Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Mark had only been back at work full time for
a few days and he was having trouble getting back in the swing of
things. Nothing serious, but he was certainly needing more breaks
than usual, slipping away to the empty pews for a few moments of
peace and prayer before returning to the pile of paperwork that had
built up in his absence. He was on one of these breaks when he
heard an angry voice from the vestibule and turned to see two men,
one gripping the other by the arm…
Not two men. A man and a boy. A man and Alex.
The man wasn’t quite dragging Alex but his grip was firm and
commanding. He spotted Mark and growled something at the teen, who
nodded reluctantly, then started to speak. But the man just jerked
them both forward.
Mark stood to greet them, his hands open in
front of him. “Alex, hi. Is everything okay?”
“No, it’s not,” the man responded. “What the
fuck has been going on between you and my son?”
Not words any man wanted to hear from an
angry parent, but even worse for a gay man. For a priest. Mark
tried to keep himself calm. He’d done nothing wrong, and he had to
stay focused on Alex’s wellbeing. “I’m not sure what you mean.
Would you like to go back to my office and we can discuss it? I can
see if the rector is available, if you’d like…he’s the person I
report to. My boss.”
“So he can help you cover it up? I know about
you church types. I read the paper, you know!”
“Is there someone else you’d like to invite?
A police officer, maybe?” Might not be a bad idea to have one
around in case the man got violent. “But does Alex need to be
involved? Maybe we could discuss it as adults…”
“Oh, so you realize that he’s just a kid?
From what he’s said, I wasn’t so sure!”
Finally, Alex broke in. “Dad, it’s a youth
group. That’s the whole point of it. If he didn’t think I was a
youth I wouldn’t have been in the group.”
The man dropped Alex’s arm and stepped closer
to Mark before growling, “So what the fuck do you think you’re
doing, telling him he’s gay? Telling him he needs to ‘come out’ and
‘be honest’ about it all? He’s a fucking kid! He doesn’t know what
he is!”
Mark’s relief was short lived. The man wasn’t
accusing him of molesting the boy, apparently, so that was
something. But Mark could have defended against that charge, and
there would have been no reason for Alex to be hurt. This,
though…this wasn’t based on a stupid misunderstanding. This was
something deeper and uglier. “Mr. Wilson, this isn’t a conversation
that the whole town needs to hear about, is it? Let’s go back to my
office.”
“I think the whole town does need to
hear about it! If this church is pushing a gay agenda, pressuring
kids to be something they’re not—”
“If that’s the case, I’m sure you’ll be able
to get some attention to your cause without this kind of public
exposure for Alex.” That was maybe a little strong, but there were
a few parishioners in the nave, and they were certainly taking an
interest in the scene unfolding in front of them. In a small town,
it wouldn’t take long for word to spread. “If he has made a
mistake or been unduly influenced, we want it kept as quiet as
possible, right?”
Mr. Wilson didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t
argue, at least not directly. Instead, he cast a disgusted look in
his son’s direction. Based on Alex’s lack of response, it probably
wasn’t the first time the two had interacted in this manner, and
Mark wished there was some way to comfort the son without
antagonizing the father. “Fine,” Mr. Wilson finally grunted. “But
you’d better get your…what’d you call him? Your boss. I want to
talk to him, for sure. And his boss too.” He stepped even closer to
Mark and hissed, “I’m going to make you sorry. I’m going to make
this huge.”
Mark managed to bite back any sort of
response and led the way to the back of the church. He fought off
an inexplicable urge to queen it up, to put a sashay in his walk
and wave his hands with a little extra enthusiasm as he held the
door for Mr. Wilson. It was a stupid, childish impulse, and he
rejected it firmly, if somewhat regretfully.
The little parade came to an indecisive halt
in the foyer where the part-time church secretary worked. It was
too bad she wasn’t there that day—surely even Mr. Wilson would have
tried to control his anger in front of a sixty-something
grandmother. Instead, Mark leaned into Terry’s doorway and quietly
said, “Have you got a minute? There’s a bit of a situation—”
Mr. Wilson didn’t wait for Terry’s answer.
Instead, he pushed past Mark into the small office and said,
“You’re the one in charge? You’re his boss? Fine, I’ll talk to you,
then. He can go. I don’t want to spend any more time with him than
I have to.”
Terry’s face showed no surprise at this turn
of events. Instead, he gave his most peaceful, beatific smile and
said, “I’d be happy to discuss your concerns, of course. But I
think Father Webber should stay. It’s only fair for him to hear
your complaints first hand, isn’t it?” And then the coup de
grace—the move Mark had seen Terry make many times when
confronted with belligerence. The man pushed away from his desk and
dropped to his knees. “But first, if you don’t mind, I’d like to
take a moment for a prayer. I’d be happy if you’d join me, or lead
the prayer if you’d like.” He smiled up at Mr. Wilson. “I find
prayer soothing, and it will help prepare me for our
discussion.”
Mark knelt quickly and dropped his head,
peripheral vision making him aware that Alex was mirroring his
actions. There was no rustle of movement to suggest that Mr. Wilson
was doing the same, and Mark tried to imagine the man standing
there staring down at the other three, the expression of confusion
that must be on his face…but that wasn’t what Mark was supposed to
be doing. Just like the rituals of the Eucharist, there was theatre
in all of this, but it mustn’t be empty dramatics. Mark couldn’t
pretend to pray just for effect—he had to actually do it. So he
cleared his mind, found the words, and ran over them in his mind.
One repetition and he was calmer. His pulse was slowing and he
could feel the heat draining from his face. A second run-through to
bring him back into himself and find his center. A third and then a
fourth repetition to strengthen his resolve and his tranquility,
and then, the magic moment. As he repeated the familiar words for
the fifth time, Mark allowed himself to reach out to God. And as He
always had been, God was there waiting and Mark felt the warmth of
His love and acceptance. He only allowed himself to bask for a
moment before sending thoughts of gratitude and then pulling
himself back. “Amen,” he said quietly.
When he looked up, the others were waiting
for him. Terry smiled gently while Mr. Wilson and even Alex looked
at Mark as if he were crazy. Instead of irritation, he felt
compassion for them. Anyone struggling through the world without
knowing the love of God must find it a terrifying place indeed. It
was no wonder Mr. Wilson was easily frightened, and from that,
easily angered. “I’m sorry,” Mark said as he rose to his feet. “I’m
not sure what I’ve done to make you feel uncomfortable, but I
apologize for it.” He knew from long experience that his
tranquility wouldn’t last forever, but he’d make the most of it
while he could.
Mr. Wilson looked disconcerted by the entire
situation. “You apologize?” He stared at Mark for a moment before
managing to dredge up his resentment. “You apologize. For
twisting my son’s mind, recruiting him for—”
“Dad, stop!” Alex’s expression was pained. “I
told you!” He turned to Mark and said, “I swear, I told him. So
many times!” He shook his head and looked back at his father. “I’m
gay. I came to the youth group because I’m gay, and I wanted to
talk to someone about it. A kid I know said Father Mark was a good
listener. That’s all. He didn’t turn me gay! He hasn’t recruited me
for anything!”
“I saw your computer, Alex!”
Now Alex was speaking to Terry as if hoping
for a judgment in his favor. “My grandparents bought me that for
Christmas last year! It’s mine!”
“They bought it so you could do homework! Not
so you could look at—” Mr. Wilson broke off, then apparently
decided to follow his son’s lead in appealing to authority. He
turned to Terry and said, “You should have seen the filth he was
looking at. Disgusting pornography—”
“It wouldn’t have been disgusting if it had
been a man and a woman, though, right, Dad? You wouldn’t have
dragged me down here if it had been straight porn!”
“Down here? No. If it had been straight porn
I would have dealt with you myself. But since it wasn’t straight
porn…yeah, I needed to figure out who’s been putting these ideas in
your head.” He looked accusingly at Mark. “Obviously I didn’t have
to search very hard.”
“You really think I need someone to tell me
to look at porn, Dad? Like it’s not all over the internet, just
waiting?”
“It’s not just pornography that I found.” Mr.
Wilson was talking to Terry again. “He’d been looking up news
articles, and at first I thought, ‘good, he’s using it for school,’
but then I looked a little closer. The articles were all about the
same person, and when I asked him about it…” He looked at his son
as if replaying the words in his mind, then shook his head. “You
wouldn’t believe the nonsense he came up with. And this
son-of-a-bitch…this pervert who’s trying to get his claws into my
teenage son? He’s connected to your church as well. He lives in
your halfway house. Someone here got him a job at the place my
teenage boy volunteers! What the fuck is wrong with you
people?”
Alex was the first to speak. “I told you,
Dad. He’s not a pervert. I’m the one chasing him. He’s shutting me
down. He’s being nice about it, but…” He shook his head and looked
sadly at Mark. “Nothing’s happened, and I really don’t think
anything ever will.”
Well, that was a relief. But Mr. Wilson
didn’t seem satisfied. “This is a church for fuck’s sake! My boy
said he wanted to join a church youth group and…well, I wasn’t
thrilled about it. Would have liked to see him on a hockey team
instead, but you have to raise the kid you got, not the one you
thought you were going to get. Right?”
“I think you’re very lucky to be raising a
boy like Alex,” Mark said quickly. He could feel his serenity
draining away and tried to regain his compassion for the man in
front of him. “I’m sure it’s frightening to think about something
like this. It’s unfamiliar, and unexpected.”
“I’m not frightened,” Mr. Wilson scoffed.
“I’m pissed off. Alex is…well, I have no idea what the hell he is,
and neither does he. He doesn’t need you swooping in and taking
advantage of that!” He turned back to Terry. “I’m his father. His
real father, not this ‘Father Mark’ bullshit. It’s my job to
look out for him.” He rocked back on his heels and lifted his chin.
“And that’s what I’m going to do.”
Terry looked tired. “So, just to be
clear…you’re upset because you feel Father Webber has encouraged
Alex to be gay while Alex himself is undecided…” He held up a hand
to silence Alex’s protestations before continuing with his
methodical recitation. “And because you feel that the church was
careless in placing a man with…well, a man with no history of
sexual misconduct whatsoever, but a man with a criminal past…into a
situation where he would be in contact with your teenage son. These
are your concerns?”
“Yeah, they are!”
“Okay. I understand. Please, Mr.…Mr. Wilson,
is it? Please sit down. And Alex too, please.” And now the words
Mark had been anticipating and dreading. “Mark, I think we’ll
probably get more done on our own right now, and I know you’ve got
a lot of work to catch up on. Why don’t you get back to it, and
I’ll update you when the meeting’s over.”
Why don’t you walk away and let us talk
about you behind your back. Why don’t you go sit and stew in your
own office while this homophobe throws accusations at you and hurts
his own son in the process. There were so many answers, but
Mark knew that Terry hadn’t really been asking a question. He had
been dismissed. Trying to stay would only ramp up the tension in a
room where it was just starting to defuse. And it would make him
look like the pushy bastard Mr. Wilson apparently thought he was,
substituting his own judgment for someone else’s, pursuing his own
agenda. Besides, maybe Terry was right: they’d get more done on
their own right then.
Still, it felt wrong to meekly nod and step
backwards into the foyer. Even more wrong to pull the flimsy door
shut behind him and step away from it all. Maybe he should go and
wash his hands to complete the symbolic removal of himself from
Alex’s plight.
He just had to trust Terry. And, of course,
God. Mark took a quick look into his own office and knew he
wouldn’t be able to concentrate on his paperwork, not yet. So he
headed back along the narrow hallway to the main church. More
prayer—it was all he had left to do.