Uncross My Heart (22 page)

“It’s just another nail in our collective coffin. It will hit the papers, ruin him further, and drag down seminaries and religion and God.”

“Religion demands a perfection mankind can never live up to.

Like a beach ball held too long under water, our humanness pops up in astounding ways.”

“Your dad going to be okay?” He seemed to think there was nothing more to be said about Hightower’s fate.

“I think so.”

“Did you get together with Vivienne Wilde?”

“That’s over.”

“That’s what
she
said.”

“You’re talking to her? She won’t talk to me but she talks to you? Are you friends?”

“I’m a priest. People talk to priests.”

“I’m a priest.”

“No, you’re a beach ball.” He grinned at me and chuckled as I wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at him, hitting him in the chest as he tried to duck.

“What did she say?” I pressed him.

“She spoke to me in confidence.”

“Dennis.”

“I’m serious.”

“Forget it. I don’t care anyway.” I went back to the papers on my desk.

“Ignoring her won’t make the feelings go away.”

“When I think of her, I can’t think of anything else, and I
must
think of other things or I will simply go mad.”

In the serious tone he used when giving priestly advice, Dennis said, “You’re at Frost’s fork in the road in the yellow wood. The roads diverge…and you can’t take them both.”

I ripped open a letter as I walked across campus Wednesday morning. It was another thank-you and update from Angela about baby Maria Estrella and how well she was doing. Written in Angela’s careful cursive style, the last two sentences said,
Rev. Westbrooke, I
have prayed God to do something very special for you since you did
something special for me and my baby. Not that God would listen to me
above you, but then I did not think you would ask for yourself
. I smiled at the simplicity of the thought and tucked the card away.

I climbed into the front seat of the car, and Ketch hopped in beside me. I’d bathed him last Saturday, and even though it was only midweek he was starting to emit that doggie smell.

“Let’s get ourselves a really good cup of coffee and maybe a donut before class, whataya say?” Ketch licked his lips, no doubt already envisioning sugary bread bites coming his way.

We headed down a side street near the campus and past the shops bustling with a pre-lunch crowd. Suddenly Ketch began to whine. I ignored him, but the whining grew louder.

“I thought I saw you go before we got in the car. There’s no place around here.” I slowed to look for a tree. He barked twice. “Okay, okay.

Hold it. I’ll park.” I whipped into an open space and he was over the top of the car and out of it before I could shout his name. I hurried after him and suddenly there she was, her golden hair with the orange glow blowing in the wind and Ketch with his paws up on her accepting a large hug. She looked over the top of his big furry body and made eye contact with me and my heart stopped.

Thank God my dog is smarter than I am.
He’d spotted her at Cavendar’s, the little deli near campus, the place we’d agreed to meet and then never had.

Ketch licked her face and she pulled back and laughed.

“How have you been?” I asked.

“Busy. How’s your dad?”

“Okay. I’m completely unable to focus on anything because all I can think about is you. Viv, I have to see you.”

“Here I am.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“I want you to take your clothes off,” I said flatly, and grinned at her, reminding her of her first contact with me. “We’re two consenting adults, right?” She actually blushed and ducked her head, suppressing a chuckle. I moved closer to her. “I want to make love to you. And in my current state I would do it right here on the sidewalk.”

“That sounds very interesting, Reverend. But when the lovemaking is over there’s still your punitive church, God, and genetic father to contend with, and I’m not—”

“Wrong. I’ve put that aside. You are all I—”

“In a moment of lust. But later, we would both live with all those ghosts—holy and otherwise.”

“What can I possibly do to convince you I’ve changed, or am willing to change, or in the process of changing?” I spun on one heel and did a complete 360 like an angsting teenager.

“That’s a good question. I don’t know,” she said softly. “I guess it’s a matter of trust. I don’t trust that you can change at this point.”

“Implying I’m an old dog? What can I do? Name it.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, and seemed to really be thinking about that idea, and I noticed the fellow wiping down the bar area watching us with a smirk.

“While you’re thinking, could Ketch and I have coffee with you?”She paused and I held my breath. “Okay, sure. Coffee would be fine.”

I leapt ahead of her like some knight in shining armor and personally placed her order with the bartender, who gave me a wink, and I realized he was gay.

We sat down on the patio and her hand trailed across Ketch’s fur and he fell at her feet. Her eyes trailed across my soul in the same way and I too fell. “You want me, I can see it,” I breathed.

The silence was filled with traffic sounds and the buzz of conversations around us and several pigeons fluttering past, their wings whipping the air.

“Yes, I do want you in a very primal way. But you’re dangerous. I realized that night with your father that you have the power to hurt me, which shows I care too much about you. I would have to want you in my soul, not just in my bed. And I guard my soul.”

“Ironic that I, a woman in the business of saving souls, have found someone who guards hers from me.”

My remarks seemed to make her more withdrawn and shy. “It would take some time for me to trust you.”

“Come back to my farm with me. Take all the time you need.”

“I just told you—”

“For dinner, that’s all. I give you my word I won’t touch you. If you want something more from me, you’ll have to let me know. We’ll start over. If anyone pulls up in the driveway while you’re there, I’ll simply kill them.”

“Maybe—”

“Tomorrow night. Please.” I gave her a teenage grin. “My place, six p.m.…or earlier.”

“And what do I bring?”

“You. Just you.” I sighed.

She didn’t answer but downed the last of her coffee and patted Ketch before giving me a long, hard look, no doubt assessing me for signs of change, then walked off. I watched her until she drove away.

* * *

I headed back to campus ebullient and praising my tracker dog, Ketch. “I owe you everything. You found her. I got to talk to her because of you. Good job, great job.” Ketch didn’t respond to my pats and hugs and thank yous, seemingly bored with my personal love life.

The day had never seemed so bright, so happy, so full of possibilities. I parked and leapt over the car door, along with Ketch, not even bothering to open it as Robbie, the Unitarian kid, walked by.

“Little spring in your step there, Rev, you must be high on life.

Love will do that to you,” he said knowingly.

“And I assume you’re cognizant of that because you have a lady in your life?”

“I’m trying to, but she won’t go out with me.”

I was feeling happy enough that I was willing to take five minutes with a teenage boy and hear his woes.

“Why not? You’re smart and handsome and personable.”

“Thanks, but she ignores me.” As we walked together across campus he poured out his heart—telling me how beautiful she was, how he got paralyzed and tongue-tied whenever he saw her—and I could definitely relate. “Got any suggestions on how to approach her?”

“I think honesty and sincerity are the two things women like, and a sense of humor. Just say, Mary, I really—”

“Sally. Her name’s Sally.”

Suddenly the image of my student came into my head. “Sally Jackson? Blond?”

“Yeah, with curly hair and great build. So what do you think?”

Images of Sally intercepting me on campus flashed before me. I carefully phrased my reply. “I think a girl would be crazy not to go out with you, Robbie. Give it another try, and if it doesn’t work out, there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

Suddenly Robbie spotted her up ahead and gave me a quick thanks as he ran to greet her. She stopped to talk to him but was looking over his left shoulder at me, and I felt she wanted to bolt and catch up with me. I headed in the opposite direction, pretending I hadn’t seen her.

Robbie needed his shot at winning over his first draft pick, although somehow I felt Sally had already chosen her team.

* * *

I hurried to class on fire about life in general in a way I hadn’t been in ages. I literally beamed at my students as they came through the doorway, and I could see most of them were uncertain what my ebullience meant. Even Roger Thurgood, seated in the back row, didn’t concern me. I had tomorrow night with Viv to look forward to, and nothing could ruin my day.

As the class took their seats, I explained that this was their lucky day because I was going to be lecturing on the cultural differences in sexuality and they would not be required to take notes—only listen and think.

I held up a copy of
Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe
by Boswell as one of my references for the lecture and directed them to a reproduction of seventh-century art in which third-century Christian soldiers Saint Sergius and Saint Bacchus appear to be joined by Christ in holy matrimony. “They fought together, died together, and went to heaven together—or so the artwork tells us,” I said.

The boys in the class made eye contact with each other and smirked, but I pressed on. “That’s hard to believe, isn’t it? Particularly in light of our own military stance about gays—they compromise security, they weaken morale, don’t ask, don’t tell. And yet, there were warrior societies more ferocious due to their homosexual liaisons.

Centuries earlier Plutarch said that the most warlike men—Boeotians, Spartans, Cretans—were commonly homosexual and often the biggest heroes. We have copies of marriage ceremonies between men—saints, warriors. A man could form a marriage with another man by officially declaring him a brother.”

Roger Thurgood was twisting like soap on a rope, knotting up and unwinding and most likely trying not to shout something.

“By 1150 a.d. or thereabouts,” I continued, “Dante’s writing placed homosexuals or sodomites at the top of the purgatory ladder and certainly at the beachhead of hell. The topic was hot again. Same-sex couples were falling out of favor. What happened? How did same-sex love become taboo?”

“The church stepped in.” A young man held up his hand as he spoke.

“In some instances, and in others the church performed the unions and even printed the ceremonies in their religious texts,” I replied. “So what happened?”

“People came to their senses and recognized it was wrong,” an older woman stated.

“Some people took that stance, and others didn’t care. What happened?” I reiterated, and moved through the room looking into their eyes as each student struggled to come up with an answer. “Time,” I shouted. “Time is what happened. Remember, these warriors were fighting in the third century and Dante wrote in the twelfth century.

Over centuries right becomes wrong and vice versa. In one century it’s illicit to show your ankle. In another it’s okay to wear a G-string on the beach. In one century you can have a hundred wives and in another only one. Which means right and wrong are subjective, cultural, and ever changing.”

“The Bible is the source of right and wrong now and forever more.” The thundering words came from Roger Thurgood III, who had contained himself as long as was possible.

“As Christians, we believe that. Muslims believe something else. Jews believe something else. Hindus believe something else. That makes many of us uncomfortable. Certainty is what we all seek.”

“Would you hire a homosexual to teach your children?” Thurgood asked in a non sequitur he’d obviously been harboring for several minutes.

“I wouldn’t hire anyone merely because of their sexual preference. I would hire them because of their skills, their integrity, and their trustworthiness.” The room took on a hum as if the wiring were shorting out and if I touched the desk I might be electrocuted.

“Would you hire a homosexual teacher because you are one…of the sympathizers?”

“My former answer covers that, I think.” I nodded my thanks as the bell rang and shouted over the hubbub that class would resume next week. They dispersed except for Sally, who hung back and waited for me. “This class is too cool,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“You mind if I ask if you’re seeing anyone. You know, dating?” she asked shyly.

“Sorry, you’ve exceeded your question quota.” I smiled and exited, striding toward my office and counting how many more sessions were in this semester and what that might mean in the way of innuendo from Sally and harassment from Roger.
I should have stuck him through with
the damned letter opener,
I thought.

I swung the door open to my office and Dennis fell in behind me, asking if I wanted to have lunch. I flipped on the lights and saw the giant scrawled words on the wall:
Rev. Dyke.

Damn him
, I thought, alarmed by the violation of my space and my psyche.

“His grandfather is interim chancellor, you know, so reporting him won’t help,” Dennis said quietly.

“I’m going to do more than that.”

As Dennis complained and quizzed me, I locked my office and dialed the dean’s office on my cell phone, asking his secretary to pull up Roger Thurgood’s class schedule. According to the dean’s assistant, Roger was in study hall. I thanked her, hung up, and demanded that Dennis go get Roger and tell him his grandfather wanted to see him.

“But he doesn’t.”

“He will,” I said.

Twenty minutes later I blew past Eleonor and grabbed the door handle to the chancellor’s office.

“Excuse me, apparently I’ve gone invisible,” she exclaimed indignantly as I threw his door open and entered unannounced. His look of shock instantly changed to anger at my arrival without an appointment.