CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
That was a great start to the chapter. Sharon has her faults but I’m glad she’s not dead. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
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Riding Trains Together
- Thread starter ChrisGibson
- Start date
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Swann loved white boys. He did. He knew it well enough to scribble it in his journal and then think of scratching it out and burning it. He had foolishly attempted to deny this, but the denial couldn’t even form in his brain. Swann wasn’t a liar and he could never lie to himself. He was not one of those Black people who was deferential to white people, that was not it, or one of those who was belligerent to hide the deference, the fawning that three centuries of slavery still unfortunately brought up in some. Nor did he think white people magical or mystical. It was just the opposite. They had always been around, and they were plentiful, like the wildflowers on the side of the road. If they were exotic it was simply in that they were not him.
The days were lengthening now, just a little. A month ago when he and Sal had come back from their all day outing, it would have been dark and not this grey blue twilight that he would venture out into, visit his friends in time, but not a quick time. Not right now while he lay on his side thinking, and brushed a hand over Sal’s sleeping body. He always slept nude, like Pete had or like, he imagined, every boy he’d ever been with. Often Swann was in amazement over the round hills of his ass, his strong thighs, his long back and powerful shoulders, the grace, like a marble Greek god, with which Sal slept, his mouth a little open, the little tiny ringlets of his wavy almost black hair at the nape of his neck and over his ears.
He loved that skin, so creamy, or sometimes brown like ivory or even utterly and shockingly white. He loved thick curling blond hair, like an angel’s afro or short in a crew cut that faded on the sides of the head. He loved the off brown or nearly brown hair, the darker almost black, the straight nose falling, red lips like jewels, He loved that hair like the hair on Sal’s legs, dark all down his thighs and lovely up his belly, darker on Joe, a hazel colored almost transparent wonder on Pete, long silky hairs up and down his legs almost hidden on his chest, a pale brown shadow on his unshaven face, or the dark hair of Jack, Jack of the powerful limbs who was like Sal and unlike Sal, Jack with the squarer shoulders, the rougher jaw, the delightful ass, the strong thighs of a track runner in the spring and football player in the fall, Jack of the loud laugh and inexhaustible manliness who, every time Swann thought of him, his heart hurt.
He loved a white boy in a football uniform who could bulldoze his way across a football field, and he was embarrassed over how thrilled he was by one driving a pick up truck, wearing a red and black heavy flannel and a ball cap. And he loved a loser or what looked like a loser, long and tall, peering though his glasses while he went on about physics or music or Dungeons and Dragons, and he loved how often the athlete was the loser and none of these boys was just one thing, except for the one thing, his lover in the dark, hungry, powerful in their taking and eager in giving.
Sal yawned and turned over in his sleep. Swann moved over thinking he would wake up, but Sal had the most marvelous way of doing whole turns and re situations while never opening his eyes or bothering to come to consciousness. He yawned as he turned over on his side, and his long leg reached out to hook Swann in. Swann would have allowed him, but he was about to dress. He just lay on his side, looking at Sal on his side, looking at this boy whose hands were folded under his sleeping face, and the round play of muscle in his arm, looking at his high forehead.
Of course, Swann had been with all sorts of men. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. Maybe he should have been much more chaste than he was, but since he was fourteen he’d loved Jack, then Chris, then Pete—the order was fuzzy there—and now there was Sal… but the order was a little fuzzy here too. In all that time, the first three weaving themselves in and out of Swann’s life could never have possibly been the only boys he’d known, especially not in the stretch of college years up until now. He knew what it was like to go to bed with Chuck, so it was not that he didn’t enjoy all men, and it wasn’t that he didn’t love going to bed with other black men. He’d lusted for Chuck. And later there had been Corey, dark as chocolate, but they had not been boyfriends or lovers. Sex with other black men was fun, exhilarating, even intense, but at best it found its way to acquaintanceship, never a grand love, never staying the night. Every encounter with another black man was like a struggle for power, and even Chuck was trying desperately to hold onto the bass in his voice and his masculinity when they fucked.
Once he’d gone out with a trucker in town for the night, all feed cap, plaid and tattoos, and somewhere in their lovemaking, he’d pulled Swann’s mouth to his and kissed him so intensely he nearly sucked out his tongue. He turned around and pled to be penetrated, moaning that he just wanted to be loved by another man all night.
This had never happened with any of his black partners.
Last year in English class he’d read an essay by Gloria Anzaldua, and she talked about the problem of machismo. She said that because Mexican men were continuously devalued and made to serve, because they were on the bottom of things, they were particularly sensitive about their masculinity, and it had resulted in too much masculinity, too much entitlement. Reading between the lines, Swann wondered if this is what he had known with his own, and why every relationship with another Black man seemed like a battle. The sex was never a love he could ease into. The enforced bass voice, the desire to feminize their partner, the endless attempts at snarkiness and sarcasm wearied him in their presence and rolled away from him when those men were gone.
But the truth was, it was just much easier to find a white man. They were all over the place, and what was more, if your grew up as Swann did, Roman Catholic and at the very least upper middle class, in a large house with a pool off of the Lake, and you went from an expensive Catholic school on Sheridan Road into a boarding school, you were going to have almost go out of your way to find another Black lover, and there was no getting past the fact that when they found each other ,the gulf was usually too much. If you were at Sacred Heart or Saint Francis it was because your parents were Baptists who were trying to get you into white society. You couldn’t help seeing yourself in a relationship to the greater world and to white people that Swann didn’t understand. This world of private school and money was his world. He looked different from most of the other kids, and it was different for him, but it was still his world. Talking about the things that white kids talked about was natural to him. It was never a strain. No Black lover ever knew him. The gulf was religious, or cultural, or of class if not money, or it was of all those things.
When Chris or Sal or Jack had not understood him, when he’d been a mystery to Pete it had been over something that was essential him, a difference in personality that in the end they respected. With the lovers who looked like him, it had been the assumption that they would have the same personality, and in the end a resentment that they did not.
Sal had driven back to school laughing more and more over their encounter in the sex shop, and in the end had been so tickled Swann had started laughing too.
“Should we stop for dinner?” Sal asked.
The sun was barely up and Swann said, “Everyone will be on their way to the dining hall. We probably should.”
They ordered from a nice restaurant on the Strip but ate in the car, and Swann remembered being here last time at Thanksgiving, when Chris had picked him up and he and Sal and Joe had all gone to the TGI Fridays. Later that night at Chris’s house, Swann had awaken to see Sal reading about Matthew Shepard, and that had been the moment he had begun to fall in love with him, or at least admit it.
“How can you eat and drive?” Swann, who could barely master driving sans eating wondered.
“Acquired skill,” Sal said through munching.
“Say,” he said as they drove into the darkening west, “You wanna fuck when we get back?”
Sal didn’t look at him when he asked it which meant Sal didn’t feel nearly as casual about it as he sounded.
“I’m just asking cause… we bought the lube and…?”
Swann turned the radio on. Why the hell didn’t he answer?
“I just feel close to you right now is all. I don’t want to wait. I want to just get back to campus and do it. If you wanted we could pull the van to the side of the road.”
“Sal, if you keep on talking I’m going to demand you pull the van to the side of the road. I’d say yes if—”
“I didn’t have onions and beef in my mouth.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. It’s the being arrested part I’m not a big on.”
Having discussed the matter calmly, nothing seemed to change between them, and they drove back to Dwenger Hall, came up the stairs with the rest of their food and went to Room 42. Swann calmly read the note on the door from Jill that said they’d been to dinner but did he think he could come by at around nine, and then they went in the room, Sal lying his food down. But in the room, they placed coats on the floor, undressed fluidly and came together. The sex between them was without preamble or embarrassment, intense but never exactly rough. Sal came in five minutes, and then Swann came soon after and they lay together, smiling, touching the other’s face, tender toward each other’s bodies, joy in their eyes. They had fucked twice and lain together an hour and a half never speaking a word to each other since and no words were needed.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
There was a tap at the door, and Sal stretched out like Superman made a noise that implied waking up, but chose not to. Swann thought of covering him up, but he looked glorious golden under the lights of Room 42, so Swann got up and cracked the door. It was Doug, and so he let him in. Doug gazed on Sal the way he would admire the rest of the art in Swann’s room, and then in similar manner turned back to Swann who remembered Doug had known Sal longer than him, may have even seen him naked before. Swann sat down across from him, reclining against the side of the bed while Doug took the chair. Swann offered his Marlboros and Doug took one while Swann lit it for him.
“We missed you at dinner.”
“I was with Sal.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know where you were. I said I missed you at dinner.”
“I brought you food.”
“You’re a good cousin.”
“It’s a huge burger. And a gyro with fries and spinach pie. We went two places. I didn’t know which you would like.”
“You found a man who can eat as much as you.”
“I am astounded by how much this man can eat.”
Sal made a loud, long noise while he stretched liked a cat and he knuckled his eyes in the semi darkness, curling up and looking directly under him.
“Hey, Douglass,” he said, sleepily, making no movement to cover himself.
“Joe was in class all day, and he’s been doing homework since dinner. He’s got a huge project and I’m completely uselessin helping because I just realized I don’t even know what the hell he studies.”
“Joe is studying to be an engineer,” Sal told him, still sounding mellow and half sleepy. “He’s with me half the time in the science building.”
“How is that I don’t know that about you two?” Doug said. “Am I that shallow?”
“I think,” Sal said, “you’re just used to people being… what’s the word?… being passionate about stuff the way you are. And Joe’s just found something he’s good at. I don’t know if he’s passionate about chemistry.”
“What about you?”
“I’m passionate about…” That is not a word I really believe in,” Sal decided, sitting up.
“I don’t think I’m really passionate about anything. It’s sort of an embarrassing word.”
“You weren’t embarrassed when you applied it to me,” Doug said, exhaling smoke from his nose.
“That’s because nothing embarrasses you,” Sal said.
“Aren’t you passionate about Swann?”
“Leave me the fuck out of this,” Swann said, grinding his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Well, now that’s different.”
“What about running?” Doug said. “Have you ever seen him in a track mete?” Doug asked his cousin.
“Well, now I’m embarrassed because no,” said Swann.
“We just got together over winter break,” Sal said,
He groaned and sprang off the bed. Carelessly he searched for his jeans, pulling them on over his naked body.
“I have to piss. I’ll be back. If you want to discuss anything that’s none of my business,” Sal slipped his tee shirt on, “now would be the time to do it.”
“I think I could look at Sal naked every day and be a better person for it,” Doug said.
Then he said, “Should I sleep with Mike?”
“What?”
“Mike Buren. When he comes, should I sleep with him?”
“Are you at that place?”
“I don’t know, but maybe. But, I don’t know.”
“Have you run it by Joe?”
“Did he run it by me when he slept with you?”
“We missed you at dinner.”
“I was with Sal.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t know where you were. I said I missed you at dinner.”
“I brought you food.”
“You’re a good cousin.”
“It’s a huge burger. And a gyro with fries and spinach pie. We went two places. I didn’t know which you would like.”
“You found a man who can eat as much as you.”
“I am astounded by how much this man can eat.”
Sal made a loud, long noise while he stretched liked a cat and he knuckled his eyes in the semi darkness, curling up and looking directly under him.
“Hey, Douglass,” he said, sleepily, making no movement to cover himself.
“Joe was in class all day, and he’s been doing homework since dinner. He’s got a huge project and I’m completely uselessin helping because I just realized I don’t even know what the hell he studies.”
“Joe is studying to be an engineer,” Sal told him, still sounding mellow and half sleepy. “He’s with me half the time in the science building.”
“How is that I don’t know that about you two?” Doug said. “Am I that shallow?”
“I think,” Sal said, “you’re just used to people being… what’s the word?… being passionate about stuff the way you are. And Joe’s just found something he’s good at. I don’t know if he’s passionate about chemistry.”
“What about you?”
“I’m passionate about…” That is not a word I really believe in,” Sal decided, sitting up.
“I don’t think I’m really passionate about anything. It’s sort of an embarrassing word.”
“You weren’t embarrassed when you applied it to me,” Doug said, exhaling smoke from his nose.
“That’s because nothing embarrasses you,” Sal said.
“Aren’t you passionate about Swann?”
“Leave me the fuck out of this,” Swann said, grinding his cigarette out in the ashtray.
“Well, now that’s different.”
“What about running?” Doug said. “Have you ever seen him in a track mete?” Doug asked his cousin.
“Well, now I’m embarrassed because no,” said Swann.
“We just got together over winter break,” Sal said,
He groaned and sprang off the bed. Carelessly he searched for his jeans, pulling them on over his naked body.
“I have to piss. I’ll be back. If you want to discuss anything that’s none of my business,” Sal slipped his tee shirt on, “now would be the time to do it.”
“I think I could look at Sal naked every day and be a better person for it,” Doug said.
Then he said, “Should I sleep with Mike?”
“What?”
“Mike Buren. When he comes, should I sleep with him?”
“Are you at that place?”
“I don’t know, but maybe. But, I don’t know.”
“Have you run it by Joe?”
“Did he run it by me when he slept with you?”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Swann shrugged.
“That’s fair.”
“Still, it seems like it took so long for something to happen between us, and then all of a sudden to be thinking about Michael, and Joe is always at the lab.”
“Go to the lab with him.”
“What?”
“Go to the lab with him,” Swann said.
“I mean, I’ve seen Sal in track metes back in school, but that’s cause I was going for Chris, and I went to all of Jack’s footballs games, and when the Army put on those whatever they call ‘em, I went with Pete to them. I went to church with him. You’re either going to be with someone who has your interests, or you’re going to pick up someone’s interest.”
“That’s a point.”
“I’m about to freeze my ass of watching Sal run in the next couple of weeks. Because he’s going to be in those short shorts with the red top, and he’s going to turn around and give me that nod before he takes off like a bullet, and I’m going to be thinking, that is mine, and he’s going to be thinking about how I’m out there watching him. So, if I can do that, and you know I hate getting up early on Saturday, then you can hike your ass to the Science Building and keep Joe company.”
“Did somebody say Science Building?” Sal asked as he returned.
“Damn, it’s dark and smoky in here.”
“You were naked and asleep.”
“Well, I’m neither now,” Sal said leaning over Swann so that his flat stomach and the V that descended to his groin was exposed as he opened the window.
“I’m going to keep Joe company,” Doug said, rising.
“You wanna keep me company while I study?” Sal asked Swann.
“So I can watch you read for the next two hours?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I’ve just watched you sleep for the last hour already.”
“You all are cute together.”
“Serious,” Sal said to Doug.
“Huh?”
“While I was in the bathroom I was thinking—“
“That sounds like more than taking a piss—”
“And I realized that passionate just means serious.”
“Yeah,” Doug said, not sure if he had a deep enough response to that. “I’m gonna go now.”
“Bye, Cousin.”
“Bye, Doug.”
When the door had closed, Sal, grinning like he always seemed to be, turned to Swann and lifted his face.
“What are you—”
“I,” Sal kissed him, “am,” Sal kissed him again, “very,…” and each word he punctuated with a kiss, “very, serious about you.”
Swann felt shy and embarrassed, warm and disarmed over Sal’s love, and he said, honestly, “I’m glad we got to spend the whole day together.”
“Me too,” Sal said releasing him and starting to pick up his things..
“Sal?”
“Uh, huh.”
Swann’s hand rested over the thick steel ring on his finger. The one that had slid off the day he had first actually spoken to Joseph and Sal. He pictured a grand gesture where he gave it to Sal, but instead he said, “Are you staying here tonight?”
“If you’ll have me.”
Sal had slipped into his coat and picked up his bags.
Swann nodded.
“I’ll leave the door open.”
END OF CHAPTER
“That’s fair.”
“Still, it seems like it took so long for something to happen between us, and then all of a sudden to be thinking about Michael, and Joe is always at the lab.”
“Go to the lab with him.”
“What?”
“Go to the lab with him,” Swann said.
“I mean, I’ve seen Sal in track metes back in school, but that’s cause I was going for Chris, and I went to all of Jack’s footballs games, and when the Army put on those whatever they call ‘em, I went with Pete to them. I went to church with him. You’re either going to be with someone who has your interests, or you’re going to pick up someone’s interest.”
“That’s a point.”
“I’m about to freeze my ass of watching Sal run in the next couple of weeks. Because he’s going to be in those short shorts with the red top, and he’s going to turn around and give me that nod before he takes off like a bullet, and I’m going to be thinking, that is mine, and he’s going to be thinking about how I’m out there watching him. So, if I can do that, and you know I hate getting up early on Saturday, then you can hike your ass to the Science Building and keep Joe company.”
“Did somebody say Science Building?” Sal asked as he returned.
“Damn, it’s dark and smoky in here.”
“You were naked and asleep.”
“Well, I’m neither now,” Sal said leaning over Swann so that his flat stomach and the V that descended to his groin was exposed as he opened the window.
“I’m going to keep Joe company,” Doug said, rising.
“You wanna keep me company while I study?” Sal asked Swann.
“So I can watch you read for the next two hours?”
“Yeah.”
“No, I’ve just watched you sleep for the last hour already.”
“You all are cute together.”
“Serious,” Sal said to Doug.
“Huh?”
“While I was in the bathroom I was thinking—“
“That sounds like more than taking a piss—”
“And I realized that passionate just means serious.”
“Yeah,” Doug said, not sure if he had a deep enough response to that. “I’m gonna go now.”
“Bye, Cousin.”
“Bye, Doug.”
When the door had closed, Sal, grinning like he always seemed to be, turned to Swann and lifted his face.
“What are you—”
“I,” Sal kissed him, “am,” Sal kissed him again, “very,…” and each word he punctuated with a kiss, “very, serious about you.”
Swann felt shy and embarrassed, warm and disarmed over Sal’s love, and he said, honestly, “I’m glad we got to spend the whole day together.”
“Me too,” Sal said releasing him and starting to pick up his things..
“Sal?”
“Uh, huh.”
Swann’s hand rested over the thick steel ring on his finger. The one that had slid off the day he had first actually spoken to Joseph and Sal. He pictured a grand gesture where he gave it to Sal, but instead he said, “Are you staying here tonight?”
“If you’ll have me.”
Sal had slipped into his coat and picked up his bags.
Swann nodded.
“I’ll leave the door open.”
END OF CHAPTER
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
An excellent portion and end to the chapter! It was very interesting to hear Swann’s thoughts on why he loves white men. I am always happy to read about him and Sal spending a lot of time together. Great writing!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Oh, I enjoy you enjoying this story. It means the world to me.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
PART
TWO
Chapter Ten
“Oh God, I'm bleeding!”
Sal Goode sang tonelessly.
“Oh God, I'm bleeding!”
Around him, the rest of the cast, in their motley clothes, sang in agreement:
“Oh God, you're bleeding!”
As the spotlight shone on Sal in his bare chested glory, he sang.
“Oh God, I'm dying!”
“Oh God, you're dying!”
“Oh God, I'm dying!”
When Sal sang: “Oh God, I'm dead!” and collapsed, high up in the balcony of the auditorium, between Joe and Doug, Swann Portis snorted, buried his hands in his face, and laughed. Doug and Joe, who had tried to hold it together, covered their faces, and Chris Navarro and a few people looked at them, but not for long because no one who did was able to stay dignified for very long.
So, as down below, on stage, the cast of Godspell, lifted Sal who was shirtless in white cargo pants, and stretched cruciform with his mouth open, Swann half missed Jill down below leading them in:
“Long live God, long live God
Long live God, long live God
Long live God, long live God
Prepare ye, the way of the Lord!”
The cast bore Sal up the main aisle and out of the theater, and Swann said, “I don’t like the sight of my boyfriend as a corpse.”
“Not even Jesus’s corpse?” Doug said.
“Makes it no better.”
The cast, having left the auditorium, processed around it and entered the backstage through another door, singing: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord!” as they emerged to applause. Swann and Doug and Joe and Jim Hanna and everyone else found themselves clapping as Jill and the other disciples bowed, and then as Sal bowed to his theatrical debut, and Joe said: “That was…”
“Terrible,” Swann pronounced. “Absolutely terrible.”
“One might even say horrible,” Doug had said, pushing back the curtain of his window to look at the melting snow. This has been on Ash Wednesday, when the announcement had been made that Godspell would be the spring musical.
“It could be fun,” Jill had said.
“There’s nothing fun about a shitty musical,” Swann said.
“Some people like it,” Jill said. “A lot of people like it.”
“Some people like anchovies,” Swann said, “but I don’t.”
“You could be Jesus.”
“I couldn’t. I’m not tall enough, and I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Or John the Baptist, or be one of the disciples. Or even Judas.”
“I’m not doing it,” Swann said.
And that was that.
TWO
Chapter Ten
“Oh God, I'm bleeding!”
Sal Goode sang tonelessly.
“Oh God, I'm bleeding!”
Around him, the rest of the cast, in their motley clothes, sang in agreement:
“Oh God, you're bleeding!”
As the spotlight shone on Sal in his bare chested glory, he sang.
“Oh God, I'm dying!”
“Oh God, you're dying!”
“Oh God, I'm dying!”
When Sal sang: “Oh God, I'm dead!” and collapsed, high up in the balcony of the auditorium, between Joe and Doug, Swann Portis snorted, buried his hands in his face, and laughed. Doug and Joe, who had tried to hold it together, covered their faces, and Chris Navarro and a few people looked at them, but not for long because no one who did was able to stay dignified for very long.
So, as down below, on stage, the cast of Godspell, lifted Sal who was shirtless in white cargo pants, and stretched cruciform with his mouth open, Swann half missed Jill down below leading them in:
“Long live God, long live God
Long live God, long live God
Long live God, long live God
Prepare ye, the way of the Lord!”
The cast bore Sal up the main aisle and out of the theater, and Swann said, “I don’t like the sight of my boyfriend as a corpse.”
“Not even Jesus’s corpse?” Doug said.
“Makes it no better.”
The cast, having left the auditorium, processed around it and entered the backstage through another door, singing: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord!” as they emerged to applause. Swann and Doug and Joe and Jim Hanna and everyone else found themselves clapping as Jill and the other disciples bowed, and then as Sal bowed to his theatrical debut, and Joe said: “That was…”
“Terrible,” Swann pronounced. “Absolutely terrible.”
“One might even say horrible,” Doug had said, pushing back the curtain of his window to look at the melting snow. This has been on Ash Wednesday, when the announcement had been made that Godspell would be the spring musical.
“It could be fun,” Jill had said.
“There’s nothing fun about a shitty musical,” Swann said.
“Some people like it,” Jill said. “A lot of people like it.”
“Some people like anchovies,” Swann said, “but I don’t.”
“You could be Jesus.”
“I couldn’t. I’m not tall enough, and I’m not taking my shirt off.”
“Or John the Baptist, or be one of the disciples. Or even Judas.”
“I’m not doing it,” Swann said.
And that was that.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“Well, then what about Sal?”
“What about what?” Sal looked up from his dinner.
He was blinking at Jill from behind his glasses, which he hadn’t taken off since his last class in the science building.
“Jill would like you to try out for the school musical?”
“I can’t sing.”
“Have you been to our school musicals?” Swann said.
Saint Damian’s was such a small place that, eventually, everyone ended up going to everything, so Sal nodded grimly.
“That could be you on stage,” Jill offered.
Sal looked a lot more skeptical in glasses.
“That’s exactly what my look was,” Swann told him.
“What, you’re not doing it either?”
“Nope,” Swann said.
“Wait a minute,” Sal clarified. “You don’t want to do the spring musical?”
“I want to do a good spring musical, and frankly, they want my voice. I always do the fall play or the spring musical or both. Well, I did the fall play, and I don’t much want to do this.”
“What is it?”
“Godspell,” Doug said, darkly.
This meant nothing to Sal.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked.
“I think it’s fun—” Jill began the same time Doug and Swann said, “Yes.”
When Swann was in eighth grade at Sacred Heart, on Holy Thursday, in fact, someone had performed a one man play called “Judas! Judas!” Both eighth grades came into Miss Willis’s classroom and cleared a space for a man in his fifties wearing a supposedly first century robe and sandals to walk into the center of the room, talking to himself and. occasionally, speaking directly to a nervous or giggly eighth grader as he debated the pros and cons, and rights and wrongs of just having sold out Jesus to the Sanhedrin. Swann found himself both amused and compelled. How else could a thirteen year old feel about a grown man rambling on to himself and pretending he was Judas Iscariot while occasionally stopping to shake a thirteen or fourteen year old by the shoulders while demanding, wild eyed: “What have I done!”
Then, to the surprise of all, he threw back his head, shouted: “JUDAS! JUDAS!” and ran out of the classroom, screaming.
The students sat, terrified in the aftermath for what seemed like a minute before Mrs. Heinkel explained, “That’s how he ends. He usually doesn’t come back.”
This has been the beginning of the strange relationship that Swann Portis had to plays about Jesus.
Jesus stories and or movies that Swann loved: The six hour epic Jesus of Nazareth that used to come on every Holy Week on NBC for years. He was irked that in a film which aimed at making most people look authentic and properly Middle Eastern, there was an embarrassingly Caucasian Jesus, but forgave it because Robert Powell was so good. Teenage Jesus, though, had blond hair and bright blue eyes so sharp he looked like he was possessed, or perhaps recently returned from the planet Dune.
Jesus Christ Superstar he loved, would have loved if it had been the spring musical, thought of campaigning for it, would have loved to be Judas and sing “Everything’s All Right,” would have preferred to be Mary Magdalene, would have even liked being Jesus, because Jesus got to leave his shirt on. Of course, Sal could have protested and left his shirt on, too, but Swann thought people deserved to see Sal’s chest, never overly muscled, it was the chest of a proper track runner, and a thing of modest beauty. Despite his giggles, Swann was properly shook up to see Sal, long and dead on stage, and then picked up and carried away. He was almost relieved when, shirted again, he took a bow to applause.
Jesus things Swann hated: The movie King of Kings. The score was magnificent but the movie itself was long and poorly acted. Jeffrey Hunter—though very sexy on Star Trek—was not a convincing Christ. Ben Hur, because it was long and boring and even though they called it “A Tale of the Christ”, it wasn’t.
Jesus things that were on the fence between good and bad. The Last Temptation of Christ and Anthony Burgess’s novel Man of Nazareth. The anarchist in Swann wanted to love what so many religious reactionaries had protested, but The Last Temptation of Christ turned out to be a movie he couldn’t stay awake through based on a book he fell asleep reading every time he tried. He wanted to love them both, but aside from enjoying the closing theme and the crown of thorns pattern on the book, he couldn’t. Man of Nazareth had gone under the radar so no one protested that mad telling of the life of Christ, complete with a scene where Jesus, in his temptation, remembers furiously fucking his wife and then ejaculating inside her, a part which Swann had read over and over again. But then the book reminded him of that one kid in every department who desperately needed you to know how different and odd he was, and in the end, left him just as bored.
And the Bible…
That was definitely on the fence.
“I think you should do it,” Swann said.
“You said it was bad.”
“It’s something new.”
They had been sitting in Joe and Sal’s room, Swann on the bed and Sal on the floor while Swann carelessly massaged his scalp and Sal moved about like a contented cat.
“You wouldn’t try to embarrass me,” Sal started, “So you must have a point.”
“Try it, and if you don’t like it, don’t do it.”
The after cast party was in the parlor of Dwenger Hall, and though Pam came down to complain and had a right to, Doug, who lived on the other side of the wall, simply came out and joined them.
Chris had driven up from Lafayette, Doug slumped down next to him and Chris draped his arm around him.
“Oh, God, I’m bleeding!
Oh, God, I’m dying!
Oh God I’m bleeding
Oh, God, I’m dying!”:
They sang drunkenly at the top of their lungs, Sal the drunkest and loudest of all.
“Who knew he had it in him?” Chris said.
No matter how odd and sometimes fearful some people were of the sharp tongue and witchy ways of Doug Perrin, he was always the eleven year old baby brother Chris had never known, and never realized was the cousin of the boy he would fall in love with a few years later. The Portises always surprised Chris, and he was surprised at Swann who, unlike someone else used to being the best voice and the known actor, might have been a little threatened by Sal’s suddenly popularity, or even tried to share in it. It would have been like someone else to regret not being in the musical or putting his boyfriend forward, but Swann was sitting back against the sofa with Brad and Annette. Brad, like Jim, had a winter cap on with a pom pom, and fair enough because spring in Indiana was hard to dress for.
“Make sure Joe doesn’t get jealous of us,” Chris cautioned with a grin.
“He knows what you are to me,” Doug said. “And he knows no one else really ever was that.”
Chris smiled over that because there was no way to express the gentle love he’d always had for Doug.
“Besides, if he was going to be jealous, he’d be jealous of Mike Buren.”
“Mike?” Chris sat up.
In his Freshmen year of college, after not really talking to Doug much because he was so caught up in everything, one night in May there had been a knock on his dorm room and Doug had shown up, miserable. All the love and protection for his surrogate baby brother sprang up in Chris along with guilt. He hadn’t been around. He hadn’t returned messages. He had failed as a brother, and as Doug unwound how the year had gone, Chris also found himself thinking he’d failed as a parent.
That bit was ridiculous, and Doug would have told him so, but Chris’s baby had been born, he’d become a parent, and he had been filled with so much love for his son. And then, one night, that baby was gone, and sometimes it hurt so bad, and the only people who understand that were far from him. Sometimes he was sure the reason he’d come here was to get away from that. Somehow his love for Doug had mixed with his love for his dead child. Chris, who had not tolerated a roommate, was able to keep Doug as long as he wanted to stay, and he was moved that Doug had come to him, and not Swann. When Doug was heading to Chicago and Swann, Chris stopped himself from saying, “Tell Swann I think about him or Tell Swann to call me or tell Swann anything.” At that time too much damage had been done, and he accepted it.
But tonight, at the after party of the play, he said: “Mike Buren?”
“Things have changed.”
“They would have had to,” Chris said.
“Don’t be mad at him for my sake.”
“I’m disappointed in him for your sake,” Chris said. “And his too for that matter.”
Doug sighed, “None of its worth being sad or upset about anymore.”
Chris nodded.
Doug touched Chris’s hair.
“Are you growing it back?”
“I am.”
“Good. You looked evil with short hair.”
Chris laughed.
“No one has ever accused me of being evil.”
“Not evil, but evil looking.”
“Oh!” Chris laughed, “well, thank you so much.”
“You never come up here. You’re staying the night, right?”
“I’m staying the whole fucking weekend.”
“Excellent. It’s just like being back in school again, except…. Well, I guess we are all back in school again.”
Doug did not ask where Chris would stay. Friends came for the weekend all the time and Saint Damian’s was a welcoming place. Obviously, he could stay with Swann or in Sal and Joe’s room, Jill’s even. Actually, there was no shortage of places, and no one really ever stayed in their own room anyway. The only problem would be getting back to classes on time.
“Lafayette isn’t like that,” Chris said. “I could go missing for a week, and I wouldn’t be missed. I’d catch up on stuff easy.”
“That’s a little sad.”
“It is,” Chris agreed. “Sometimes I wish I came here.”
Doug knew when it was time to not say certain things but, still, he was curious, so he asked, “Why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to do something different. And me and Swann were in a bad place. Seemed sort of silly to chase him to college.”
Doug leaned against Chris, and while Jill passed a bottle of sparkling wine around, he said, “Well, now that is sad.”
“What about what?” Sal looked up from his dinner.
He was blinking at Jill from behind his glasses, which he hadn’t taken off since his last class in the science building.
“Jill would like you to try out for the school musical?”
“I can’t sing.”
“Have you been to our school musicals?” Swann said.
Saint Damian’s was such a small place that, eventually, everyone ended up going to everything, so Sal nodded grimly.
“That could be you on stage,” Jill offered.
Sal looked a lot more skeptical in glasses.
“That’s exactly what my look was,” Swann told him.
“What, you’re not doing it either?”
“Nope,” Swann said.
“Wait a minute,” Sal clarified. “You don’t want to do the spring musical?”
“I want to do a good spring musical, and frankly, they want my voice. I always do the fall play or the spring musical or both. Well, I did the fall play, and I don’t much want to do this.”
“What is it?”
“Godspell,” Doug said, darkly.
This meant nothing to Sal.
“Is it really that bad?” he asked.
“I think it’s fun—” Jill began the same time Doug and Swann said, “Yes.”
When Swann was in eighth grade at Sacred Heart, on Holy Thursday, in fact, someone had performed a one man play called “Judas! Judas!” Both eighth grades came into Miss Willis’s classroom and cleared a space for a man in his fifties wearing a supposedly first century robe and sandals to walk into the center of the room, talking to himself and. occasionally, speaking directly to a nervous or giggly eighth grader as he debated the pros and cons, and rights and wrongs of just having sold out Jesus to the Sanhedrin. Swann found himself both amused and compelled. How else could a thirteen year old feel about a grown man rambling on to himself and pretending he was Judas Iscariot while occasionally stopping to shake a thirteen or fourteen year old by the shoulders while demanding, wild eyed: “What have I done!”
Then, to the surprise of all, he threw back his head, shouted: “JUDAS! JUDAS!” and ran out of the classroom, screaming.
The students sat, terrified in the aftermath for what seemed like a minute before Mrs. Heinkel explained, “That’s how he ends. He usually doesn’t come back.”
This has been the beginning of the strange relationship that Swann Portis had to plays about Jesus.
Jesus stories and or movies that Swann loved: The six hour epic Jesus of Nazareth that used to come on every Holy Week on NBC for years. He was irked that in a film which aimed at making most people look authentic and properly Middle Eastern, there was an embarrassingly Caucasian Jesus, but forgave it because Robert Powell was so good. Teenage Jesus, though, had blond hair and bright blue eyes so sharp he looked like he was possessed, or perhaps recently returned from the planet Dune.
Jesus Christ Superstar he loved, would have loved if it had been the spring musical, thought of campaigning for it, would have loved to be Judas and sing “Everything’s All Right,” would have preferred to be Mary Magdalene, would have even liked being Jesus, because Jesus got to leave his shirt on. Of course, Sal could have protested and left his shirt on, too, but Swann thought people deserved to see Sal’s chest, never overly muscled, it was the chest of a proper track runner, and a thing of modest beauty. Despite his giggles, Swann was properly shook up to see Sal, long and dead on stage, and then picked up and carried away. He was almost relieved when, shirted again, he took a bow to applause.
Jesus things Swann hated: The movie King of Kings. The score was magnificent but the movie itself was long and poorly acted. Jeffrey Hunter—though very sexy on Star Trek—was not a convincing Christ. Ben Hur, because it was long and boring and even though they called it “A Tale of the Christ”, it wasn’t.
Jesus things that were on the fence between good and bad. The Last Temptation of Christ and Anthony Burgess’s novel Man of Nazareth. The anarchist in Swann wanted to love what so many religious reactionaries had protested, but The Last Temptation of Christ turned out to be a movie he couldn’t stay awake through based on a book he fell asleep reading every time he tried. He wanted to love them both, but aside from enjoying the closing theme and the crown of thorns pattern on the book, he couldn’t. Man of Nazareth had gone under the radar so no one protested that mad telling of the life of Christ, complete with a scene where Jesus, in his temptation, remembers furiously fucking his wife and then ejaculating inside her, a part which Swann had read over and over again. But then the book reminded him of that one kid in every department who desperately needed you to know how different and odd he was, and in the end, left him just as bored.
And the Bible…
That was definitely on the fence.
“I think you should do it,” Swann said.
“You said it was bad.”
“It’s something new.”
They had been sitting in Joe and Sal’s room, Swann on the bed and Sal on the floor while Swann carelessly massaged his scalp and Sal moved about like a contented cat.
“You wouldn’t try to embarrass me,” Sal started, “So you must have a point.”
“Try it, and if you don’t like it, don’t do it.”
The after cast party was in the parlor of Dwenger Hall, and though Pam came down to complain and had a right to, Doug, who lived on the other side of the wall, simply came out and joined them.
Chris had driven up from Lafayette, Doug slumped down next to him and Chris draped his arm around him.
“Oh, God, I’m bleeding!
Oh, God, I’m dying!
Oh God I’m bleeding
Oh, God, I’m dying!”:
They sang drunkenly at the top of their lungs, Sal the drunkest and loudest of all.
“Who knew he had it in him?” Chris said.
No matter how odd and sometimes fearful some people were of the sharp tongue and witchy ways of Doug Perrin, he was always the eleven year old baby brother Chris had never known, and never realized was the cousin of the boy he would fall in love with a few years later. The Portises always surprised Chris, and he was surprised at Swann who, unlike someone else used to being the best voice and the known actor, might have been a little threatened by Sal’s suddenly popularity, or even tried to share in it. It would have been like someone else to regret not being in the musical or putting his boyfriend forward, but Swann was sitting back against the sofa with Brad and Annette. Brad, like Jim, had a winter cap on with a pom pom, and fair enough because spring in Indiana was hard to dress for.
“Make sure Joe doesn’t get jealous of us,” Chris cautioned with a grin.
“He knows what you are to me,” Doug said. “And he knows no one else really ever was that.”
Chris smiled over that because there was no way to express the gentle love he’d always had for Doug.
“Besides, if he was going to be jealous, he’d be jealous of Mike Buren.”
“Mike?” Chris sat up.
In his Freshmen year of college, after not really talking to Doug much because he was so caught up in everything, one night in May there had been a knock on his dorm room and Doug had shown up, miserable. All the love and protection for his surrogate baby brother sprang up in Chris along with guilt. He hadn’t been around. He hadn’t returned messages. He had failed as a brother, and as Doug unwound how the year had gone, Chris also found himself thinking he’d failed as a parent.
That bit was ridiculous, and Doug would have told him so, but Chris’s baby had been born, he’d become a parent, and he had been filled with so much love for his son. And then, one night, that baby was gone, and sometimes it hurt so bad, and the only people who understand that were far from him. Sometimes he was sure the reason he’d come here was to get away from that. Somehow his love for Doug had mixed with his love for his dead child. Chris, who had not tolerated a roommate, was able to keep Doug as long as he wanted to stay, and he was moved that Doug had come to him, and not Swann. When Doug was heading to Chicago and Swann, Chris stopped himself from saying, “Tell Swann I think about him or Tell Swann to call me or tell Swann anything.” At that time too much damage had been done, and he accepted it.
But tonight, at the after party of the play, he said: “Mike Buren?”
“Things have changed.”
“They would have had to,” Chris said.
“Don’t be mad at him for my sake.”
“I’m disappointed in him for your sake,” Chris said. “And his too for that matter.”
Doug sighed, “None of its worth being sad or upset about anymore.”
Chris nodded.
Doug touched Chris’s hair.
“Are you growing it back?”
“I am.”
“Good. You looked evil with short hair.”
Chris laughed.
“No one has ever accused me of being evil.”
“Not evil, but evil looking.”
“Oh!” Chris laughed, “well, thank you so much.”
“You never come up here. You’re staying the night, right?”
“I’m staying the whole fucking weekend.”
“Excellent. It’s just like being back in school again, except…. Well, I guess we are all back in school again.”
Doug did not ask where Chris would stay. Friends came for the weekend all the time and Saint Damian’s was a welcoming place. Obviously, he could stay with Swann or in Sal and Joe’s room, Jill’s even. Actually, there was no shortage of places, and no one really ever stayed in their own room anyway. The only problem would be getting back to classes on time.
“Lafayette isn’t like that,” Chris said. “I could go missing for a week, and I wouldn’t be missed. I’d catch up on stuff easy.”
“That’s a little sad.”
“It is,” Chris agreed. “Sometimes I wish I came here.”
Doug knew when it was time to not say certain things but, still, he was curious, so he asked, “Why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to do something different. And me and Swann were in a bad place. Seemed sort of silly to chase him to college.”
Doug leaned against Chris, and while Jill passed a bottle of sparkling wine around, he said, “Well, now that is sad.”
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great to get a new portion so soon! I always enjoying more about Swann’s interests. I hope Chris and Swann can maybe be friends one day. Excellent writing and I look forward to more!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
What a nice birthday present to have you reading and enjoying my story.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“You were really great,” Annette told Jill.
“Jilly is always great,” Jim said.
“That’s not even true,” Jill said.
“We need to get out more,” Brad said, yawning.
“Bradley, boy, are you yawning?”
“That was just me… opening my mouth wide for a breath.”
“He’s yawning!” Jim accused.
“It’s really past out bedtime,” said Annette.
“I can totally hang!” Brad protested, yawning again.
Annette patted him on the knee and said, “I’m getting you to bed.”
“Alright, alright!” Brad nodded, yawning as he rose.
“Brad!” Swann called, and Chris looked up.
“I gotta call it a night.”
Swann got up and Brad hugged him.
“Come over this weekend?” Annette said, looking to him and Jill.
“We don’t see each other enough,” Brad said. “I get so busy.”
“That,” Swann said, “is perfectly understandable.”
“Good to see you, Chris,” Brad said, and the two of them embraced roughly, while Sal stood up, with Joe’s help and made his way to Brad, throwing himself on the other young man.
“Thank you, and thank your lovely wife for coming.”
“You are really drunk,” Annette marveled, looking at Sal.
“I really, really am,” he agreed.
And then he turned to Swann, in front of them all, took him by the face and kissed him deeply. Even Swann was a little shocked, and the cast members crowed and clapped and Sal shrugged and declared, “I guess I’m out!”
Suddenly, Joe ran to Doug, grabbed him by the face, and Doug said, “Don’t you dare.”
Then he added, looking around the room: “For anyone who wondered, Joe Stanley is my boyfriend, but I’m not going to be an exhibit. I’ll kiss him later. I promise.”
Again there was another cheer around the room while the old high school friends looked at each other, blushing, and then Katy took up the refrain to which Swann and Jill walked Brad and Annette out of Dwenger Hall:
“Oh, God, I’m bleeding
Oh, God, I’m bleeding
Oh God I’m dying
Oh God I’m dying!”
“I think I’m going to bed,” Doug told Joe.
“You can sleep in my room if it’s too loud for you down here.”
“Oh, we need to close shop, anyway,” Sal said, and Katy agreed.
“You’re officially on board, man,” Katy said. “How’s it feel?”
Sal just grinned and gave the little nod he always gave to Swann right before a track mete.
“You can still sleep in my room” Joe said to Doug, who smiled at him and said, “I’ll get my things and be right up.”
He turned to leave, then came back, took Joe’s face, and kissed him full on the mouth.
“See,” he said to the those looking around, “that’s how it’s done.”
“If Doug is staying with Joe,” Chris said, “I can take his room.”
“You’re joking, right?” Swann said as the others were putting bottles away and breaking up the party.
“Am I too drunk for you?” Sal said.
“You do smell like a distillery,” Swann commented.
“No,” Chris shook his head. “I just didn’t know… How we stood.”
“Is your bag still in my room?” Swann said as he headed up the stairs after Joe and Katy.
“Um hum.”
Sal, gripping the railing as he followed Swann said, “Then you stand with us.”
Swann knew that he and Sal didn’t agree on everything, but he never really remembered having arguments with him. They just ended up doing things, and he wasn’t entirely sure how they got to that place. Like, he wasn’t sure how in the middle of February, after it had stopped snowing for days, another storm kicked up as they were shoving a king sized mattress followed by its back board into the back of his SUV, and then forty minutes later arrived back to Saint Damian’s
They spent a little more time lugging up the mattress, and earlier they had dragged out the old twins and placed them in the parlor, and then placed the backboard and the mattress on the twin frames. This was as much of a public statement of their being together as they had made until then, and even then, it could have simply been seen as getting a mattress. In the last few years, Swann had seen spoiled kids much poorer than him he imagined, though never though of himself as rich, coming to school with whole furniture suites loaded on the backs of trucks, and hanging from vans. So far, this was his first mattress.
The large bed made Room 42 a little smaller, and Sal had bought it after they’d made a weekend trip to Lafayette. He never said why smashing their twins together was insufficient. He never needed to.
Now Chris dressed down to his boxers and a tee shirt and climbed into the bed where Swann was already in the middle.
“Lights on or out?”
“Out,” Swann said, which only meant the lamps, for the lines of amber lights were almost never out.
“I’m going to see Jack soon,” Swann said.
“Have you talked to him about… The thing?”
“No, I don’t really know how to do that. It took him, what, seven yars to tell me.”
“Did he tell Prynne?”
“I don’t know. And truthfully, I’m not sure what good it would do.”
“He’d get it off his chest.”
Swann nodded and sank in the covers, turning toward Chris who was still sitting up.
“Doug told you about Mike Buren?”
“Um hum,” Swann said.
“Whaddo you think?”
“I think Doug is a big boy and Mike Buren can’t hurt him.”
“He did once.”
“Yes,” Swann remembered.
“Just because he doesn’t show it doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there. Or wasn’t there, or whatever.”
“I do know this, Christopher,” Swann said in a voice that was more slow than sleepy. “But I cannot protect my cousin from love. And I don’t really want to.”
“I would protect Doug from everything if I could.”
“I know, and that’s what I love about you. But it’s also the difference between you and me.”
The door opened and Sal entered the amber darkness, almost immediately stripping off his towel and climbing into the bed. Swann moved for him to fall into the center, and placed his head on Sal’s chest. A moment later Sal was turning on his side so that Swann embraced his hips and Sal’s head was pressed to Chris’s back. Sal stretched, and a moment later he was snoring.
“I was thinking,” Chris said in the semi dark, “we should go visit Jack. Long as I’m here.”
By the time Swann is twenty-one he has known many lovers, not had lots of sex, that’s a thing anyone can do, but had enough loves to know how they act, what they want, what they need. He is first to wake, and lies in the warm pile of flesh, arm about Sal, hearing Chris’s breathing on the other side of him. When he sits up on his elbow they look like angels, and he knows that’s stupid, but they do. He climbs off the bed rather than out of it, because there is only the wall beside him, and he puts on his pajama pants, a tee shirt and house coat, and taking the coffee maker goes down to Doug’s room.
This room always smells of incense, and in the darkness he can half see images of Ganesh, of Shiva, of Parvati with her round breasts and hips. He flips on a little lamp after putting down and plugging in the coffee pot. It is almost warm enough to sit on the porch and greet the morning. It will not truly be warm enough for another month, and by then it’s almost time to go home. He thinks, it’s almost worth going to summer school just to stay here. He wonders what this summer will be like. The coffee pot gurgles. Swann makes sure the door is open to the long hallway with its high ceilings. He opens the curtain of the great window and looks at the leaves budding on the trees. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, and then will come Easter.
“Not before Good Friday,” Swann murmurs.
He remembers a song he would hear coming from radios of old Cadillacs running down East 70th Street.
“There is no Easter without the Cross!”
Swann is yawning, thinking he got up too early, but knowing he didn’t. This is perhaps his own private variation of the Cross that makes Easter possible. He makes his coffee and sits in Doug’s easy chair, Doug who is, after all, easy, who came into the world a hundred years old. As he sips his coffee he makes out the shapes of bottles on the other side of the room, white sage, verbena, various dried stalks of mushrooms, asafetida. The coffee is rich and bitter all at once, not too sweet. The bitterness is almost fruity. Coffee made, he does what he always does when fresh coffee is in hand. He drifts off to sleep.
A little while later the door pushes open. Yawning, looking like tall children, his white boys have found him. Sal’s almost black hair is sticking up, and he comes behind the chair and wraps his arms around Swann, pressing his cheek to him.
“Jilly is always great,” Jim said.
“That’s not even true,” Jill said.
“We need to get out more,” Brad said, yawning.
“Bradley, boy, are you yawning?”
“That was just me… opening my mouth wide for a breath.”
“He’s yawning!” Jim accused.
“It’s really past out bedtime,” said Annette.
“I can totally hang!” Brad protested, yawning again.
Annette patted him on the knee and said, “I’m getting you to bed.”
“Alright, alright!” Brad nodded, yawning as he rose.
“Brad!” Swann called, and Chris looked up.
“I gotta call it a night.”
Swann got up and Brad hugged him.
“Come over this weekend?” Annette said, looking to him and Jill.
“We don’t see each other enough,” Brad said. “I get so busy.”
“That,” Swann said, “is perfectly understandable.”
“Good to see you, Chris,” Brad said, and the two of them embraced roughly, while Sal stood up, with Joe’s help and made his way to Brad, throwing himself on the other young man.
“Thank you, and thank your lovely wife for coming.”
“You are really drunk,” Annette marveled, looking at Sal.
“I really, really am,” he agreed.
And then he turned to Swann, in front of them all, took him by the face and kissed him deeply. Even Swann was a little shocked, and the cast members crowed and clapped and Sal shrugged and declared, “I guess I’m out!”
Suddenly, Joe ran to Doug, grabbed him by the face, and Doug said, “Don’t you dare.”
Then he added, looking around the room: “For anyone who wondered, Joe Stanley is my boyfriend, but I’m not going to be an exhibit. I’ll kiss him later. I promise.”
Again there was another cheer around the room while the old high school friends looked at each other, blushing, and then Katy took up the refrain to which Swann and Jill walked Brad and Annette out of Dwenger Hall:
“Oh, God, I’m bleeding
Oh, God, I’m bleeding
Oh God I’m dying
Oh God I’m dying!”
“I think I’m going to bed,” Doug told Joe.
“You can sleep in my room if it’s too loud for you down here.”
“Oh, we need to close shop, anyway,” Sal said, and Katy agreed.
“You’re officially on board, man,” Katy said. “How’s it feel?”
Sal just grinned and gave the little nod he always gave to Swann right before a track mete.
“You can still sleep in my room” Joe said to Doug, who smiled at him and said, “I’ll get my things and be right up.”
He turned to leave, then came back, took Joe’s face, and kissed him full on the mouth.
“See,” he said to the those looking around, “that’s how it’s done.”
“If Doug is staying with Joe,” Chris said, “I can take his room.”
“You’re joking, right?” Swann said as the others were putting bottles away and breaking up the party.
“Am I too drunk for you?” Sal said.
“You do smell like a distillery,” Swann commented.
“No,” Chris shook his head. “I just didn’t know… How we stood.”
“Is your bag still in my room?” Swann said as he headed up the stairs after Joe and Katy.
“Um hum.”
Sal, gripping the railing as he followed Swann said, “Then you stand with us.”
Swann knew that he and Sal didn’t agree on everything, but he never really remembered having arguments with him. They just ended up doing things, and he wasn’t entirely sure how they got to that place. Like, he wasn’t sure how in the middle of February, after it had stopped snowing for days, another storm kicked up as they were shoving a king sized mattress followed by its back board into the back of his SUV, and then forty minutes later arrived back to Saint Damian’s
They spent a little more time lugging up the mattress, and earlier they had dragged out the old twins and placed them in the parlor, and then placed the backboard and the mattress on the twin frames. This was as much of a public statement of their being together as they had made until then, and even then, it could have simply been seen as getting a mattress. In the last few years, Swann had seen spoiled kids much poorer than him he imagined, though never though of himself as rich, coming to school with whole furniture suites loaded on the backs of trucks, and hanging from vans. So far, this was his first mattress.
The large bed made Room 42 a little smaller, and Sal had bought it after they’d made a weekend trip to Lafayette. He never said why smashing their twins together was insufficient. He never needed to.
Now Chris dressed down to his boxers and a tee shirt and climbed into the bed where Swann was already in the middle.
“Lights on or out?”
“Out,” Swann said, which only meant the lamps, for the lines of amber lights were almost never out.
“I’m going to see Jack soon,” Swann said.
“Have you talked to him about… The thing?”
“No, I don’t really know how to do that. It took him, what, seven yars to tell me.”
“Did he tell Prynne?”
“I don’t know. And truthfully, I’m not sure what good it would do.”
“He’d get it off his chest.”
Swann nodded and sank in the covers, turning toward Chris who was still sitting up.
“Doug told you about Mike Buren?”
“Um hum,” Swann said.
“Whaddo you think?”
“I think Doug is a big boy and Mike Buren can’t hurt him.”
“He did once.”
“Yes,” Swann remembered.
“Just because he doesn’t show it doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there. Or wasn’t there, or whatever.”
“I do know this, Christopher,” Swann said in a voice that was more slow than sleepy. “But I cannot protect my cousin from love. And I don’t really want to.”
“I would protect Doug from everything if I could.”
“I know, and that’s what I love about you. But it’s also the difference between you and me.”
The door opened and Sal entered the amber darkness, almost immediately stripping off his towel and climbing into the bed. Swann moved for him to fall into the center, and placed his head on Sal’s chest. A moment later Sal was turning on his side so that Swann embraced his hips and Sal’s head was pressed to Chris’s back. Sal stretched, and a moment later he was snoring.
“I was thinking,” Chris said in the semi dark, “we should go visit Jack. Long as I’m here.”
By the time Swann is twenty-one he has known many lovers, not had lots of sex, that’s a thing anyone can do, but had enough loves to know how they act, what they want, what they need. He is first to wake, and lies in the warm pile of flesh, arm about Sal, hearing Chris’s breathing on the other side of him. When he sits up on his elbow they look like angels, and he knows that’s stupid, but they do. He climbs off the bed rather than out of it, because there is only the wall beside him, and he puts on his pajama pants, a tee shirt and house coat, and taking the coffee maker goes down to Doug’s room.
This room always smells of incense, and in the darkness he can half see images of Ganesh, of Shiva, of Parvati with her round breasts and hips. He flips on a little lamp after putting down and plugging in the coffee pot. It is almost warm enough to sit on the porch and greet the morning. It will not truly be warm enough for another month, and by then it’s almost time to go home. He thinks, it’s almost worth going to summer school just to stay here. He wonders what this summer will be like. The coffee pot gurgles. Swann makes sure the door is open to the long hallway with its high ceilings. He opens the curtain of the great window and looks at the leaves budding on the trees. Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, and then will come Easter.
“Not before Good Friday,” Swann murmurs.
He remembers a song he would hear coming from radios of old Cadillacs running down East 70th Street.
“There is no Easter without the Cross!”
Swann is yawning, thinking he got up too early, but knowing he didn’t. This is perhaps his own private variation of the Cross that makes Easter possible. He makes his coffee and sits in Doug’s easy chair, Doug who is, after all, easy, who came into the world a hundred years old. As he sips his coffee he makes out the shapes of bottles on the other side of the room, white sage, verbena, various dried stalks of mushrooms, asafetida. The coffee is rich and bitter all at once, not too sweet. The bitterness is almost fruity. Coffee made, he does what he always does when fresh coffee is in hand. He drifts off to sleep.
A little while later the door pushes open. Yawning, looking like tall children, his white boys have found him. Sal’s almost black hair is sticking up, and he comes behind the chair and wraps his arms around Swann, pressing his cheek to him.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“You weren’t easy to find,” Sal says, yawning.
“You were too,” Chris said, sitting down on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, his long white feet pressed out so that his toes rest on Swann’s.
“I said you would be here.”
“Are we going to Saint Francis today?” Sal asks. “That’s what Chris said.”
“Then I guess we are.”
“I’m not as awake as I should be. Are you coming back to bed?”
Swann looked at Chris who nodded.
“Yes,” Swann said.
“Good,” Sal kissed him. “I don’t sleep good without you.”
He got up and he said, “You can finish your coffee first and… I’ll just be waiting for you guys.”
Chris’s eyes followed Sal, and Sal was down the hall before he said turned to Swann and said, “Thanks.”
“For?”
“Don’t do that,” Chris said.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making fun.”
“A bit.”
Chris knelt, placing his hands on Swann’s knees.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? For real?”
“You and Sal? It’s kind of fair. I mean, given the way things have turned out. Who would I be if I minded?”
“Well…lots of people would. And… It could be different. Like, I could feel absolutely nothing for him.”
“But you do feel something.”
“I do.”
Chris waited a moment, and then he said, “I’ve only been with two guys in my life. Plenty of girls, but just too guys. And just you until this Christmas. Being with Sal is… You’re going to think this is stupid. It’s like being with goodness. It’s like being with light, and I know he’s your boyfriend, and I know, I guess you and me are together, and I know what it’s like between us. It’s like… it’s like nothing else. But I shivered the whole way here thinking about you and Sal.”
“Why do you think I left?” Swann said.
“The two of you are so shy with each other. And I knew you needed to be with just each other, that it couldn’t happen unless I left.”
“I think he feels the same way about me. It’s goofy to be talking to my best friend—who is the love of my life—and saying, I hope your boyfriend—”
“It is,” Swann said, “what it is. And what it is… is lucky for me. And for what it’s worth, Sal does feel the same. For fuck’s sake that’s why he went out and bought that bed.”
“I’ll unplug the coffeemaker and bring it back up.”
Swann nodded.
“It’s still early.”
“Do you want him tonight?”
Chris frowned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I have him every day. The first time, the first time you came to me, when it was all three of us, I thought, if both of you stay in my life this means that in the same way I have a life with him and a life with you, you all are going to have a life with each other, your own secrets. In fact, you should.”
Christ tilted his head.
“How about we worry about tonight when its tonight and this morning right now?”
“You were too,” Chris said, sitting down on the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, his long white feet pressed out so that his toes rest on Swann’s.
“I said you would be here.”
“Are we going to Saint Francis today?” Sal asks. “That’s what Chris said.”
“Then I guess we are.”
“I’m not as awake as I should be. Are you coming back to bed?”
Swann looked at Chris who nodded.
“Yes,” Swann said.
“Good,” Sal kissed him. “I don’t sleep good without you.”
He got up and he said, “You can finish your coffee first and… I’ll just be waiting for you guys.”
Chris’s eyes followed Sal, and Sal was down the hall before he said turned to Swann and said, “Thanks.”
“For?”
“Don’t do that,” Chris said.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making fun.”
“A bit.”
Chris knelt, placing his hands on Swann’s knees.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? For real?”
“You and Sal? It’s kind of fair. I mean, given the way things have turned out. Who would I be if I minded?”
“Well…lots of people would. And… It could be different. Like, I could feel absolutely nothing for him.”
“But you do feel something.”
“I do.”
Chris waited a moment, and then he said, “I’ve only been with two guys in my life. Plenty of girls, but just too guys. And just you until this Christmas. Being with Sal is… You’re going to think this is stupid. It’s like being with goodness. It’s like being with light, and I know he’s your boyfriend, and I know, I guess you and me are together, and I know what it’s like between us. It’s like… it’s like nothing else. But I shivered the whole way here thinking about you and Sal.”
“Why do you think I left?” Swann said.
“The two of you are so shy with each other. And I knew you needed to be with just each other, that it couldn’t happen unless I left.”
“I think he feels the same way about me. It’s goofy to be talking to my best friend—who is the love of my life—and saying, I hope your boyfriend—”
“It is,” Swann said, “what it is. And what it is… is lucky for me. And for what it’s worth, Sal does feel the same. For fuck’s sake that’s why he went out and bought that bed.”
“I’ll unplug the coffeemaker and bring it back up.”
Swann nodded.
“It’s still early.”
“Do you want him tonight?”
Chris frowned.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because I have him every day. The first time, the first time you came to me, when it was all three of us, I thought, if both of you stay in my life this means that in the same way I have a life with him and a life with you, you all are going to have a life with each other, your own secrets. In fact, you should.”
Christ tilted his head.
“How about we worry about tonight when its tonight and this morning right now?”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Unite me to Thee, O my God in an intimate union and attach me to Thee in the bonds of charity the links of which may never break
Eutropius Prynne had prayed when he rose in the blackness of the morning to don the black scapular over his white robe.
He came to the natatorium that no student had possessed a key to sense Swann Portis had left. In the blue peace of that place, he baptized himself in the lukewarm water and swam lengths but only a few, before he simply bobbed in the peace of it, stretching out his arms and floating like a T. It was too much, too silly to be someone in religious service for almost twenty years and say, he was “stretched out like Christ on the Cross.” He even chuckled a little at the thought, and got water in his mouth for his troubles.
Consider, O my soul, the whiteness of this toque represents the purity of conscience you should have in order to please God. O Lord, grant me this grace, to die rather than to defile my soul by any sin. Purify it in Thy Precious Blood and grant me perfect contrition for my sins.
In a more uncivilized time there were no private showers. Already in ‘67, their last year, dividers had been put up between the nozzles, but up until then they showered naked as the day, Benji right beside him, unselfconsciously soaping himself while Jason, hands pressed to the wall, head under the nozzle just rested there until he almost fell asleep. Then were the Tenors, the group of boys who always came in singing into one nozzle they used as a microphone. Prynne didn’t exactly miss the lack of privacy, but these showers in the swim room reminded him of those. Even now he stood under the nozzle in the lonely room, just like Jason had, drenching himself in the heat.
Prynne stood drying himself in the locker room. Twenty years? Was it twenty years? He had come back because of Rose’s wedding. She was marrying that George Porter, and that’s right, neither of the Portis boys was actually named Portis. Swann should have been Swann Porter. But even then Rose and that man hadn’t been right. She’d given Swann her own name just to be spiteful.
Prynne remembered something Andy had once told him.
“No,” Sharon said. “I’m going to name him for the son of a bitch who made him with me, and then skipped away.”
Andy had never known his true father. Swann had known his but never cared for him. Reciting the prayers, Prynne changed into his habit. He had known his father, a butcher, white apron spattered pink, who butchered the finest meat on Blue Island. His hands were no longer quick to the butchering, and now the business had passed to Prynne’s cousin, Walvis, who was living out in Harvey. Nowadays the Prynnes lived in Rogers Park with a view of the lake and reminisced about the old days on the South Side.
But… Prynne had come for the wedding, and the wedding had been in ’76 because it was the bicentennial, and Americans were celebrating, and Prynne had a blow out Afro and very often a joint, and he was fond of declaring a riff off Frederick Douglass’s speech, “What is your Fourth of July to me?”
He had planned to stop and visit Benji because Benji had joined the Order, but had cold feet, and then one thing had led to another, and all of that had led to this so… twenty two years? Holy fuck! Twenty two years.
And the bells were ringing, and he slipped on his sandals and decided to cut through the gymnasium because an abbot showing up late to prayers was a very bad sign. But something was happening today. Something was happening. He could feel it in his bones, as his grandmother used to say.
At Rose’s wedding, Prynne’s grandmother said the same thing to her mother, Sefra Portis. She had said, “I have a bad feeling about this marriage,” and Sefra had asked Florence Prynne, “Is she ever wrong?”
Prynne’s mother had shaken her head.
“Never.”
“And then we confront him!” Chris said, almost pounding his fist on the table
“Confront him?” Sal said before Swann could. And because Sal had said it, Swann kept eating.
“Say, hey, you better tell us about getting molested! Tell us right now!”
People in the diner turned around and looked. Outside a semi zoomed down the highway.
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way,” Chris said, sucking the chocolate shake through his straw.
“What if we get invited to stay for Palm Sunday?” Swann said.
“Where the hell would we stay?” Sal asked.
“You know what?” Chris said, “you’re getting more and more like him?” Chris pointed between Sal and Swann.
Sal looked at Swann sideways and said, “Eh… a little. But for real, where would we stay?”
“Guesthouse,” Swann said. “There is a guesthouse.”
“Do you wanna stay?” Sal said. “Either of you?”
“I dunno,” Chris shrugged. “Bring back old times.”
“Except most of our old times are an hour and a half back at Saint Damian’s.” Sal said.
And then he said, “So we confront Jack—”
“Okay, okay already, no one’s confronting Jack. We’re just there to visit.”
Sal threw a fry at Swann, who picked it from his plate, ate it and said, “Don’t waste food.”
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
Chris answered for Swann.
“That’s because while we’ve been going back and forth, he’s already decided what he’s going to do.”
END OF CHAPTER
Eutropius Prynne had prayed when he rose in the blackness of the morning to don the black scapular over his white robe.
He came to the natatorium that no student had possessed a key to sense Swann Portis had left. In the blue peace of that place, he baptized himself in the lukewarm water and swam lengths but only a few, before he simply bobbed in the peace of it, stretching out his arms and floating like a T. It was too much, too silly to be someone in religious service for almost twenty years and say, he was “stretched out like Christ on the Cross.” He even chuckled a little at the thought, and got water in his mouth for his troubles.
Consider, O my soul, the whiteness of this toque represents the purity of conscience you should have in order to please God. O Lord, grant me this grace, to die rather than to defile my soul by any sin. Purify it in Thy Precious Blood and grant me perfect contrition for my sins.
In a more uncivilized time there were no private showers. Already in ‘67, their last year, dividers had been put up between the nozzles, but up until then they showered naked as the day, Benji right beside him, unselfconsciously soaping himself while Jason, hands pressed to the wall, head under the nozzle just rested there until he almost fell asleep. Then were the Tenors, the group of boys who always came in singing into one nozzle they used as a microphone. Prynne didn’t exactly miss the lack of privacy, but these showers in the swim room reminded him of those. Even now he stood under the nozzle in the lonely room, just like Jason had, drenching himself in the heat.
Prynne stood drying himself in the locker room. Twenty years? Was it twenty years? He had come back because of Rose’s wedding. She was marrying that George Porter, and that’s right, neither of the Portis boys was actually named Portis. Swann should have been Swann Porter. But even then Rose and that man hadn’t been right. She’d given Swann her own name just to be spiteful.
Prynne remembered something Andy had once told him.
“No,” Sharon said. “I’m going to name him for the son of a bitch who made him with me, and then skipped away.”
Andy had never known his true father. Swann had known his but never cared for him. Reciting the prayers, Prynne changed into his habit. He had known his father, a butcher, white apron spattered pink, who butchered the finest meat on Blue Island. His hands were no longer quick to the butchering, and now the business had passed to Prynne’s cousin, Walvis, who was living out in Harvey. Nowadays the Prynnes lived in Rogers Park with a view of the lake and reminisced about the old days on the South Side.
But… Prynne had come for the wedding, and the wedding had been in ’76 because it was the bicentennial, and Americans were celebrating, and Prynne had a blow out Afro and very often a joint, and he was fond of declaring a riff off Frederick Douglass’s speech, “What is your Fourth of July to me?”
He had planned to stop and visit Benji because Benji had joined the Order, but had cold feet, and then one thing had led to another, and all of that had led to this so… twenty two years? Holy fuck! Twenty two years.
And the bells were ringing, and he slipped on his sandals and decided to cut through the gymnasium because an abbot showing up late to prayers was a very bad sign. But something was happening today. Something was happening. He could feel it in his bones, as his grandmother used to say.
At Rose’s wedding, Prynne’s grandmother said the same thing to her mother, Sefra Portis. She had said, “I have a bad feeling about this marriage,” and Sefra had asked Florence Prynne, “Is she ever wrong?”
Prynne’s mother had shaken her head.
“Never.”
“And then we confront him!” Chris said, almost pounding his fist on the table
“Confront him?” Sal said before Swann could. And because Sal had said it, Swann kept eating.
“Say, hey, you better tell us about getting molested! Tell us right now!”
People in the diner turned around and looked. Outside a semi zoomed down the highway.
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way,” Chris said, sucking the chocolate shake through his straw.
“What if we get invited to stay for Palm Sunday?” Swann said.
“Where the hell would we stay?” Sal asked.
“You know what?” Chris said, “you’re getting more and more like him?” Chris pointed between Sal and Swann.
Sal looked at Swann sideways and said, “Eh… a little. But for real, where would we stay?”
“Guesthouse,” Swann said. “There is a guesthouse.”
“Do you wanna stay?” Sal said. “Either of you?”
“I dunno,” Chris shrugged. “Bring back old times.”
“Except most of our old times are an hour and a half back at Saint Damian’s.” Sal said.
And then he said, “So we confront Jack—”
“Okay, okay already, no one’s confronting Jack. We’re just there to visit.”
Sal threw a fry at Swann, who picked it from his plate, ate it and said, “Don’t waste food.”
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
Chris answered for Swann.
“That’s because while we’ve been going back and forth, he’s already decided what he’s going to do.”
END OF CHAPTER
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
An excellent end to the chapter. People are being more revealing and honest and I am here for it. That ending left me wanting more. Great writing!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Well, i'm glad you're here for it even if I've been s busy I haven't posted like I meant to. Yes, I wish in real life we were increasingly honest with each other, but I guess for now it will just have to be in fiction.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Chapter Eleven
The Abbey of Our Lady of the Angels
and Saint Francis Men’s School
and Saint Francis Men’s School
Schedule
Weekday | | Sunday |
| | |
3:15 am Vigils | | 3:15 am Vigils |
5:45 am Lauds | | 6:45 am Lauds |
6:15 am Eucharist | | 10:20 am Terce |
7:30 am Terce | | 10:30 am Eucharist |
12:15 pm Sext | | 12:15 pm Sext |
2:15 pm None | | 2:15 pm None |
5:30 pm Vespers | | 5:30 pm Vespers |
7:30 pm Compline | | 7:30 pm Compline |
8:00 pm Silence | | 8:00 pm Silence |
Abbot Prynne is in the monk’s library on the first floor of the great house, at a huge table hit with just enough sunlight, going over old house records for his sheer pleasure when Brother Jacob pops his head in and says: “Father, some students for you!”
“Students! It’s Saturday! Absolutely not! No students allowed. Tell them to go away, and now you go away too.”
“But, Father—”
“Fine, be that way!” a new voice said, “I’ll turn around and go the hell away right now.”
Eutropius Prynne raised an eyebrow like a hound and put the book down immediately.
“Swann!”
He looked up and Swann was there and Salvador Goode and Chris Navarro and he said, “Jacob, you marble, why didn’t you tell me!”
“I tried to—“
“Go away. Get Herulian and….. No, don’t get Herulian. Oh, I suppose you should get Father Reed.”
“Reed won’t be back until tonight. The track team went to Indy.”
“Oh, good, I needed a break from him. Anyway, off with you, Jacob.”
“Yes, Father Abbot,” the little monk nodded, and winked before leaving.
“Jacob Herdegger is a monk?” Chris marveled.
“Surely not that much of a surprise,” Prynne said. “But this is. Take a seat.”
He held the closest one out for Swann, who was, after all, his godson, and said, “What the hell brings you here?”
“Well, we wanted to see you, of course,” Swann said.
“Of course,” Prynne studied his face.
“But we also came to see Jack. If we could?”
“Of course you could. Can,” Prynne corrected himself.
“It’s Saturday afternoon, so he shouldn’t have any duties. He’s in the novitiate. I can take you to him. You know, I was just saying to myself something was going to happen today, which is ridiculous if you think about it because something happens every day. You were remarkable in your first play, by the way, Sal.”
“What?”
“Herulian and I came to see it opening night.”
“You should have stayed to tell me!”
“I’m telling you now. Besides, it was dark and we had to get back here.”
“What’s this?” Chris leaned in.
“These are the old monastery books,” Swann said before Prynne could.
“Some of them,” Prynne nodded. “The records, the pictures. Here is Father Guillaume, He was the first Abbot when there was no Saint Francis, and this was just called Our Lady of the Angels.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sal said.
“It became Saint Francis because… look at this daguerreotype, as you can see, there weren’t enough Cistercians to keep it going. But Bishop Vincennes liked the Cistercians, so he sent Franciscans to help. Franciscans don’t really have abbots, and they aren’t really monks, you see. In the end we became something not entirely Franciscan and not entirely Cistercian… most Cistercianly, which is why they got the names…. Saint Francis, Saint Damian, but we got the rules.”
“Father Guillaume... 1830-1875 looks…” Swann began.
“He was a quadroon. One quarter Black,” he explained for the benefit of Sal and Chris.
“And it mattered. His grandmother had been the mistress of a Haitian landowner before the revolution. And after him was Abbot Gerard, 1875-1887, and then Ingny, 1887-1897. And here… this one who looks like a saint, that’s the first Abbot Eutropius... er... 1897-1915. Abbot Merrill used to tell me that all of those abbots never fought with the Franciscans or anyone else who disagreed with them. Their hearing and their English comprehension just got worse and worse. Eutropius ruled into the twentieth century and after him came this one, here, Fox, who was the first American. And then here—”
“I like him,” Chris decided. “He looks like Santa Claus.”
“Or Papa Noel,” Prynne said, “for he was the last French abbot. Dom Everard, 1930-1940. He came in 1900 from Quebec, I think. I knew him. He was kind and gentle and very funny, and someone I would have liked to be like. He was Merrill’s hero, I think. And then after him was Dom Alexander—”
“Dom?”
“It’s just the proper name for an abbot,” Swann said, and Prynne nodded.
“Dom Alexander was from 1940 up until 47 and then came Dom Frederic, 47-63 and, at last Merrill.”
“And then Merrill was Abbot up until you,” Chris said, “which was the year we came.”
“No…. That would have been a very, very long reign. Merrill was abbot from ’63 till 1980…. Which is still a long reign. And then Ingersoll came in, for five years, 80-85 and then Merrill was abbot again for a year or two… this had happened before with others. Everard actually stepped in or assisted several times. Next came Saxon for three years, and then Merill stepped in again, but he was very old and it was understood that he was just an interim abbot.”
“Interim for you?” Swann said.
“Probably, yes.”
“Well, then why didn’t you just… become abbot earlier?”
“It was early enough, Swann. And I wasn’t sure I wanted it. In some houses an abbot doesn’t rule very long, but in ours it can be a lifetime. And then there’s what we call politics.”
“Politics in an abbey?” Sal said.
Prynne stood up, pushing the books away from him.
“Politics is everywhere.”
The habit, ceremoniously donned every morning, and worn every day at school since he’d become abbot, was forsaken after Sext for jeans, a tee shirt and a pullover. Prynne looked, to Swann younger than he’d ever known his godfather. Every Lent he remembered Prynne sailing through the halls and into the class room in voluminous black, never the black and white or white on white but black robe black scapular and heavy black beaded rosary. Prynne seemed more carefree, and Swann irrationally wondered, was it be cause the kids were all grown up now. But of course the kids were not all grown up now. There were always kids here. He just wasn’t one of them.
They knocked on a door and, a moment later, Jack Knapp, hair sticking up, stuck out his head.
“You’re going to let flies in if you don’t close your mouth,” Prynne told him.
“No, no,” Jack looked around. “I’m just… It’s a great day, guys. Can we go to the cloister?”
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“You look great.”
“Thanks, Jack, so do you. I thought you’d look…”
“More like a monk?”
“Yes.”
Jack shook his head.
“I’m just a postulant.”
“Postulant, novice, then the full thing?”
“Temporary vows and permanent vows.”
“Seems like a lot. People walk out after their permanent vows?”
“Brother Clifford did. I know two others did too.”
“Then I wonder what the point of a vow even is,” Swann said.
He said, “Did you ever tell Prynne?”
“Did you come all this way to ask me that?”
“No, I came all this way because I’d been meaning to, and Chris asked if we should see you today.”
“Well, then I’m glad. And no, I didn’t”
When Swann said nothing, Chris said, “I told Reed.”
“Better than nothing.”
“I don’t know if it is. It’s all in the past. Nothing can be done about it.”
“You’d know better than me,” Swann said.
“When I think about it I’m just angry.”
“Well, yeah, Jack.”
“No,” Jack shook his head. “You don’t get it.”
Swann waited to get it.
“I get angry with me. I’m mad at me.”
“What the hell for?”
“That day. That day he did it to me, fhe first time, it was like something in me, like, like my soul ran out of my body. Like I turned to ice. He violated me and I just stood there and let him. I was fourteen years old and you better believe if I’d seem him do that to you or anyone one else I would have… I would have knocked his fucking head off.
“But I couldn’t defend myself. How weak was that?”
“You were a kid... And you were frightened.”
“You wouldn’t have let it happen to you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Swann said. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Yes you do. I was big. I was strong. Kids looked up to me, and some old man sticks his hand down my pants and I just let him. You would have never let that happen.”
“Jack, I don’t know what to—”
“And that’s why I’m so fucking mad… And embarrassed.”
“Well, now I really do wonder if what we did was right,” Swann said. “You wondered, but did I put you through some trauma?”
Jack shook his head.
“Us together was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Jack said, “What if I told you you’re the only person I’ve ever been with?”
“What?”
“I tried…. I mean, I always knew I didn’t like girls. I tried it with guys, but it just felt wrong. It felt like being violated or violating someone. It didn’t feel real. You’re it Swann.”
Swann didn’t know what to say, and so Jack said, “I know I’m not the only one you’ve been with, so… that’s not an issue.
“I’m surprised to see Chris, though.”
“You know I loved him.”
“Yeah. I think he was in love with you even when we were together and he was dating every girl in town. But you’re with Sal, right?”
“I am with Sal.”
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“There’s a lot to tell.”
Chris and Sal were talking to Prynne still, and finally Jack looked from them to Swann and said, “No.”
“What?”
“It’s not possible.”
“What isn’t possible?”
“You’re with both of them, aren’t you?”
When Swann gave him a blank stare, Chris said, “I’m not judging you, but do they know?”
“We sleep in the same bed.”
Jack’s eyes bulged like a cartoon.
“Like in the pornos?”
Then he said, “That was wrong of me. I mean, Chris and Sal are good guys. I’m sure it’s more like a... A dance of something. I’m sure it’s all very sweet.”
“Well,” Swann shrugged, “it can be. But I imagine sex is sex, and it probably would look like something in a porno. I love them both, and they love each other, so…”
“Problem solved,” Jack shook his head in wonder.
“I thought you’d be more…”
“Unsettled?”
“Yes.”
Jack shrugged.
“I dunno. I mean, if it works for—no, fuck that—if it makes you all love each other more, and it makes more love in the world than hatred, then, the stuff that was done to me, then I’m all for it.”
After a while he said, “Can you imagine if you and me and Chris had done that?”
Swann laughed warmly.
“Believe it or not, I’ve actually imagined that many times"
“Thanks, Jack, so do you. I thought you’d look…”
“More like a monk?”
“Yes.”
Jack shook his head.
“I’m just a postulant.”
“Postulant, novice, then the full thing?”
“Temporary vows and permanent vows.”
“Seems like a lot. People walk out after their permanent vows?”
“Brother Clifford did. I know two others did too.”
“Then I wonder what the point of a vow even is,” Swann said.
He said, “Did you ever tell Prynne?”
“Did you come all this way to ask me that?”
“No, I came all this way because I’d been meaning to, and Chris asked if we should see you today.”
“Well, then I’m glad. And no, I didn’t”
When Swann said nothing, Chris said, “I told Reed.”
“Better than nothing.”
“I don’t know if it is. It’s all in the past. Nothing can be done about it.”
“You’d know better than me,” Swann said.
“When I think about it I’m just angry.”
“Well, yeah, Jack.”
“No,” Jack shook his head. “You don’t get it.”
Swann waited to get it.
“I get angry with me. I’m mad at me.”
“What the hell for?”
“That day. That day he did it to me, fhe first time, it was like something in me, like, like my soul ran out of my body. Like I turned to ice. He violated me and I just stood there and let him. I was fourteen years old and you better believe if I’d seem him do that to you or anyone one else I would have… I would have knocked his fucking head off.
“But I couldn’t defend myself. How weak was that?”
“You were a kid... And you were frightened.”
“You wouldn’t have let it happen to you.”
“I don’t know about that,” Swann said. “I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Yes you do. I was big. I was strong. Kids looked up to me, and some old man sticks his hand down my pants and I just let him. You would have never let that happen.”
“Jack, I don’t know what to—”
“And that’s why I’m so fucking mad… And embarrassed.”
“Well, now I really do wonder if what we did was right,” Swann said. “You wondered, but did I put you through some trauma?”
Jack shook his head.
“Us together was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Jack said, “What if I told you you’re the only person I’ve ever been with?”
“What?”
“I tried…. I mean, I always knew I didn’t like girls. I tried it with guys, but it just felt wrong. It felt like being violated or violating someone. It didn’t feel real. You’re it Swann.”
Swann didn’t know what to say, and so Jack said, “I know I’m not the only one you’ve been with, so… that’s not an issue.
“I’m surprised to see Chris, though.”
“You know I loved him.”
“Yeah. I think he was in love with you even when we were together and he was dating every girl in town. But you’re with Sal, right?”
“I am with Sal.”
“You’re not telling me everything.”
“There’s a lot to tell.”
Chris and Sal were talking to Prynne still, and finally Jack looked from them to Swann and said, “No.”
“What?”
“It’s not possible.”
“What isn’t possible?”
“You’re with both of them, aren’t you?”
When Swann gave him a blank stare, Chris said, “I’m not judging you, but do they know?”
“We sleep in the same bed.”
Jack’s eyes bulged like a cartoon.
“Like in the pornos?”
Then he said, “That was wrong of me. I mean, Chris and Sal are good guys. I’m sure it’s more like a... A dance of something. I’m sure it’s all very sweet.”
“Well,” Swann shrugged, “it can be. But I imagine sex is sex, and it probably would look like something in a porno. I love them both, and they love each other, so…”
“Problem solved,” Jack shook his head in wonder.
“I thought you’d be more…”
“Unsettled?”
“Yes.”
Jack shrugged.
“I dunno. I mean, if it works for—no, fuck that—if it makes you all love each other more, and it makes more love in the world than hatred, then, the stuff that was done to me, then I’m all for it.”
After a while he said, “Can you imagine if you and me and Chris had done that?”
Swann laughed warmly.
“Believe it or not, I’ve actually imagined that many times"
CharmedFan28
JUB Addict
Great to have some portions to read and I completely understand with being busy. These were very interesting, more people being more honest and I agree with you people should be more honest over time. I am glad Swann can go to Father Prynne for advice or just to talk when he needs him. Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon!
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
Well, not only was a busy before, but then I had the audacity to be sick over the weekend. I think I was getting ill all along. Anyway, here's some more, and Im glad you're enjoying the facets of this story, Matthew.
ChrisGibson
JUB Addict
“I hadn’t planned to be angry today,” Prynne said.
“And if we hadn’t come you wouldn’t have been,” Swann said.
“Well… that is true,” Prynne acknowledged, “but somehow I’m sure you’re not the source of the anger.”
“I should have told you,” Jack said.
“It should never have happened,” Prynne said.
He sat down.
“I do wonder, though, how many times it happened before?”
“Father Reed.”
“Ah, yes.”
Jack clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he said it.
“That wasn’t mine to tell.”
Chris and Sal looked devastated and Swann stopped himself from saying, “So that was his fucking problem.”
“Are you all staying tonight?” Abbot Prynne asked.
“Are we?” Chris looked to Sal.
“No,” Prynne answered for them, standing up. “I’ll come back on my own and we can visit. Chris has to drive back to Lafayette in the morning.”
Then he said, “I just realized, you could probably drive to Lafayette in the same time from here as from Saint Damian’s.”
“I also realized,” Prynne said, “Chris and Sal’s families live in town and you’d probably rather stay in your own homes.”
“I am embarrassed to say I didn’t think of that at all,” Chris reported.
Prynne almost said, “Jack could too, if he wanted…” But he didn’t. No, let him understand what it was to keep these vows, to live a separate life. There was hypocrisy in this, maybe, for now that Prynne was the abbot and closer to fifty than forty, he went wherever he pleased, but certainly if that had been an option when he was younger he would not have been here over twenty years. He thought too much on these things. He thought, if one of them asks, I will say yes. But if no one asks I will not offer. That;s the thing. For now.
Jack did not ask. He said, “Will you all come to Mass in the morning?”
“It’s Palm Sunday,” Swann said. “Of course we will.”
The last time Eutropius Prynne had seen Father Mc.Kindley was at the end of his first year as abbot. It had been long and difficult as the house settled under new rule, and there had not been new rule for some time. Yes, there had been two abbots after Merrill, but Merrill was always around, and then Merrill was around after them, and in a way Herulian and Reed had done a great deal of running things for years. Aside from Prynne’s black face, his abbacy began something very different. Suddenly, the person who quietly had the ear of the old abbot and prior and, in some ways the principal too, now openly controlled things. Several people, both in the order and out, wondered how far they could test the boundaries. They learned quickly, for if Prynne was quiet and easygoing most of the time, when crossed he was firm in who ran this house.
Merrill had been very old, and for the most part, very firm on having little to do with the school. To Prynne the school was little more than an extension of the house, and, being in his early forties and a very well known face and former student, parents came to his office often. He had opened his door not because he wanted parents to come, but because after the Mc.Kindley scandal he owed them.
The first to come was Jason Newman. His old best friend flung himself into Prynne’s arms, and then held him by the shoulders, tears running down his face and shaking his head.
“Look at you! A proper monk. An abbot and everything. I wanna laugh and cry at the same time.”
“I’m sorry, Jason. You know I called you as soon as I knew.”
“You took care of it,” Jason said.
“That monster put hands on my boy, and he couldn’t even tell me. He couldn’t tell me, and I thought it was because… Because of, you know… But… you got rid of him and you put him in jail, and I love you, buddy.”
“This school is the reason—”
“That didn’t have shit to do with you, and I’ve been waiting to thank you. I took far too long.”
“I thought…” And then Prynne said, “I would not have blamed you for never speaking to me again.”
“And again,” Jason said, embracing his old best friend, “That was my fault.”
Prynne was smoking one afternoon, and his left eye hurt, when another parent showed up in his office. He was bearded and tall, but sat quiet, literally holding his hat in his hands.
“Father Abbot,” he said. “I uh… my son is here, and it came to my attention…”
“Let m make it easy for you. Or at least easier. Now that I am abbot I want to do everything I can to protect our students and make sure this never happens again. Whatever you want to say to me, even if it is to curse me in my face, is fine. I am the face of this house.”
“No,” the man shook his head, distractedly. “That’s not... No one wants to curse you. I want to thank you. For finding out, for asking, for making my son speak to you. For making him talk to me. For actually being good to him, if you know who he is.”
“Sir, you’ll have to excuse me. But I am very confused. My students are my charge. They are ours as long as they are here. My own godson is here, and all the children are my godchildren. When they are here.”
“You really don’t recognize me,” the man said. And then he shook his head.
“Why should you? I was a terrible person.”
“And if we hadn’t come you wouldn’t have been,” Swann said.
“Well… that is true,” Prynne acknowledged, “but somehow I’m sure you’re not the source of the anger.”
“I should have told you,” Jack said.
“It should never have happened,” Prynne said.
He sat down.
“I do wonder, though, how many times it happened before?”
“Father Reed.”
“Ah, yes.”
Jack clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he said it.
“That wasn’t mine to tell.”
Chris and Sal looked devastated and Swann stopped himself from saying, “So that was his fucking problem.”
“Are you all staying tonight?” Abbot Prynne asked.
“Are we?” Chris looked to Sal.
“No,” Prynne answered for them, standing up. “I’ll come back on my own and we can visit. Chris has to drive back to Lafayette in the morning.”
Then he said, “I just realized, you could probably drive to Lafayette in the same time from here as from Saint Damian’s.”
“I also realized,” Prynne said, “Chris and Sal’s families live in town and you’d probably rather stay in your own homes.”
“I am embarrassed to say I didn’t think of that at all,” Chris reported.
Prynne almost said, “Jack could too, if he wanted…” But he didn’t. No, let him understand what it was to keep these vows, to live a separate life. There was hypocrisy in this, maybe, for now that Prynne was the abbot and closer to fifty than forty, he went wherever he pleased, but certainly if that had been an option when he was younger he would not have been here over twenty years. He thought too much on these things. He thought, if one of them asks, I will say yes. But if no one asks I will not offer. That;s the thing. For now.
Jack did not ask. He said, “Will you all come to Mass in the morning?”
“It’s Palm Sunday,” Swann said. “Of course we will.”
The last time Eutropius Prynne had seen Father Mc.Kindley was at the end of his first year as abbot. It had been long and difficult as the house settled under new rule, and there had not been new rule for some time. Yes, there had been two abbots after Merrill, but Merrill was always around, and then Merrill was around after them, and in a way Herulian and Reed had done a great deal of running things for years. Aside from Prynne’s black face, his abbacy began something very different. Suddenly, the person who quietly had the ear of the old abbot and prior and, in some ways the principal too, now openly controlled things. Several people, both in the order and out, wondered how far they could test the boundaries. They learned quickly, for if Prynne was quiet and easygoing most of the time, when crossed he was firm in who ran this house.
Merrill had been very old, and for the most part, very firm on having little to do with the school. To Prynne the school was little more than an extension of the house, and, being in his early forties and a very well known face and former student, parents came to his office often. He had opened his door not because he wanted parents to come, but because after the Mc.Kindley scandal he owed them.
The first to come was Jason Newman. His old best friend flung himself into Prynne’s arms, and then held him by the shoulders, tears running down his face and shaking his head.
“Look at you! A proper monk. An abbot and everything. I wanna laugh and cry at the same time.”
“I’m sorry, Jason. You know I called you as soon as I knew.”
“You took care of it,” Jason said.
“That monster put hands on my boy, and he couldn’t even tell me. He couldn’t tell me, and I thought it was because… Because of, you know… But… you got rid of him and you put him in jail, and I love you, buddy.”
“This school is the reason—”
“That didn’t have shit to do with you, and I’ve been waiting to thank you. I took far too long.”
“I thought…” And then Prynne said, “I would not have blamed you for never speaking to me again.”
“And again,” Jason said, embracing his old best friend, “That was my fault.”
Prynne was smoking one afternoon, and his left eye hurt, when another parent showed up in his office. He was bearded and tall, but sat quiet, literally holding his hat in his hands.
“Father Abbot,” he said. “I uh… my son is here, and it came to my attention…”
“Let m make it easy for you. Or at least easier. Now that I am abbot I want to do everything I can to protect our students and make sure this never happens again. Whatever you want to say to me, even if it is to curse me in my face, is fine. I am the face of this house.”
“No,” the man shook his head, distractedly. “That’s not... No one wants to curse you. I want to thank you. For finding out, for asking, for making my son speak to you. For making him talk to me. For actually being good to him, if you know who he is.”
“Sir, you’ll have to excuse me. But I am very confused. My students are my charge. They are ours as long as they are here. My own godson is here, and all the children are my godchildren. When they are here.”
“You really don’t recognize me,” the man said. And then he shook his head.
“Why should you? I was a terrible person.”
