Inclination (10 page)

For the next few
Sundays, my family sneaks off to St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church in
Lampert
, and I help Mom teach the girls their Sunday school
lessons in our kitchen between church and the time I leave to volunteer at the
Humane Society. And I will admit that although St. Elizabeth’s has a sort of
warehouse feeling, where St. Mark’s is a beautiful rustic, brick church, I
suffer equally in both churches. It’s because I feel dishonest. I’m in hiding, and my family is, therefore,
in hiding with me. None of us have yet come to terms with my identity as a gay
Christian.

I listen
half-heartedly to The Liturgy of the Word, but my mind is on the bottom line.
And the bottom line is this: In the fullness of who I am and who I want to be,
I am not accepted by the Catholic Church, in general. I’m no longer accepted by
my Catholic friends at school or in the St. Mark’s youth group, and I assume
that if the people at St. Elizabeth’s knew the truth about me, they would
reject me, as well.

The communion
song today is “Holy, Holy, Holy”, a longtime favorite of mine. In fact, back in
the day, all of the first graders had learned it and sung it as a group on the
morning of our First Holy Communion, all of us holding hands.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty,

God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Today I sing the
lyrics louder and with more conviction than I ever have before, which sounds
dramatic, but that’s because
it is
dramatic to me. This morning, I’m singing my goodbye to the Body of Christ…and
to the Catholic Church.

The weirdest
thing is that this morning I let myself cry in public. Or maybe it’s that
there’s nothing I can do to stop the tears. I have come to realize that I can’t
participate in something this sacred any longer—not without the full integrity
of my soul. And at this point, I’m a total spiritual fraud. I’m not the good
Catholic I once was since I’m undecided
about what my status as a gay Christian means
.

On the spur of
the moment, I make a few decisions:

*No longer can I
participate in Catholic Mass. I don’t belong here.

*No longer can I
partake of Christ’s body. I’m unworthy.

The Del
Vecchio
family waits in our pew until every last soul has
left the church. My sisters don’t grasp what’s going on, I know, but they see
my sorrow and they all reach for me to offer me comfort, as if touching me with
their little hands will somehow stop my tears. Mom and Dad reach for me, too,
all the while crying right along beside me. And I can’t explain the reason, but
the physical contact with my family consoles me, at least to an extent.

“I can’t do this
anymore,” I finally sob when the church is empty. I search the tear-filled eyes
of my mother and then I look to my father for the permission I need. “I can’t
come back to Mass.”

They nod, first
at each other, and then at me.

“Jesus Christ is
the way, the truth, and the life. Our family will find our way back to Him,
Anthony,” Mom says, and squeezes my hand.

There’s that
phrase again.

Dad adds,
“There’s nothing as important as finding our path to Him.” He hooks his pinky
around mine the way he used to do when I was little—he always called it the
secret handshake for the only two members of the Del
Vecchio
Boys’ Club. I sob again.

And my sister
Mary, who I thought was paying little attention to the facts behind this
interaction, leans over to me and brushes her fingers across my forearm. “I
know what’s up, Tony. And hear this—we won’t give up ‘til we find the church
where we
all
fit in.”

Even my little
sister, who I thought completely clueless, and who is only one year shy of her
Confirmation in the Catholic Church, has expressed her unity with me.

I wipe my tears
away, because in many ways, I am truly blessed.

It’s funny how
friendship just happens when you aren’t looking. I didn’t even have time to
panic at the prospect of having no one to hang with in classes and at lunch,
and that I’d feel like the solitary guy in the corner of the cafeteria with the
big L on his forehead, when David and his friends scoop me up and take me in. And
after two weeks of eating lunch with them, sitting with them in classes, and,
of course, working on
Ride ‘
Em
Cowboy
, the Physical Education rodeo power point
project that I did with David that we incidentally earned an A+ on, I realize
how closed off to new friendships I’d grown since I’d become a little bit
too
comfortable surrounded cozily on all
sides by my friends from Our Way
.
I
never looked at the people who existed outside our tight circle of
righteousness. My bad.

When the power
point project was completed, I will admit to having a mild onset of panic that
my relationship with David was then over. But, as I was learning, David walks
the walk of a Christian, even if his talk is rough around the edges. I’m still
devastated by my parting ways with the Catholic Church, in fact, I’ve been
doing my best to mentally block all thoughts of religion and God and church. I
will also admit that the effort it takes to do this is causing me a fair bit of
depression and major stress. I even yanked a gray hair off the top of my head—
jeez,
I’m only sixteen!

“Thanks for
driving me to school this morning, Tony. And an advance thanks for carting my
ass home, too, for that matter.” I glance over at the passenger seat where
David is sitting, and am momentarily taken aback that it isn’t
Laz
sitting there. Old habits sure die hard. “Sucks when my truck’s outta
commish
.”

“I’m glad to
drive you, David. Hey, if it weren’t for you, I might be faced with my first B
ever in a class…and it would have been Physical Education, of all things.”

“Are you still
going to Mass at St. Mark’s?” His gaze on my face is intense as I drive.

His question
surprises me. Since the day he gave me the book about gay Christians, we
haven’t spoken of religion. In fact, we haven’t talked about anything personal
at all. “No. We don’t go there any longer.” I’m in hiding from all things
religion-related and I have no intention of being found. Not even by David.

“That’s it? You
gave up on Jesus just like that?” David turns away in disgust and stares out
the passenger window. “He couldn’t have meant very much to you, then. Guess I
misread
ya
, dude.”

His words sting
because it isn’t that I’ve given up on Jesus, I’m not yet ready to face the
hard cold facts. Because all of the facts that have unfolded, in regard to
being both gay and Catholic, are not very pretty. “I’m not up for a discussion
on this right now.”

“You think it’s
gonna
be easier to chat about this in a week? A month? Or a
year, maybe?”

I have no reply
that isn’t bitter. All I can think of to do is to stare out the windshield at
the road in front of me.

“Did you even
read the book I gave you?”

“Don’t see the
point in it, really. I’ve read enough about the Catholic view on homosexuality
online to know I’m an abomination. And so are you.” I know I’m being mean, and
most of me doesn’t care.

“There’s more to
the story than that, Del
Vecchio
.” I pull up in front
of David’s house with a screeching halt. “Do me a favor and read the freaking
book.”

That’s when I
look over at his face and what I see surprises me. He’s wearing an expression
of true concern, right down to a wrinkled forehead and a deep frown, rather

than the raised
eyebrows and rakish smirk that I expect. “Okay, sure, David. I’ll check out the
book.”

“Great.” David
takes a deep breath. “And one more thing—the girls, Sarah and Beth, and Lenny
and Cameron and I are going to see a magic show at the
Blackhall
Theater on the Saturday night after Easter. You
wanna
come?” The frown falls from his lips when our eyes lock together. “I can pick
you up a ticket.”

I have no idea
why but this guy won’t give up on me the way all of my other friends have. Not
that I’m emotionally close to him or anything, we usually keep our conversation
confined to strictly trivial topics. “Sounds fun, and I’ll pay you back for the
ticket.” Strangely, David shakes his head at my offer. “Want me to drive that
night?”

David swings his
hair over his shoulder, a habit I’m getting used to, and then he opens the
passenger door. “Nah. I’ll come and get you.”

“Cool.” It
suddenly hits me that David is buying my ticket to the show
and
is driving me there. And that sounds
a lot like a…
a date.
I swallow hard,
which I’ve been doing a lot lately.

He doesn’t seem
to notice my mini freak-out and he gets out of the car, but turns back to look
at me in an almost businesslike manner. Once again, David says, “And Tony, read
the book.”

This morning, my
family goes to St. Elizabeth’s without me, not that they are happy about it. I
remind myself, as I lay stomach-down on my tiny bed, that I’m home alone by my
own choice.

Not going to Mass
makes me feel almost sick; it’s as if I’m having withdrawal symptoms from God.
Shaking and sweating and nauseated—yeah, sounds like withdrawal to me. But the
worst part is that I’m depressed, and I feel so empty. Feels like an enormous
black rain cloud has settled over my bed, and it wants to stay there.

Maybe I should
turn on TV Land—vintage television always distracts me.

I could get in
three episodes of Happy Days before my family returns.

But I gave up
television for Lent.

If I’m not
Catholic, is there still a Lenten season for me?

Unsure as to the
answer, I decide that there’s no better time than
now
for me to take David’s advice. I grope around under the bed for
the book that he gave me, open it, and start to read.

Laz
is the only one of my former
friends who gives me the time of day anymore. In certain ways this is a
positive thing, because at least one part of my social life is normal. But in
more ways it’s a negative, since he seems to feel it’s his obligation to report
on every single word that every single member of the Our Way group says about
me, as well as how they’re plotting to get me “back in the fold.” I’m fairly
certain that his lack of confidentiality goes in the other direction, as well,
and that anything I say can, and will, be repeated to inquiring minds. So I
don’t say too much, but it’s not that difficult to do because keeping quiet
comes naturally to me.

According to
Laz
, this is Anthony Duck-Young Del
Vecchio’s
status in regard to the Our Way youth group:

*Elizabeth wants
to “confront me with love” and has collected a long list of Bible verses to
prove that “the gay way is not God’s way.” That’s certainly a change in tune
from the door slam and the cold shoulder. I’m not sure which I prefer.

*
Rinaldo
continually repeats something along the lines of,
“he must repent or he’ll burn.”
Very
comforting.
And repent for
what
?
I haven’t sinned, at least not that I know of. I wonder when he became such an
outspoken conservative.

*Emma demonstrates
her character depth (yes, sarcasm of the highest order) by saying, “I could’ve
told you guys Anthony was light in the loafers a long time ago. He’s as pretty
as a girl—why are you all so freaking shocked? This is
not
big news.”

*Kerry has been asking,
hesitantly, but at the same time with great persistence, “What do two guys
actually
do
in bed anyway?”

*Eric insists
that this issue is between God and me. However, he hasn’t said so much as “Hey,
Anthony” since the night I confessed my gayness to the group.

*And apparently
Laz
has been taking careful notes on all of this for the
purpose of relaying it to me in excruciatingly painful detail. Interestingly,
he omits reporting his own personal opinion on the subject.

I’ll be honest:
it doesn’t exactly feel like the good old days when I hang out with
Laz
anymore. Our relationship is strained, but at least it
still exists. Sort of.

Needless to say,
it comes as a relief when
Laz
has a chemistry lab to
make up after school and I’m able to escape without him in tow, for a change.
I’ve come to dread the daily “he said/she said this about your blackened soul”
sessions that occur daily as I drive him home from school. It also doesn’t help
that I’m still reeling from having missed Mass for the first time in my life
when I wasn’t literally vomiting. It’s as if the center of my universe has been
removed, leaving me a lost and lonely planet, orbiting absolutely nothing.

“Hey, Del
Vecchio
!” I turn to see David Gandy standing over by his
black truck. He doesn’t smile at me, but his at least there’s no hostility in
his expression, for which I’m thankful. “You got a few minutes? Can you stop by
my house? I
wanna
show you
somethin
’.”

Lately, seeing
David is like seeing a piece of purple sea glass sticking out of the sand,
glittering enticingly. He’s a sight my subconscious self automatically reaches
for, and although I caution myself that that he could be sharp in places, I can
still handle if I exercise great care.

“You want to show
me what?”

“No questions,
dude. Follow me to my house.” He leaves no room for argument, and I’m not in
the mental state to debate anybody on much of anything. I hop into my car and
follow David’s truck out of the parking lot.

David’s family is
what I’d call well off—not exactly rich—but definitely better off than our
family. In other words, I highly doubt that he is sleeping in a beautified
storage closet, like I am. He’s also an only child, and lives in one of
Wedgewood’s nicer neighborhoods, where all the lawns are landscaped and the
homes appear modern and even a little dramatic on the outside. I already know
which house is his, as I’ve driven him to and from school a few times, but I’ve
never been inside. I
have
been inside
a few houses in this neighborhood in the past, though. They are all very
spacious and airy-feeling. David’s house is no different, I decide as I follow
him inside his showplace of a home, all decorated in modern shades of gray and
beige, with absolutely no Fisher-Price toys for little people waiting to trip
me on the floor. We head straight to the kitchen.

“Hey, kiddo.
School good?” Mrs. Gandy walks over to her son and playfully tugs on his long
brown hair until David winces, and then pretends to slug him in the belly. I
like her immediately.

“Yeah, Ma. School
was
just great
.” He rolls his eyes at
her and winks. “Say hi to my bud, here. Name’s Tony.”

“I remember you
from art classes down at the community house a few summers ago. Anthony Del
Vecchio
, right?” She steps over to me and gives me a quick
one-armed hug. I try not to appear like I’m doing research, but I take a closer
look. Mrs. Gandy is the spitting image of David, with piercing blue eyes of her
own, but she’s older, and female. “How’s your family? You’re the single boy
with all of those little sisters, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Four
little sisters—they’re all good, thanks.”

She laughs,
tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, the exact same way David does.
“I haven’t seen those little girls in years. They sure must be growing up.”

“You’ve got that
right. Mary’s bigger than me now.” I feel heat in my cheeks and I’m not sure
why.

Mrs. Gandy again
laughs, and I notice it’s a free-spirited sound. “You guys up for ice cream?”
She’s almost as sweet as my mom. Almost.

“Yeah, Ma. We got
any of that butterscotch caramel swirl kind left? If we do, can we have it?
That shit kicked butt!”

“Sure thing,
Davy.” His mom spins around and heads for the freezer. “And for future
reference, ice cream can be referred to as
stuff,
instead of
shit.
Calling it shit
doesn’t make it sound very appetizing to our guest, hmm?” I like the way she
gently reprimands him for his cursing.

“Sorry, Ma.”
David shrugs at his mother, and then glances over at the kitchen table. I
follow his gaze. Their shiny mahogany table is covered in notebooks—a few left
wide open—and I can see that they are filled with scribbled notes, reminding me
of a mad scientist’s haphazard records. There are also tall stacks of books
about homosexuality and Christianity, several Bibles, his laptop computer,
which is covered in scrawled-on sticky notes, and dozens of printed documents,
stapled together, and scattered at odd angles.

“What’s all
that?” I ask.

“I
call
it research. But if I’m
gonna
level with you, it’s my peace of mind.”

I don’t get what
he’s trying to tell me and it must show on my face.

David walks over
to the table and sits down in front of the computer. Then he gestures to the
piles of clutter before him. “This is how I know that God still loves me.
Me,
a gay Christian.”

I automatically
turn to check on his mother, to see if she overheard what he said.

“Relax, dude. Ma
already knows I’m gay.”

“She does?”

“Yeah, and she
supports me in being who I am. Half of all this research was done by her.” He
nods at the clutter.

His mother
approaches the table holding two bowls full of ice cream—and I mean really
full. I never get a bowl this full at home, too many little sisters with hungry
eyes and waiting spoons. “Your father did part of the research, too. Don’t sell
the man short. But he does have a
real
job
with mega traveling so he can’t obsess over it the way we do. Wouldn’t you
agree, Davy?” She smiles at her son and hands him one of the bowls and a spoon.
“Sit down anywhere, Tony. Push the mess out of the way and put your bowl down.”

I take the bowl
and spoon from her outstretched hand and choose a seat near David. “Thank you,
ma’am.”

“Oh, Lord. Davy,
did that boy call me
ma’am
? I
coulda
sworn he did.”

“Sounded like it
to me, too, Ma.” He smirks, but continues to peruse his emails while feeding
himself occasional bites of ice cream.

“I’ll forgive you
this once, Tony, but never again. Please, call me Gabby.” She winks at me and
leaves the room.

“Chow on that ice
cream, man,
cuz
soon as you’ve downed it, I’m
gonna
prove that God loves
you
, too.”

I must have made
a very comical face, because David bursts into a fit of laughter. I try to
ignore him and pull the spoon from the ice cream and start eating.

And truth be
told, butterscotch caramel swirl ice cream does kick butt.

Half an hour
later, I’m totally engrossed in the piles of clutter on the Gandy’s kitchen
table. But what really has me captivated is this outline David made for me on a
piece of notebook paper using a cherry red Sharpie marker.

It’s a simple
outline, but its significance is far from simple.

“I’ve done a lot
of research since the day Mrs. Martine booted my ass from Our Way.” He looks at
me very directly and I know I can’t entirely hide my pain from him anymore.
“Like she booted your ass out.”

He isn’t being
cruel—I already know him well enough to know that’s not his style—he’s just
speaking the truth. Mrs. Martine
had
booted us both out of Our Way because
of our sexuality. Like she thinks gayness is contagious and she has to isolate
us, and our disease, from the other kids to keep them from catching it.

“When I say
research, I’m talking about a lot of reading and writing, and praying, too.”
At-home-David is completely different from at-school-David. Much less guarded
and much more human.

I lift the paper
with the red outline written on it between my thumb and index finger and shake
it so the paper flutters in the air. “But why are you even bothering to tell me
about
this
?”

David reaches up
and closes his laptop. His eyes don’t shift to the side or slip down to study
the floor, but stay focused on mine, like a person who’s being honest. “Because
I wish like hell that somebody had been around to tell me this shit…
er
, stuff.” He glances up to see if his mother is around
but she isn’t.

I have this
random thought, which isn’t too unusual for me. I’ve always had a thing for
television re-runs. All of the quirky details I like are easier to catch the
second time I see an episode, which leads to my next question. “Do you mind if…
I mean, can you go over it all one more time, David?”

His bright blue
eyes widen when he realizes that the stuff he’s sharing is getting through to
me, and he breaks into a very un-David-like smile. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t
it? That you can be gay and Christian, too, and that you aren’t
gonna
find your ass burning down there for all eternity.”
He points to the floor. “Yeah, I’ll go over it with you again. Happy to.”

“You said you
found this stuff online?”

“A lot of it.”
David points across the table. “Hey, pass me that elastic. My hair is
buggin
’ the crap outta me. “ I pass him a black elastic band
that’s on top of a tall stack of books and he pulls his long hair back into a
messy bun like my sisters wear for their baths, better showing off the fine
bones of his face. David is handsome. And I mean
really
handsome. “And I read a bunch of books on the topic, but
the one I lent you helped the most.” He holds up another copy of the book he
lent me. “This is Ma’s copy. We’ve both already read it twice. The author,
well, let’s say he knows his stuff.”

“What other
sources did you use for your research?”

“Tons of online
websites. And Mom let me order about ten million books from Amazon—she never
said no when I asked for another book. They’re upstairs on my night table.”

“Whoa. Ten
million books—you must have a good-sized night table.” I grin and am actually
surprised at how easy it was to do.

Placing his
mother’s book on the table, he says, “When Martine bounced me—shit, man, I
wanted to
keel
right on over. As in, be like totally
gone.
Ya
hear me?” David’s top lip quivers for a
split second before he forces his usual smirk. “For a while, I wouldn’t eat,
couldn’t sleep…refused to talk to Ma or Dad.”

I can relate to
that feeling.

“But I
gotta
thank Martine
cuz
she
called my folks.
Outed
me to my Dad, like it was
her
place to do that.” He chuckles, but
it’s more like a shame-on-Mrs. Martine snicker than real laughter. “She
expected my parents to freak out on me—maybe ship me off to one of those ex-gay
camps—but they were cool. That phone call let my mom know that the reason I was
wigging out up in my room for the past week was
cuz
I
thought I was a sinner. Like a big time abomination. As if God had already
said, ‘there
ain’t
no saving your ass, Gandy’ and I’d
bought it, hook, line and sinker.”