“Hello, Jude,” he said, not addressing me by Father, a slight that annoyed me, since the older man insisted on formality for himself. “I’d like to meet with you tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” I replied, my voice devoid of enthusiasm. I knew exactly what the priest wanted to talk about. So, I invited him to the rectory. If I was lucky, someone would need my urgent assistance, bringing the meeting to a welcome end. “Did you want to come here?”
“No,” the priest snapped. “I don’t want any distractions. Meet me at Black Dog Roasters in Signal Hill at nine.”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” I replied in obedience.
“And for heaven’s sake, do some serious praying tonight. Then perhaps we’ll have a productive conversation.”
Before I could reply, the priest disconnected the call. I just stared at the phone screen, startled, a reaction that quickly morphed into anger. Matthew had been a dick since the day he’d been assigned to mentor me when I’d entered the seminary, but hanging up was rude even for him. Not for the first time, I regretted having involved the priest in the process of laicization. The only reason I’d capitulated was that I feared if I didn’t follow the steps to the letter the Vatical council, who had the final say in my petition, might use the violation against me.
Thus, I followed the instructions. First, I’d sent a letter of intent to the office of the bishop outlining my reasons for no longer being fit for the clerical life. Next, I’d meditated for longhours in preparation for my interview with the bishop, who would decide whether or not my petition would be forwarded to the Vatican. Thirdly, I had to seek religious guidance from a superior or mentor in order to talk through my actions. Since I’d known Father Matthew for a dozen years, I hadn’t wanted to snub him. No matter how much I despised the man.
I downed the rest of my beer and considered having a second. Instead, I tossed the bottle into the recycle bin and went into the small living room. The rectory had been an addition in the 1950s, well after the construction of the Spanish mission-style church, which dated back to the turn of the twentieth century. In contrast, the rectory was a single story with wooden siding, shutters, and a low-pitched roof. The interior had been upgraded only once since it had been built.
Doubling as the central hub for parishioners and my residence, in addition to a bedroom and en suite bathroom there was a cozy living room, a full kitchen with a dining nook, and a guest room that held a twin bed, a single four-drawer chest, and a wooden desk with steel legs and a matching chair.
I took the remote control from the coffee table, flipped on the television, and browsed mindlessly through the channels until I happened upon an old episode ofGrey’s Anatomyand the character of Jackson Avery stopped me short. A Black man with piercing green eyes played by the actor Jesse Williams, Avery reminded me of the stranger that had taken up residence at the back of my mind. My dick twitched at recalling my orgasm in the shower. No! I wasn’t about to have a repeat performance. Shutting off the TV, I jumped from the recliner and exchanged flip-flops for a pair of no-show socks and sneakers. I pulled on a hoodie, grabbed my wallet and keys, and left through the back door. I walked around the corner of the building and unlatched the gate to the fence that bordered the property.
Outside on the sidewalk I inhaled deeply, then slowly let the air out with my breath ending in a shiver. The daytime temperature of mid-seventies had dropped. However, the cool evening didn’t daunt me from taking a stroll. I merely pulled up the hood and set a brisk pace down the block toward the main drag. Even though I hadn’t lived in Long Beach long enough to make friends, I was in a mood to be among people outside the parish. Even if it was only to smile at passersby. The shops were open late on Thursday night and looking down at my sweatpants, I groused to myself for going out without changing clothes. But I’d been anxious to escape my emotions, both the dread of meeting with Father Matthew in the morning and the conflicting sexy thoughts about the man whose image had me still feeling the lingering sparks from my orgasm.
I turned the corner onto the main drag and smiled at a woman at the bus stop that I thought attended St. Michael the Archangel church.
Sure enough, she recognized me and said, “Have a nice walk, Father.” Thankfully, she didn’t detain me with idle chatter.
I gave her a small wave and as soon as I went past the bus stop, I slowed my pace. I browsed a few storefronts and came to the bookstore. I was scanning the titles when movement at the register caught my attention. Was that the stranger? With his back to me, I couldn’t be sure until the man turned slightly, offering me his profile with the straight nose and square, stubbled chin.
I kept gaping but had an instant of panic when he picked up his purchase and came toward the exit. I did a half spin, putting my back to the doorway. With my eyes lowered, I feigned interest in my shoes, counted to ten, then dared to look. In the reflection of the glass, I watched the stranger jog across the road. Just as he approached The Ring, a man swung the door open and holding it in place with his hip, accepted the proffered bag. Themen shared a side-arm hug before the man went back inside, while the stranger continued to stay in place for a long minute after the gym door closed.
I slowly pivoted until I was looking directly at the stranger. He must have sensed that someone was watching him. The moment he faced me I slid my hood off before I talked myself out of it. I couldn’t explain why I wanted the stranger to recognize me. Our gazes held as twilight tumbled over into evening and the streetlamps came on. He walked forward, landing under a stream of light. And God, he appeared otherworldly… the lamplight incandescent against his dark skin. Then he spun around and jogged down the alley that ran along the gym. When he was lost in the shadows and out of sight, I pulled the hood back on and with my hands stuffed in my pockets, I walked back to the rectory.
My night was a murky mess of dreams I couldn’t even remember in detail except they left me with nerves raw and my head pounding. After ticking off the hours after two o’clock, I finally rose from bed at five thirty. I took a piss, threw my sweatpants on, and stumbled into the kitchen where I filled the kettle to boil water for instant coffee. Then I reached into the cabinet for headache pills, which I downed with orange juice, drinking right from the carton. My head was throbbing.Why the fuck did I have to do everything by the book? If I just walked away from the priesthood, the worst that would happen would be a reprimand from the bishop and Father Matthew after tracking me down. But deep in my gut, I knew why.
My Irish Catholic, holier than thou parents. My mother, who still covered her head when entering a Church, were going to bedevastated. But therein was the problem. Joining the priesthood had been their dream. Not mine. I hadn’t even told them about my plans to quit.Fuck, a problem for another morning.
I scrambled three eggs and plated them with a toasted bagel spread with hummus. Although I wasn’t in the mood to enjoy the food, I knew the protein and carbs would help my body function more efficiently. So, I forced myself to eat. When I was done, I went about my morning routine of wiping down the kitchen, making the bed, and sweeping. Then I went into the guestroom and lowering myself to the area rug, I took a lotus position and began meditating.
I believed that talking to God was more than only praying by rote. In fact, I felt that going inward and addressing whatever higher power might be on hand was the truest connection a person could attain. Somewhere deep in my heart-brain connection was where I found answers to my problems. It was where on a cold rainy New Year’s morning I gave myself permission to find my own destiny. I didn’t know what came next. But I was certain of one thing: I wasn’t supposed to lead a congregation like a flock of sheep. That might’ve been Jesus’ route, but it wasn’t mine.
After some time, I brought myself down from the invisible place I went to behind my mind’s eye to face reality again. Unfolding from my position, I stretched my back, arms, and legs, then hopped to my feet. My shower was refreshing. Once I was dressed, I felt prepared to start the day and meet with Father Matthew. The clock read eight. I’d begin the mile trek to the coffeehouse in half an hour, which left me an extra ten minutes, since it was an uphill climb.
Sliding my cell phone into my trousers pocket, I snatched up my keys and left. Walking next door to the church, I perused the area, not quite sure what I was looking for. Certainly not for the stranger’s truck. On Friday morning he’d be at a job. Whichof course led me down the rabbit hole as to what profession he might be in—Stop! I reprimanded myself. I was still a priest, a fact that I needed to remember.
I walked around to the back entrance, unlocked the door, and immediately switched off the security system. I passed through the sacristy, the room which stored the sacred objects and liturgical vestments used during mass. Exiting from the opposite side of the sacristy, I passed under the arch that opened onto the altar. I kneeled on the marble floor and made the sign of the cross. Raising my eyes to the crucified Christ on the cross, I murmured a quick plea. “Please help me keep my cool with Father Matthew.” Shifting slightly to face the statue of Michael the Archangel, I said, “Help me to stand my ground. I might be leaving the priesthood but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you, God or the Universe wouldn’t want me to pursue my life’s work. Be my defender, Michael.”
I bowed my head and then planting one foot on the floor, pushed myself to stand. I jogged down the few steps to the altar rail and feeling peppy at the moment, I braced two hands on the railing and vaulted over, doing a one-eighty. Laughing at my antics, and the fact that Father Matthew would’ve gone ballistic if he’d witnessed it, I grinned from ear to ear.
I walked briskly down the main aisle toward the front of the church. When I unbolted the massive outer doors and yanked one of them open, I smiled at the three elderly women waiting to enter. They lived close by and came every morning to visit and pray; their mannerisms with each other led me to think they’d been friends for years. I greeted them in their native language. “Buen dìa, senoras.”
They giggled at what I assumed was my poor pronunciation, the same they did every day. I smiled and gestured them inside.
Just then, I saw Inés on the pathway to the rectory and waved at her to wait up. She backtracked and met me halfway. “Good morning, Father.”
“Same to you, Inés. Father Matthew called last night and said he wanted to talk to me. He didn’t want to come here and told me to meet him at the Black Dog.”
Inés’ brow creased in concern. “Why not here? Is anything wrong, Father?”
I wasn’t going to tell Inés about my eventual departure until the process was complete. And although I felt bad being dishonest, it had to be this way. Word of my plans could not leak prematurely. “I’m not sure. Are there any rumors going around regarding the church?”
