Waterways (34 page)

He heard movement over his head, and looked up, and something clicked, something Nick had said. It wasn’t much help now, but it gave him something to do, and in the meantime he could dig through his boxes for a notebook and try to write some poems. Maybe someday someone would understand the way he felt.

 
At first, his old church felt like nothing more than that: old and uncomfortable. He’d gotten up at six in the morning to catch the series of buses here, and he kept yawning, sitting way in the back. He hadn’t seen his mother arrive, and was deliberately not looking at the place where she normally sat. She wasn’t who he’d come here to see. He’d waited outside and come in late, sitting far in the back so she and Nick wouldn’t notice him.

The feeling of the church changed when Father Joe stepped up to the altar. With his first words, Kory felt a small shiver and the comfort he hadn’t felt in months, the feeling of belonging. He closed his eyes, listening to a well-known story about the Pharisees, and their love of laws, how they had tried to catch Jesus in contradictions by questioning him on the law, but that he rose above them.

Kory sang all the hymns, but didn’t go up front for communion. When the congregation started to file out, he pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he’d borrowed from the Rainbow Center up over his head, and bowed as though in prayer. The pose started as disguise, but as he remained stationary, listening to the easy conversations of the people walking past him, it became genuine. In school, the scents of the students battled in the small classrooms, established pockets that met in chaotic fronts in the wide, low halls. Here in the church, the high roof allowed the scents of the congregation to mingle freely, and the old aromatic wood contained and supported them. Everyone had room. Instead of being pushed together and tense, they were able to keep their own distance and commingle pleasantly. He felt somehow that that was significant.

A hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He looked up into the soft brown eyes of Father Joe. “It’s good to see you again, Kory,” he said.

“I thought,” Kory said, “you might need some help with the hymnals.”

They sat together at the front of the church, the books piled between them. “I remember that sermon from years ago,” Kory said. “I think I understand it a little better now.”

“I didn’t choose it for you,” Father Joe said, “but I did feel that it would be right as I was preparing this week. When I saw you in the back of the church, I knew why.”

Kory’s ears came up. “You think it applies to me?”

“Well, it applies to everyone.” Father Joe smiled. “But I think it has particular insight into your problem.”

“You think so?”

“Jesus’s first law was love. When he spoke to the Pharisees, he told them that the laws they loved so much were made for the weakness of people.”

“But aren’t we supposed to fight our weaknesses?”

Father Joe shook his head. “We had this conversation before. I don’t think that love is a weakness.”

Kory turned that word over in his head, until Father Joe broke the silence. “I read your essay.”

“Any suggestions? I can still change it.”

Father Joe’s horns bobbed as he nodded. “Your essay is difficult because you’re attempting to demonstrate proof of that which we take on faith. But it’s not uncommon, and you go about it well. I notice that you reference C.S. Lewis, which is a nice touch, but your essay is still missing something.” He looked at Kory, who remained quiet. “You ask, ‘Does God love me?’ You spend a good deal of space talking about the elements in your life that support or counter that proposition. But I can guess at what prompted this question. And that you don’t talk about.”

Now he waited for Kory to answer. Kory sighed. “No, I don’t.”

“I think that shows.”

Kory stared down at the stone floor of the church and pressed his feet against it. It was chilly under his pads. “I just didn’t want to tell everyone in the admissions group…”

He waited for Father Joe to say, “I know,” or something like that, but when he turned, the priest’s expression was patient, expectant. He lowered his ears. Phrases like “about my friend” and “about my situation” rolled through his head, but the solemnity of the church and the sheep’s deep brown eyes drove them out. He thought about Malaya’s words, about hiding, and took a breath. “That I’m gay.”

The word hung between them, echoing up into the rafters. The saints continued to smile, the candles continued to burn, and the Lamb on the cross looked down at Kory with sympathy. He heard the echoes die, and looked up to the rafters, where the wood that held so many scents and secrets now held one more. The beams were strong; they held.

Father Joe nodded, the only change in his expression the faintest hint of a smile, turning up the corners of his mouth. “But it is a part of you. And what, in the past year, has been the best evidence that God loves you?” Violet eyes and black fur. “Samaki,” Kory whispered.

 
Malaya came to see him that evening as he floated in the pool. She took a seat on his bed with an ease that had become familiar already. “Still upset about your fight?”

Kory shook his head. “I called him on the way home and left a message. Told him I was sorry and that I didn’t want space, I wanted to be with him so that we can work things out. I still don’t know why I’m scared to go live with him, but I’ll figure it out with him.”

Her good wing rattled. “Jen asked me to move in with her.”

“Just now?” Her housing problem might be solved after all.

She shook her head, slowly. “A week before Dad caught us.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“It was too much. I wasn’t ready for full-on dykehood yet.”

Kory’s tail glided back and forth in the water, creating ripples that spread up his chest and lapped against his chin. “Are you now?”

“Maybe. If the right girl came along, which she won’t.”

“You don’t think so?”

Malaya grinned at him. “She doesn’t exist, see? So she can’t really come along. I’m stuck liking girls without a girl to like.”

“You’d be better off with Jen than with your father.”

“Not really,” Malaya said casually. “She used to hit me too. The only difference was she’d say she was sorry and kiss me afterwards.”

“Ugh.” Kory closed his eyes. “You need to find someone who’ll treat you nicely.”

Her wing rustled, and she let out a sigh. “I’m fine on my own.”

The sharp trill of the cell phone pierced the silence. Kory splashed out of the water, scrambling to the little device. He registered Samaki’s number before flipping it open. “Hello?”

The moment dragged on. He knew that it would be okay, but he had to hear it to quiet that last doubting piece that said that Samaki would have reconsidered, would have found someone else, would have decided that he wasn’t worth the trouble. The fox’s voice, gentle and affectionate, was music to his ears. “Hi, hon,” Samaki said.

He gave Malaya a huge smile and a thumbs-up. She smiled back, got to her feet, and padded quietly from the room.

“Surprise,” Samaki said, dragging a large box out of the back of the car, with Ajani’s help. His breath puffed white into the afternoon breeze. “I got it,” he told his brother as the end slid out from the seat. “Go get the one in the trunk.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Malaya said, crowding beside Kory to read the label on the box that said, “6’ Norway Spruce.”

“Mom insisted,” Samaki said. “We had this one in our attic, not doing anything.”

“It’s great,” Kory said. “I’ll have to get Nick to get my ornaments for me.” His smile faded, but only slightly.

“Great.” Malaya groaned. “Enough Christmas spirit to choke on. December twenty-six, this all comes down.” She shook her wing at all three of them, which slid her grey flannel wrap far enough down to expose her forearm.

“Hey,” Samaki said, “you got the cast off.”

“Good as new.” She showed off the arm, turning it back and forth before pulling the wrap back over it.

“How’d you break your arm?” Ajani asked, holding the box from the trunk. “I broke my arm once fallin’ off my bed.”

She glanced at Kory and Samaki. “I’ll tell ya later,” she said, reaching over to ruffle the fur between the cub’s ears. “When you’re older.”

“I
am
older,” he said indignantly.

Kory nudged Ajani. “What’s in that box?” he said.

“Oh, decorations.” Ajani pushed one flap open with his muzzle, his tail wagging. “Some ornaments and scent-pines.”

“I’m gonna have to burn incense,” Malaya said.

“Nah,” Kory said. “Their noses are more sensitive than ours. You probably won’t be able to smell the pine.”

“I can smell it from here,” she said.

“Me too,” the black fox said. “Let’s get inside. We’ll get the wreath later.”

Kory led the four of them into the converted townhouse, helping Samaki steady the Norway Spruce. “Don’t say anything,” Samaki said to Ajani in the lobby. The cub was looking around the lobby, nose wrinkling.

“But it smells funny.”

“Probably not to Kory.”

Kory shook his head. “Just smells like wood to me.” He looked over the pitted wood paneling, the cracked frame of the cupboard that housed the mailboxes for the six apartments, and the grime on the plaster toward the ceiling. “It’s not the cleanest place, but we can afford it for now. My online tutoring will help.” The black fox paused in his inspection of the lobby when he noticed Kory looking at him, and smiled.

“And it’s good to be out of the Rainbow Center,” Malaya said, saying the name in a sarcastic sing-song voice.

“We’re going over there later to help out,” Kory said. “Margo still asks about you every time I see her.”

“Tell her I’m fine. Tell her this place is a million times better.”

“Oh, come on,” Kory said. “The Center wasn’t that bad.”

Malaya snorted. “At least the neighbors here don’t tell me how much I’m loved every time I turn around.”

“What are the neighbors like?” Samaki asked, following Kory up the stairs. Ajani trailed behind him, nose still wrinkled, with Malaya following.

“The people across from us are a mongoose family. Ki-yo, I think their name is. One of them is about our age.”

“Shara,” Malaya called up behind him. “He’s cool.”

“And we’ve seen the bear who lives in 1A, but he doesn’t talk to us much.”

“That’s nice,” Samaki said after a moment. “It looks like an okay neighborhood.”

“If you like drug dealers,” Ajani said. Kory heard a soft cuffing sound, and a “shhh!” that he presumed was from Samaki.

“I love em,” Malaya said. “They know where all the best coffee shops are.

Kory laughed and heard Samaki echo his laughter as he turned the key in the door marked ‘2B.’ The sensation of walking into his own apartment still felt new and strange, even two weeks into it. He breathed in the smells of the apartment—his apartment—as the others walked in, turning the key over in his fingers before sliding it into his pocket.

Ajani put the box of decorations down and walked over to the sofa. He fingered the patched material, gazing at the old TV, the worn coffee table, and finally out the window at the graffiti-covered brick. “This looks like grandpa’s place,” he said to Samaki, who had taken a small decorative box, red with green stripes, out of the larger one.

“Don’t be rude,” Samaki said. Both Kory and Malaya saw him look from the box he held up at Kory.

“The couch is probably that old,” Malaya said, swinging up to the bar over it and hooking her feet through it to hang upside down. Her face came down almost to Ajani’s. “Boo,” she said, grimacing.

Ajani laughed and clapped his paws, eyeing the bar. “Cool!” he said, and clambered up onto the sofa. “Can I do that?”

“I don’t think so,” Malaya said, folding her arms and rattling her wings. “I bet you can’t.”

“I can do it,” Ajani insisted, hopping up and down on the couch. Kory took advantage of the cub’s distraction to slip into the bedroom.

Samaki paused to watch Ajani and then followed Kory, closing the door behind him. “You worked it out so you get the bedroom this month?”

The bed, old and worn, was clean enough that it had picked up Kory’s scent, even after only a week. He sat on it and smiled at Samaki. “Malaya said that since I have a boyfriend and she doesn’t, I can have the bedroom for the time being.”

“She doesn’t want a boyfriend, does she?” Samaki smiled, turning the long box over in his paws to reveal a gold seal on top of the red and green stripes.

“Well, actually she said since I have hope and she doesn’t.” Kory chuckled. “Also since she sleeps upside down hanging from a bar and not in a bed.”

“That sounds more like her.”

Kory leaned back against his tail. “So that’s a good thing about having my own place.” The moment he said it, he wondered if he’d pushed too hard. Their argument over his living situation had technically ended before Thanksgiving, but tension lingered every time the subject came up.

Samaki’s ears flicked. He nodded, his smile faltering only slightly. He fingered the lid of the box he held, drawing Kory’s attention to it.

“What’s that?”

Samaki opened it. “A couple things.” He pulled out a faded Santa Fox, made of construction paper and dangling from a bit of green yarn. “I made this in second grade. Mom thought you—we—should hang it up here.”

Red construction paper formed the suit, glued over orange paper that made up the tail and muzzle. He had two ears, colored heavily with black pencil on the orange paper, between which a red hat was set. The tail, too, was colored orange paper, scribbles of white crayon still holding a faint waxy smell. Cotton balls lined the red paper to form the trim of the suit.

Turning it over, Kory saw a child’s writing on the back: “Samaki Roden, Miss Gerfy’s class.” He smiled. “It’s cool. I love it.” The connection between it and the fox standing in front of him was almost palpable for a moment. He looked around the walls to see where they might hang it.

Samaki took a folded paper out of the box. He held it awkwardly, ears flicking back. “And Mom made me promise to read this with you.”

Kory peered up and saw “Your health” and “sexually transmitted” on the brochure. His own ears folded down, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. “We covered all that in health class.”