Inclination (17 page)

Once
Rinaldo
has silently shadowed me to my car, which is
admittedly kind of creepy but I know it’s his way of doing his penance, I drive
to David’s house.

We’re usually alone
there when I stop by, as David’s dad is rarely home on the weekdays because he
travels for business and his mom volunteers most evenings at the local food
donation center. We order pad Thai, which is getting to be a habit when I come
over, and sit at his kitchen table analyzing all of the reasons that God will
or won’t love me the way I am—gay. This
after-tennis, Bible study/one-on-one discussion thing is also getting to be a
habit.

As always, I try
to help David clean up the remnants of our Thai dinner, and as always, he tells
me to keep my butt planted firmly on the kitchen chair—he can take care of it
himself. Only when he’s cleaned up our trash and wiped down the one square foot
of kitchen table we cleared in order to eat, does he sit down, pull out his pad
of paper and red marker, and inform me of what today’s “God loves Gay
Christians Pep Talk” will be about.

“Today, let’s
focus on the kind of God that our Father is.”

“What do you
mean?”

“Well, it’s like
this: God made rules. But in order to decide what he intended with the rules,
we need to decide if our God is an arbitrary God or if He has purpose behind
His rules.”

I’d never thought
of Jesus as arbitrary before. In fact referring to Him in that way seems almost
blasphemous. “Arbitrary?” I feel my eyebrows lifting in their own accord.

“You look
horrified, dude. Don’t stress, I don’t think He’s arbitrary either.” David
chuckles and then continues. “I got a lot of this information from a gay
Christian site online. You should check it out.” He scribbles the website
address on my daily outline.

Then David
shuffles his papers around and pulls out a stapled packet that suggests a
non-traditional Christian view of homosexuality—he hands it to me and as I scan
it, I realize we’ve already referred to it many times in the course of our
discussions.

“See, it’s like
this: Jesus Christ died on the cross for us—to set us free from the old laws.
Up until then, we were total prisoners of those rules.”

“But that doesn’t
mean there are
no rules
for us
anymore, right?”

“No, of course
not. We can’t go around sinning right and left, but we’ve
gotta
focus on the one big rule that Christ set forth—love your neighbor as
yourself. And if we focus everything we
do on that, we’ll be doing what Jesus wants of us.” He stops and sips his
water, but I can’t miss the glazed-over look in his eyes that reveals his deep
commitment to this message. “For example, you can’t exactly murder a dude if
you’re loving him as you love yourself, now, can
ya
?”
He straightens his shoulders, confident with his position on this topic.

I envy his peace of mind. “No, I guess you
can’t.”

“And if you’re
loving somebody like you love yourself, you won’t be mad jealous of all the
shit he’s got, yeah? Get the picture?”

“I think I do.” I
suck down a quick sip of water, too, and then wait for him to tell me more. I
feel like a baby bird waiting to be fed.

“God’s rules have
purposes
behind them. And these rules
need to be specific to the exact situation. His rules aren’t
one size fits all
. Jesus even said that
God cares more about the principles behind rules than the specific rules
themselves.

“Now, you told me
about how
Laz
acted today in the locker room. And you
know it was wrong, because he was not showing compassion—you know, not loving
you as he loves himself. And even though, on some level, he
thinks
he was acting in accordance with
God’s law as he understands it—
cuz
homosexuality is
wrong in his perspective—we both know that he was not following the spirit of
God’s law. The God I love and believe in
would not encourage such behavior—it wouldn’t make sense.” David reaches across
the table and grasps my hand. The predictable goose bumps cover the skin of my
arm. “God is
not
arbitrary. He
doesn’t make rules for the simple purpose of making us follow them. We’re not
his trained ponies that need to prove something by turning in circles or
jumping over orange cones at His whim. There are reasons, you know,
purposes
, behind his rules.”

“And, what would
be his purpose in forbidding same-sex love if not to see very arbitrarily if
certain ones of us can pass the test of denying ourselves something He
programmed us to want?” It’s more or less a rhetorical question, but the fact
that I ask it shows I’m getting this.

“He has no
purpose in doing that, that I can see. I mean, there are
three
beings in our God—so He’s into relationships, Tony. And we’re
designed to be in relationships, just like He is—with Him and with a lifetime
partner
.
” David’s pale cheeks are now
flushed with color, in the way of a person who is touched with passion and
conviction. I can tell he truly believes what he is saying by the way he’s
clutching my hand, as tightly as I clutch my tennis racket in a match.

And maybe it’s
not a news flash at this point, but I feel things for David Gandy that I’ve never
felt for another person before. Profound, intense, intimate feelings of
friendship, sure—but I’m honest with myself and I admit there’s also a lot of
attraction.

When David leans
over and kisses me—at first just a brushing of his lips against mine, but soon
blossoming into a full passionate, and mutual, exploration—for a moment I truly
believe that there’s no reason at all God would forbid something so wonderful.

By kissing David,
I’d acted on my homosexual tendencies—given in to my “objective disorder.” I’d
slid recklessly down a slippery slope, barreling forward in the direction of
intrinsic moral evil. What’s more, I’d enjoyed it very, very much.

And tonight, it
appears that I have a date.

What started as a
mere get-together with my accepting new friends has morphed into much more.
Since that Thursday afternoon meeting of our lips, everything has changed
between David and me. There’s friction and a flirting added to our friendship,
and I feel a sort of new hope for the future.

But it’s a
complicated blend of feelings I hold for David Gandy. There’s certainly a sense
of sincere appreciation, as he’s been my safety net when I needed one. And I
also feel a deep connection with God when I’m with him. For a long time, and
still now, even, he’s been like a lifeline that dangles from Jesus’ robes—all I
have to do is hold on and I’m still in close to God. And then there’s respect
for David’s intelligence, in general, as well as his passion for, and knowledge
of, the Bible.

But I’d be lying
if I didn’t admit the other part—the elephant in the room part.

Not only does
David appeal to me intellectually and spiritually, but I’m also seriously
attracted to David physically and…and I’m
gonna
say it—sexually.
This attraction starts with the very top of his head—his hair is long and silky
and I want to know what it would feel like sliding between my fingers. And his
body—tall and lean, not muscle bound like I thought I’d be into—dressed in
skinny jeans and all of those dark layers. And his face—a perfect face if you
ask me—all angular and fine-boned, with a slightly pointed chin and slim lips
that twist a bit to one side when he studies me closely. In all honesty, I
can’t even look at him without feeling an almost-electric zing of attraction.

Yup. I have it
bad.

In fact, I didn’t
know I was even capable of having it this bad.

And when he
arrives at my front door to pick me up to go see a magic show that I’m not even
interested in—respectfully coming into my house to say hello to my tongue-tied
parents, and then opening the door to his truck for me—I’m beyond words, for
one thing, and rational thought, for another. It isn’t close to the feeling I
had with Elizabeth on our date—you know, what the heck do I say to this girl? I
have so much going on in my head—so much I want to express—that I don’t know
where to start. And then there’s the not-so-minor detail that I haven’t yet
decided if what I’m doing right now is beautiful or sinful.

When we’re in his
truck on the way to the theater, David reaches across the console to touch my
knee. I jolt away. “Relax, dude. Don’t overthink it.”

“Overthink
what
?” My voice is snippy and defensive.

David laughs a
little bit, but doesn’t take his eyes off the road to look at me. “Don’t
overthink the significance of our first date.”

“What makes you so
sure that this is a date?” I’m wound tighter than a spring.

“The fact that I
picked you up and met your folks, and that I paid for your ticket, and I’m
going to buy you popcorn, if you want it, when we get to the theater, and that
I’m also going to drive you home and kiss you goodnight.” David finally pulls
his piercing eyes from the road in front of us, and glances over at me for a
split second. “
That’s
how I
know
it’s our first date.”

I don’t say
another word until we’re at the
Blackhall
Theater,
where David proceeds to buy me buttered popcorn and a Coke. I have no strength
to argue with him, as he’s offering me everything I want.

The six of us
have an awesome time at the magic show—Lenny and I whisper constantly
throughout the show, sharing our perspectives on how The Amazing Ralph pulled
off his tricks—and an even better time at Friendly’s where we go afterwards to
indulge in ice cream sundaes. The six of us squeeze into a booth for
four—Sarah, Beth and Lenny on one side, Cameron, David, and I opposite them—and
we joke around about everything from Sarah’s recent makeover at Makeup Wagon in
the middle of the shopping mall to the upcoming visit of Lenny’s Great Uncle
Arthur who has a major problem with excess digestive gas. After the chatting
dies down, though, I’m left with a thought, and I’m a little bit freaked out
because I’m actually planning to say it aloud.

“I came here
alone a few weeks ago, after I went on a super unsuccessful first date with a
girl from my old church youth group. Had a strawberry
Fribble
.”

My five friends
gawk at me, as I’ve never been at all open with any of them, with the exception
of David, about personal stuff. Still, though, even David appears taken aback
by my revelation, as Anthony Duck-Young Del
Vecchio
is not one to spill his thoughts or feelings.

And I don’t really pour out my heart, but I
crack open the door to it, and I must admit I’m as surprised at myself as my
new friends are. After all, hadn’t my bosom buddies of more than a decade, the
Our Way kids, dumped me flat, as if I’m a worthless waste of breath if I don’t
live the way they think is right?

The light touch
of David’s fingertips to my forearm whisks me back to Friendly’s.

I add to my
previous remark. “I want you guys to know that a lot has changed since then.
And lots of stuff is still changing. But I’m…I’m glad I’m here.”

Nobody in our
jam-packed booth says anything for about a thirty seconds, a silence that seems
to last forever. The five of them just stare at me, and then at the sloppy
endings of our ice cream sundaes, and then back at me. David’s fingertips stay
on my arm, brushing back and forth every now and again, as if to remind me that
I’m not alone.

“It’s their loss,
Del
Vecchio
.” Lenny finally says. I’m beginning to
notice, he’s a quiet guy, but he doesn’t mince words on the rare occasions that
he chooses to speak up. “Which makes it our gain, I guess.”

Sarah leans over
the table, risking the possibility of getting a mighty sticky forearm, to grasp
my hand. “You’re all ours now—
mwahaha
!” She giggles evilly.

“We talked about
you when your weren’t around, just so you know.” Beth studies me boldly, and
then pulls her long blonde hair over to one side of her collar. “And we decided
that we’re
gonna
keep you, Anthony. Um… no going back
to the Zealot Zone. Or, you know, the awe-scoff lunch table.”

“The Our Way gang
is really nothing but another clique here at the high school. And I, for one,
never thought I’d get to know
any
of
you,” Cam has a humorous manner, even when he’s totally being serious. “Those
kids should open their blessed eyes and notice that there are other people in
the school, instead of keeping to themselves, all cloistered away like a bunch
of nuns. It’s good that you’re broadening your horizons, Anthony.”

Everything feels
right in my world at that moment.

Then David leans
over and whispers softly into my ear, “I
wanna
drive
ya
home now, dude.”

I have a feeling
that I know what is going to come next, and I’m admittedly more psyched-up than
nervous.

Hello Caution,
meet Wind. And Wind, this, over here, is Caution. Why don’t you fellas shake
hands and say hi? Now Wind, get ready to catch Caution because I’m throwing him
your way.

I let myself fall
into the magic and the danger and the come-what-may feelings. Parked outside in my driveway in his shiny
black truck, I literally give myself up into David’s hands. At this point,
we’ve been making out for a quarter of an hour, give or take. I’ve tasted the
sweetness of his lips, engaged in swordplay with his tongue, and nuzzled the
skin of his face. I’ve breathed in his breath, and spoken his name in a husky
tone. I’ve heard the sounds of our intimacy—the soft moans and whimpers that
come with wanting more. Which sounds like the text of a romance novel, at least
from what I’ve heard, but it’s all true.

I want more.

I want it all.
Yet a little part of me
still
wants
to scream, “Stop it! This is wrong! We’re
gonna
be
condemned!”

But being adept
at pushing things out of my mind, I take all my thoughts and feelings and
worries and shove at them hard. They only dig in their heels slightly before
sliding over the edge of my consciousness, and I lean in to David again, and
murmur, “Kiss me more.”