Inclination (20 page)

Father Joseph
comes to my first home tennis match. Seeing him there as he watches
Laz
and I play, completely throws me off, to be honest. It
doesn’t help that David, who has apparently lost his distaste for the game of
tennis, is pressed up against the court’s chain link fence, dressed in layers
of
emo
black and sporting the new addition of a tiny
diamond stud in his nose, is being very
vocally
supportive
of his sort-of boyfriend. Major violation of tennis etiquette,
not that David gives a hoot. I fight the urge to tell both David and Father
Joseph to get lost. And I struggle with my opponent who I should have beaten
easily and soundly.

A few guys are at
home, sick with a nasty stomach virus that has swept both the girls and boys
tennis teams, so I’m paired with
Laz
in doubles. That
doesn’t go well either.
Laz
and I haven’t interacted
once since the afternoon he gifted me with that severe
wedgie
,
and I haven’t missed him too much—or maybe it’s that I’m simply relieved to be
off his bullying radar. This
afternoon’s match is a testament to Coach Wesley’s recurrent “doubles partners
need to communicate” pep talk, a speech our coach has long been drilling into
our brains.
Laz
and I don’t offer forgiveness for
mistakes or encouragement for excellent shots, our court positions are all
wrong—to sum it up we totally lose sight of the fact that we’re in this battle
together. We hand our opponents, who aren’t nearly as strong as us technically,
points and then games and then sets and finally the match. Coach is at first
shocked and then appalled, which was closely followed by livid (if I cared
anymore, I’d say that was a good SAT word), and when everybody else is packing
up to leave,
Laz
and I are running disciplinary
lengths of the adjacent football field.

To top it off,
both David and Father Joseph wait around for us to finish our laps, and they
stand by patiently—
and very together
—as
Coach Wesley rants and raves and threatens our seed rankings.

“I wish I could
say ‘great match’ to you boys, but I’ve seen both of you play much better,”
Father Joseph says as he steps up beside us. He can be counted on for honesty,
but then he
is
a priest.

“Well, yeah. I
guess my head wasn’t in the game,” I offer weakly.

Laz
stares at the ground and says
nothing.

“I chatted with David
as we watched you play. I’m glad, Anthony, that you and he have become friends.
I miss having David and his family at St. Mark’s, just like I miss you and your
family.” Father Joseph looks at me directly and I feel
shamed
,
like I’ve been stripped naked in public. “It certainly is quieter in Mass
without the four little Del
Vecchio
girls.”

I blush and nod
like always, and then I shrug, certain that one of the three is the appropriate
response.
Whatever.

“In any case,
Rinaldo
and I have been meeting quite frequently to discuss
a private matter, but he has confided in me some disturbing information about
the conduct of certain boys at school.” Father Joseph turns toward
Laz
.

Because I never
confided this in him, David has no clue about the second full week of
Laz’s
“locker room antics”, and so he seems confused, but
tries to hide it with his cool attitude.

“I think it is
time that we sit down for a large group discussion.
Rinaldo
and his mother,
Laz
, you and your parents, and
Anthony, you and your parents. I want this rupture in our church family to be
repaired.” The priest’s eyes travel from me to
Laz
,
and then back again. Apparently David isn’t a major factor here any longer.
“Anthony, I want your family to return to St. Mark’s.”

“Father, with all
due respect, none of the…
the controversy
…was
started by me. All I have done is be myself.” Sometimes I wonder at my own
fortitude and this is one of those times. “I think it’s okay if you keep on
meeting with
Rinaldo
, but honestly, he’s already
changed his attitude and I consider him to be on my side in this whole thing.”

David’s pointy
chin drops. I clearly have some explaining to do.

“And I think it
might be a good idea for you to have a chat with
Laz
and his folks, because his parents won’t let him hang around with me if I keep
on ‘being gay’.” I emphasized my words with air quotes, because they’re pretty
effective when Elizabeth uses them. “But
I
don’t need to sit down and explain myself…and my sexuality… to all of
those people. It has nothing to do with either one of those guys or their
parents.” When I finish my sentence there’s a bone-chilling silence. All three
of them stare at me, as if Anthony Duck-Young Del
Vecchio
has somehow moved a mountain to expose a mustard seed.

Father Joseph,
though, must have realized what I said was right. “I see your point, and I
believe I will get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair later on tonight.”
Laz
turns a shade of purple I’ve never seen before. “But
Anthony, please remember, the door to St. Mark’s Church is always open to you.
I can counsel you on how to deal with your feelings in a manner that will
glorify God.”

His words might
as well have been a very sharp knife, as they sliced easily into my heart. I
now know the truth of many Christian denominations—I can’t be married and
worship openly with my husband, and maybe even with my kids, in a church that
doesn’t recognize and bless same-sex marriages. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank
you, Father.”

David smirks and
Father Joseph doesn’t miss it. “Our doors are always open to you, as well,
David.”

I can tell that
David wants to tell the priest, very politely, of course, exactly where he can
go, but instead he simply says, “My family is very happy worshipping at
Journeys Worship Center, but thanks for thinking of us.” He stares at me, as if
expecting me to inform Father Joseph that the Del
Vecchios
have decided to officially join Journeys, too. But our family decision isn’t
yet final, so I don’t say a word. The momentary silence is deafening.

“Very well, then.
Lazarus, I can give you a ride home. And Anthony….”

I take in the
expression in Father Joseph’s soft blue eyes, and I note that there’s no anger
or irritation in them, but neither is there resignation. “Yes, Father?”

“I will also be
in touch with your parents. It is essential that you all do not allow hurt and
angry feelings to cut you off from
your
church.”

“That’s fine.”

And then Father
Joseph and
Laz
turn and head for the parking lot
while I await my figurative spanking from David. Which I incidentally fully
deserve.

“What did
Laz
do to
ya
?” His face had
turned red a while ago and he appears to be sweating. “And why didn’t you tell
me? Huh?” He’s hurt and angry and I don’t really blame him.

I hesitate for a
minute, while I consider my answer. When the answer comes, it is definitely not
a direct one. “Sometimes talking about things makes them seem real.”

“Bullying, or
whatever he did to you, is very real, Tony.”

“I know—you’re
right,” I say, and crumple to the ground, patting the place beside me. As soon
as David sits down, I proceed to blurt out a complete list of
Laz’s
locker room “pranks” and how
Rinaldo
not so mysteriously put a stop to them. He listens intently.

“You
shoulda
told me, dude.” His face is no longer red and
angry, in fact, it is now quite unreadable. “Thought us two were getting pretty
close, you know?” David reaches over to take my hand and I find myself looking
around to make sure nobody’s close enough to see his gesture. Harshly, I shake
his fingers from mine and tell him pointedly, “Don’t touch me, David! Not here—
not in public!”

The pain I see on
his face can’t be missed; his lips quiver and then twist to the side in a
wounded grimace. In fact, I’ve never before seen David react to anything this
obviously. It’s as if something suddenly snaps inside him and he slams a door
on me. His expression hardens as he hops to his feet, and then he pivots in the
direction of the parking lot, “I’m outta here.”

I get up and walk
toward my car, about ten awkward paces behind him. My heart is frozen with a
new sort of panic. And I know I’ve gone too far.

The next day at
school, David is way too quiet in lunch period—no sarcasm, no harmlessly
inappropriate wit, no outrageous stories recounting the Del
Vecchio
family’s visit to Journeys Worship Center. And no flirting, whatsoever. It’s like we’re strangers.

I take the blame
for his distant and aloof behavior. After all, it
is
my fault. By pulling my hand from his like he had a disease and
snapping at him yesterday after the tennis match, I proved I was ashamed of our
relationship, one time too many.

And when I see
him this cold and distant, even beyond the coldness of the at-school-David I
knew before we were friends, I understand the meaning of the term
bitter regret
. Everything we’ve built
together, as friends and more, is crashing down around my feet because I can’t
make up my mind if a virtuous gay Christian can exist. I haven’t treated David
right—I haven’t valued his compassion or his affection. I’ve honestly taken him
for granted. This guy means more to me than anyone outside of my family, and
judging by the way he’s acting now, I’m convinced he’s had enough of my
uncertainty.

The very second I
realize I’ve lost him is the same second I become sure of one thing. And that
is how much I want and even need David Gandy in my life.

In the hall after
lunch period, I grab him by the arm and pull him toward the hallway in front of
the boys’ room. I don’t even check around us to see who’s looking. “David, talk
to me a second.”

He brushes my
hand from his arm with equal harshness to how I’d yanked my hand from his
yesterday, and he stares past me with glassy eyes, like he’s bored. “What do
you want?” I haven’t seen this side of him in a long time now. No, I can
honestly say I’ve never seen this facet of David.

“Can we talk?
After tennis practice?”

David pretends
not to hear me. He tugs a black elastic off of his wrist and pulls his hair
back into a low ponytail, as if I’m not there.

“Look, I’m sorry.
You’ve done so much for me and I haven’t… I haven’t showed you how I feel for
you.” I realize how confused David must be with my hot and cold behavior. I’m
confused myself.

He looks at me
squarely, his blue eyes shining. “And how is it that you
feel
, Del
Vecchio
? Huh? Maybe it’s time
to fill
me
in.”

This is extremely
hard for me to do, especially in public, but I can’t lose David. I’m fairly
certain he’s worth the effort as well as the awkwardness. “I… I feel like I
want to be your….”

“Spit it out
dude.” No change of expression—a cross between bored and all-business, with the
added bonus of sparkling, pissed-off eyes.

I make a serious
effort
not
to lower the volume of my
voice. “I was hoping that we could be…like, boyfriends.”

David possesses
an excellent poker face. I still can’t
tell how he’s feeling. “
Like
boyfriends?”

Again, I fight
not to lower my voice. “No. Boyfriends, period. I want us to be boyfriends.” I
can feel my cheeks burning, but I hold his gaze. This is hard for me, but I
need to do it. I have too much to lose here.

“Boyfriends hold
hands. Like, not everywhere they go in a total PDA way, but once in a while.”

“I know.” I
so
hope I can handle that.

“Here’s the big
one, Tony. Boyfriends don’t think they’re sinning when they’re together—at
least not the kind of boyfriend
I
want.”

David’s right—and
this part is huge. “I guess I think it’s okay with God… how we feel for each
other. And, um… maybe I didn’t realize that till…like, today.” I’m trying to be
honest, but I’m trying harder to hang on to him. Maybe it’s possible that I’d
say
anything
to keep him right now,
because I’m freaking out at the thought of losing my one dependable connection
to God.

David very
obviously looks me up and down, clearly sizing me up. “You mean that, dude?”

I nod, but it’s
partly a lie. “I really think I do.”

His brittle expression
softens, and then he fake-punches me on my bicep, breaking the tension a little
bit more. “Okay, then. Come over after tennis and we can talk more about this.”

Intense relief
causes my forehead to break out in a cold sweat because David buys it. He
believes that I’m sincere when I say I’m fine with being a gay Christian. I nod
again. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

I watch as David
walks away, not with his usual cocky saunter, but with what more closely
resembles Cam’s grandmother’s speed walking. I think maybe I’ve thrown him off
his coolness game.

I sigh loudly and
give in to the urge to glance all around me. I don’t think anyone heard our
conversation.

There are no cars
other than David’s black Honda truck in the Gandy’s driveway, which makes me
pretty sure that we’ll be alone. I park and jump out of my car, then I run up
the walkway to the front door. There’s nothing cool and collected about
me—sweating profusely, I’m like the polar opposite of a guy on an Axe deodorant
commercial. But I’m dying to see him, to make sure everything’s okay between
us.

This is very
unlike you, Anthony. Why are you acting impulsive like this?

David answers the
door after three short knocks, and I wonder what took him so long. “David!” I pull him into my arms on the
doorstep.

He hugs me
briefly and then pushes me back with purpose. “Aren’t you worried that somebody
from Wedgewood High School will see us all over each other at my front door?”
His voice is soft but the tone is bitter—he’s testing me.

He knows I still
have doubts.

“I…I don’t care
right now.”

“Right now?” He
repeats my words, and I think, I just can’t say or do the right thing with this
guy.

“Can I come in?”

“Be my guest.”
More sarcasm.

As soon as we’re
in the living room, I say, “I’m sorry for yesterday at the field. I wish I held
your hand, but I was confused. You know,
with Father Joseph and
Laz
…and I made a mistake.”

“You screwed up,
that’s for sure.” But with raised eyebrows, he nods slowly, in the way of a
person accepting what is nearly impossible to believe, and then he cautiously
asks, “
Wanna
come up to my room and listen to some
tunes?”

“Yeah, I do. More
than anything.” I follow him up the stairs wishing he’d move faster. And when
we get to his bedroom, I close the door and lock it. Part of me wonders what
the heck I’m doing, but I can’t fight the desperation any longer.

“
Wh
-what are…why did you lock.…” I don’t let him finish
whatever it is he’s planning to ask me, and I don’t even give him time to start
the music. In fact, I don’t even allow myself time to think this through—I’m
already on top of him, pulling his body against mine, still trying to assure
myself he’s really here with me.

And then
something comes over me and I start grinding my hips into his as we stand in
the middle of his bedroom. He pulls back a little bit, but I drape one arm
around his shoulder and hold his backside firmly with the other. “Kiss me.” My
voice is deep and husky and demanding. I’m acting reckless and I know it and
it’s like I can’t stop myself.

David leans down
quickly and complies. His eyes are closed. I’m incredibly relieved by his
action and I don’t hold back, kissing him with an open mouth.

This kiss proves
he’s still into me, doesn’t it?

But a kiss isn’t
enough. The fact is—and I don’t claim to understand why—that I’m still
incredibly scared. Not so much scared of what I’m about to do here in David’s
bedroom, but scared I’ve already lost him. I haven’t treated him right and I
regret it—bitterly. With a firm grip, I take his hand in mine and lead him to
the bed.

“Lie down,
David.” I don’t know this Anthony Duck-Young Del
Vecchio
.
He is rash and impulsive and needy.

David stares at
his bed for a moment, like he doesn’t know what it is or what it’s used for,
but then he climbs on.

I join him
without hesitation, dropping onto my back, and then I pull him down beside me.
“Face me.” It sounds like a command. I have no idea what I’m doing here, but
yet, I press on.

Again, after a
brief hesitation, he does as I ask.

Feeling frantic
and possessive and terrified along with other emotions I have no words for, I
stretch my arms around him and soon we’re back to kissing. And if I thought we
made out passionately before, well, I was wrong, because this time is
different—it’s frenzied even. This time I’m initiating, and David, taken aback
by my enthusiasm, is feeding my fervor with tiny whimpers and moans. I lean up
and drag off my T-shirt with one hand, and then I roughly pull his shirt over
his head. When I press my bare chest against his, we both groan. The feeling of
all this skin on skin is so intense.

“David….” I push
him back so he’s again flat on the bed. I want nothing more than to touch his
smooth skin, to assure myself he’s really here with me and that I haven’t lost
him. Even though my fingers are trembling, I do. As a matter of fact, I do
everything I can think of to tease his chest with my fingertips, and then with
my lips, in my effort to excite him so that he can’t deny that he wants me.
Based on the pounding of his heart, I think I’m succeeding. “You’re so
beautiful…just perfect,” I tell him, and I mean it.

David’s hands are
shaking even worse than mine, but within a couple of minutes they find their
way to my bare skin, as well. And when David traces the contours of my chest
with his fingers, I can almost feel the agitation in his touch. But instead of
pulling away, he raises his mouth to mine and we start making out again. My
head is flooded with relief, which is strong enough to wash away
most
of the inner knowledge that this
isn’t what I truly want to do.

I haven’t lost
David! He still cares! He wants me too!

It doesn’t take
long until the touching and the kissing leaves both of breathless.

But I’m feeling
greedy, and it
still
isn’t enough.
“Want to touch you…down there.” I can’t believe my own words, even when I hear
them with my own ears. But I’m forced to believe what I just said because I
make a bold move to get my hand inside his black skinny jeans. And I’m
surprised at how easily my hand slides into the front of his pants. I think
maybe David sucked in his belly a little to make it easier for me. My hand
slips down beneath the soft cotton of his underwear. He jerks backwards when I
reach my target, but soon enough, he’s pushing his way back into my hand. At
this point, I am beyond rational thought and am acting on impulse.

I grab his junk
in my fist and start to do what I’d want done to me if I was in his place. He
moans and then I moan. Doing this to him is all I want—it’s every desire I’ve
tried hard to push out of my mind at night when I’m in bed. It’s awesome and
thrilling and…and everything in my head is a blur and…and I like it this way.

This can’t be
wrong and I love his sounds… and I don’t know what I’d do if he left me… and
maybe be I can forget everything if I lose myself in this…. Yes, this closeness
is all I need because it’s perfect… it is…it really is.

Thoughts and
feelings race around each other in my brain.

If I say it over
and over, maybe I can get past the persistent badgering of my conscience…the
voice that’s telling me this isn’t right…not here…and definitely not now….

I silence that
voice by focusing on what I want, and what I want is
more
—although I’m sure quite what
more
entails. Soon David is squirming and panting and even grasping
for
my
crotch as I bring him closer
to what I’m sure we both want and need and… and I can tell he’s almost there.

Suddenly, his
entire body stiffens—but not in the way I’m trying for.

“No! Anthony—no!”

David never calls
me Anthony.

“Stop it, dude…
just stop!” David turns away from me a little and I start to lose hold of him.
“I care about you tons, but we can’t do this!” He weakly swats at my arm a few
times and so I yank my hand from his pants. Then he flips onto his side to face the wall, and his long hair covers
his face. I feel like a criminal. “We can’t do this,” he repeats, and I notice
that already his voice is calmer, but I think he may be panting softly. I’m
sure
that I’m panting, and the sounds I
make aren’t quite as subtle.

Next thing I know
he’s sitting upright, groping around the bed for his T-shirt and then tugging
it over his head. He pulls it on inside out but I don’t mention his
mistake.

“Here’s your
shirt, dude. Maybe you should put it on.”

I snatch my shirt
from his trembling hands with my
more
trembling
hands, and do as he suggests. I am in a state of shock.

“Listen, we
aren’t doing anything wrong because we’re gay, here, but we’re Christians…and
it’s not the right time for this kind of…like, intimacy.”