. I mean that. I can’t drink. I can’t trust myself to indulge every now and again to take the edge off because when something is bothering me, I use it to escape. I know what my triggers are, but around the time Josh passed, I had my final relapse.”

  “Relapse?”

  “Yes. I’d stop cold turkey. A year or two would go by—my longest stint was four years—and then it would happen again. This was my secret. The only reason why I am so sure it won’t happen again is because now I know why I was doing it, and that cause will be eliminated, because I am sitting here with you right now, and the running has to
stop.”

  She stiffened, as if bracing herself for a swift kick in the gut.

  “I am sitting here in front of you, no longer ashamed. You need to hear what I’ve been doing, going through and hiding. I didn’t tell you, not because of fear of your reaction...but because I didn’t believe, Mom, you were strong enough to deal with it. I was protecting you, like I always do.”

  She lowered her head, and tears fell down her cheeks. He leaned forward and lovingly brushed them away.

  “On the outside, you appear resilient, but...” He swallowed and looked down at the floor, Heidi’s tail wagged back and forth as she lay indolently, looking up at the pair. “On the inside, you’re fragile.”

  “I...I can’t believe this,” she mumbled tearfully.

  “Oh, I think you can, Mom. I think a part of you deep down knew something was wrong, but then, that would...never mind.” He shook his head, wanting to keep on track, stick to the task and not start an argument. “Look, this is who I am. I am a human being who has made mistakes.”

  “And you think becoming a priest was one of them? No, Dane, it wasn’t. I’ve seen you flourish. Do you realize how much people love you at St. Michael? Everywhere, actually. Let me get the articles, all of them, the local ones and the national ones, written about you and your work.”

  As if renewed with new life, she shot up again from her seat to go gather all the periodicals detailing his wondrous deeds, the ones she kept stowed away to remind herself that she was a decent person, because she had a decent son to prove it. Dane patiently shook his head and gripped her wrist.

  “Mom, I can’t do this anymore, okay? Not because I want to stop being a priest, but I want something, or shall I say someone, much more.”

  “What? It’s...a woman?” Her voice trailed as she looked down at him. “You’ve met someone? But...how could that be?”

  Had he gone too far? Was it too much shocking information all at once? Soon, she relaxed and regained her composure and sat back down, the small area rug bunching under her shuffling feet. Suddenly, she turned toward him, the tears still flowing. She grasped his hands tightly between her own.

  “Dane, I knew something was going on with you,” she said, after a silence during which she just stared at him, with the emotional torment etched on her face. “I knew...for a while, and that is why, the other day, I told you thank you, about—”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he interrupted, still in protection mode from years of training, for fear of his father overhearing. He didn’t feel it was his duty to unload the old man’s secrets. That was his parents’ responsibility, and he prayed they’d handle it before leaving the Earth.

  “I need to know.” She trembled. “I need to know...if you drank...because of...”

  “Mom, that was only a small part of it.” He looked over his shoulder out into the hall, checking the way. “But, it wasn’t your fault. I was the one who chose to drink, I made that choice, and now, I am making a new one.” He rose from the couch, took her by the arm, and led her out the front door. They sat on the front steps of the wrap-around porch, listening to the birds on this beautiful day—the sky so blue after the afternoon showers. It looked as if it were painted by a master artist, and he knew it in fact had been. The clouds slowly meandered by, collecting and passing like dreamscapes, shifting into teddy bears, ice cream cones and men with bags over their shoulders. They told stories, they told lies, and they promised another day was to come.

  The two looked straight out, watching slow moving cars go by every now and again causing a sloshing sound from the freshly laid puddles. The sweet scent of the recently planted flowers mixed with the earthiness of overturned soil tickled his senses. Purple and yellow tulips waved to and fro in the light breeze, offering a focal point as he cleared his throat and geared up for the final leg of his honesty tour that day.

  She looked at him and gripped his hand hard, afraid, but he appreciated her earnest attempts.

  All the things we didn’t talk about and how I felt, we’ll do it now.

  He smiled at her, and she smiled back through eyes still brimming with moisture. As he looked back out into the quiet suburban street, he reflected back on the day that started the downward spiral...

  One week before Christmas, festive music blared throughout the heavily decorated house, decked out in crimson, gold and cheer. It was his mother’s favorite time of year, and the humongous tree blazed bright with antique holiday ornaments, strewn colorful lights and thick, silver tinsel on the real pine tree their father had brought home. A mere sixteen, his birthday had just passed. Dane was taller than most of his peers, so as he ascended the attic steps at his mother’s request to find a missing box of decorations, he bumped his head, causing a headache and swollen temple. Muttering a string of curses, he paused to rub his head, while moving about the cluttered, stuffy attic. Meanwhile, his parents, brothers and sister moved about the house on the relaxed Saturday afternoon.

  “She said it was marked, ‘Luigi’,” he murmured as he continued to pilfer through grimy piles of memories, some dirty, worn, or sealed in yellowed envelopes and brown tape. He looked through all manner of old boxes, plastic cartons, discarded moth bitten clothing and the occasional creepy doll, with one eye permanently open and the other shut, giving him the willies.

  “Everything okay up there?” his mother called from down below, no doubt passing by with her hands full of more items to hang around the home.

  “Yeah...still lookin’, Mom!” he called back. “Damn it!” He’d walked smack dab into a cobweb, and fought the ropey, gray matter that wrapped around his face, even consuming bits of the old, nasty thing. Spitting, he ran his hands feverishly over his lips, aggravated, but then laughed at his own misfortune. In a deep, recessed corner, under the alcove by a small window, lay a water-stained box with shiny silver duct tape along the edges. He pushed old lamps and chairs as he made his way through until he stooped over it. With his bare hands, he tore the tape up, exposing the contents.

  Finally...

  He stared down at assorted ornaments, wreaths, more tinsel and a few hard bound books, most of which looked to be from the 1950s. He picked up one after the other, brushing them off as the sunlight pilfered in, exposing dust particles that looked almost magical as they landed on gold streams of exposed holiday yarn. She’d mentioned three wooden soldiers her brother Luigi had had as a child that would be lying inside. She’d packed it herself once she cleared out the old house many years ago. They were toy nut cracker soldiers, and she wanted them on full display, atop the fireplace hearth, in honor of her big brother, her protector, who no longer walked the Earth. After a few glances, he placed the items back inside, then lifted the box in his arms, taken aback when the bottom fell out.

  Cursing some more under his breath, he chased a silver ball here, a red painted bell there, until he had them all collected and back inside, and peered around the attic trying to spot a temporary replacement container.

  Oh screw it...I’ll just take a few down, grab a bag, then get the others.

  He rummaged through, picking and prodding, until he came upon a small black book with a ballet shoe etched on it. He’d missed it on his first go-round. Setting the ornaments and musty soldiers aside, he sat closer to the window, leaning in, hearing the occasional car go slowly past on the ice covered road. He opened it, with its yellowed pages and the edges sticking to one another. Gently prying them apart, he started to read, delighting in his mother’s description of a crush she’d had in her young days.

  He was sure he had the goods on her now, and planned to tease her mercilessly about that, but then he continued on, and his heart stopped... Yeah, he died a little...

  There wasn’t much written in it, as it appeared to have only been used for a few months according to the diary dates, but what he read was enough to turn his stomach into hot, volcanic soup. Feeling woozy, he barely managed to get to his feet, then fell back, almost crashing into a pile of artificial plants. Th
e book slipped from his hands. Then, he gathered his composure and ran his hands along the filthy floor until he felt it, and had the book in his grip.

  “Dane!” his mother called, laughter chasing her voice. “What is taking so long, sweetheart?”

  He dropped it once more when her voice rang out, making his mind spin. Grabbing one of the soldiers and the book, he made his way down the rickety ladder steps until he stood face to face with her. She looked at the sad wooden soldier, the Nutcracker, his nose splintered and his mouth, agape, full of wooden teeth…and then at the diary. Her eyes stayed on it until seconds had turned into a minute, maybe longer. He thought he may have to catch her as her eyes suddenly fluttered and she haphazardly stepped back. Instead, he followed her back into her bedroom, and waited while she closed and locked the door behind them.

  She crossed her arms, her face a mixture of anger and desperation.

  “So, you read it...”

  He looked away, and nodded, then sank onto the bed. The room smelled of sweet floral perfume and baby powder. It sickened him more—the strange contrast of the alluring, fragrant bouquet didn’t match the sentiments that grew inside of their hearts. Instead, the odor of hot, rotten trash should have been present. Isn’t that what dashed dreams and horrible tragedies smell like?

  They said nothing, but he knew what was coming...a promise to keep to his death.

  “Don’t tell your father...please!”

  It was all there, written in faded black ink in the diary.

  At the age of fifteen, his mother, Maria, had run off with the neighbor boy, snuck away as sometimes lovers do. She knew her father didn’t approve of him, as he came from a Protestant family, and to make matters worse, he was bad news. Grandpa had called them trash that had acquired a little money and set up shop right next door. It seemed the boy, originally from a rough borough in Philadelphia, appeared tough and rugged with his leather jacket and slick black hair, and rode a motorcycle. He was a greaser, and he had a standoffish way, the kind that women adore. Yes, the girls loved him, but he chose the pretty wallflower—the sweet, shy Maria...