by Tara Tingle
He smiled as his eyes remained closed.
“Did daddy make you happy?” I asked.
He nodded, unsure if he should reply as a baby or as an adult. Eventually, he made the decision on his own. “H'bout you?” he queried.
I allowed him that question. “What about me?” I replied with an inquiry of my own.
“You made me come. Shouldn't I do the same for you... daddy?”
It was a very enticing offer, one that I wanted so much to accept.
But reality was swift to descend on that tender instance we were sharing.
“No,” I muttered.
“No?” He was confused.
“No, I cannot,” I informed him.
“Why?”
“I'm sorry, Xavi,” I responded without explaining.
He dipped his head to let me know that he understood.
“I will like it very much if you'll continue showing me your... baby side... if you're still up to it,” I requested instead.
He smiled and blinked.
A second later and he was making unintelligible babbles as he pointed at the bidet that was left lying on the floor.
I smiled back and continued with the bath that was interrupted by the wistful episode that we shared.
We stayed in the bathroom for half-an-hour or so. I dried him up with the towel that was hanging by the door. I sensed that, though adrenaline allowed him to support himself when we were engaged in that moment of passion, he was still weak. One doesn't recover quickly from an overdose, but it was a good sign that he wasn't showing any symptoms of nausea, confusion and extreme dehydration less than twenty-four hours removed from his ordeal. Still his body has yet to fully recover. And so, I decided to carry him back to the bedroom where new diapers waited for him. I put on a fresh pair on him before he lied down.
I lied beside him.
He snuggled close to me, burying his head in my chest as he placed his arm and his leg over my body. He kept burrowing his face on my torso as he giggled. He didn't have plans of sleeping anytime soon.
But he needed to sleep.
His body needed sleep to recuperate much faster.
And I knew of only one way to help him drift off into slumber... one which my mother used to do for me when I was young.
“Story time?” I asked him.
He nodded with much exhilaration.
“Very well,” I acknowledged as I began to think about what tale I could tell him.
But I couldn't remember any, so I just began to weave one of my own...
About a child who thought that he was already a man...
Who ventured out of the house in search of adventure...
Only to discover that he wasn't ready for the challenges that the world presented...
He felt so lost, so helpless, so hopeless...
And all he longed for was to get back home...
He tried to ask for aid, he tried to ask for directions...
But no one could understand him...
No one spoke the language he knew...
And so he walked...
He walked and walked and walked...
Until his legs got tired and the blisters on his feet became too painful to bear...
And he stopped walking...
And he was about to give up...
He started to weep...
But then he heard a voice most familiar...
Calling his name...
Begging for him to return...
The child lifted his head and turned towards the direction where the sound was coming from...
And he saw his daddy, running towards him with unbridled joy on his face...
He hugged the child tight and kissed him...
‘I've been looking for you,’ he said, ‘I've been looking for you for hours...
‘But as you continued to walk, the distance between us remained...
‘So if you ever get lost again, please remember...
‘Stop walking...
‘Just stop walking...
‘And I'll reach you in due time...
‘Because I'll never stop looking for you...
I'll never stop being here for you....’
Xavier didn't react as my story ended, neither with words nor with his body.
I looked at him and discovered that he has fallen asleep.
That gave me a kind of satisfaction that I rarely felt.
I stared at the ceiling as I savored how near he was to me, resting his head on my upper body like I was a pillow, feeling safe and secure in my presence.
And I realized...
It's been a while since I've been this happy.
I've never been this happy, actually.
I leaned towards Xavier and planted a long, soft kiss on his forehead. “Good night, baby boy,” I whispered even though I knew he couldn't hear me anymore.
This evening of indulgence... this night of indiscretion which I allowed for myself... in my heart and in my mind, I knew that it was most definitely worth it.
But now is now.
Tomorrow?
Tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, I'd have to decide how I'd let the rest of my life to play out.
7
The Harsh Reality
I could still remember how happy my family was when I told them that I was scheduled for ordination.
My mother, in particular, was so overjoyed that she couldn't stop her tears from falling.
Well, I always wanted you to be a police officer but I guess enforcing God's laws won't be any different, I recall my father saying in jest.
Both of them made me know how proud they were of me that day, and they've never stopped reminding me of that fact since then. To them, a priest was just as prominent a position as a lawyer, a doctor, an engineer, and even an elected state official. With three of my four siblings failing in their pursuit of the professions they set out to achieve, my ordination was taken as some kind of redemption by my folks.
Even after my father passed away, my mother never stopped telling me how happy he would be if he was still alive just knowing that I would be doing the Lord's work.
For many years, the happiness I've given her served as added fuel in fulfilling my role as a priest. Throughout the tiring days and my struggles with the weaknesses of my humanity, I always believed that God pulled me up whenever I felt like sinking... but my parents – my mother and my departed father - pushed me from behind to give the Lord a helping hand.
Such led me to a conclusion.
I wanted to become a priest because of my desire to help others.
I became a priest because of my faith.
I remained a priest because of my family.
And that gave rise to a question that I dared not answer.
Was I willing to break their hearts just to follow the dictates of mine?
“Good morning,” Xavier greeted me with a wide grin as he stretched his arms and yawned.
“Hey, you're awake,” I replied, surprised that the sun was already peeking out of the small openings of the curtains, wondering if I ever got any sleep at all.
“You're up early,” he remarked.
“Yes. I have to attend to some matters at the chapel before noon,” I told him. It wasn't completely a lie. Something always required my attention back in the parish, even if nothing in particular came to mind at that exact moment.
“Busy mornings, huh?” he quipped.
“Most mornings, yes,” I said.
“I'm sorry... do you still want me to... uhm... you know... be a baby?” he hesitantly asked.
“No,” I told him. “I think I need the adult you right now.”
Xavier noticed the seriousness in my tone. He immediately got up with a worried expression on his face. “Is something wrong?”
“We... We have to talk, Xavi.”
“About?”
“About us.”
“Oh,” he muttered. “Did things happen too fast?” he nervously queried.
I smiled. “No, they did not. I was the one who requested for those things to happen, remember?”
“Yeah, I guess. I'm just... I dunno... I'm just afraid...”
“Afraid?”
“Afraid that you may have had... what's that word again? An... epiphany?”
His utterance of that word surprised me.
Epiphany.
A moment of sudden realization or insight, often attributed to a divine manifestation.
Did I actually have an epiphany?
Have I regained some clarity because God touched my soul to remind me of who and what I was supposed to be?
Or did He just leave me in a worse state of confusion?
“Xavi, an epiphany is a spiritual experience that is meant to right what is wrong,” I explained. “There is nothing wrong about what we did.”
“Then we're good?” he wanted to know as a smile returned to his face once again. “We're okay?”
I bowed my head, unsure as to how I should proceed.
“We're... not good then?” he wondered, his beam immediately disappearing.
“Nothing's wrong about what we did,” I repeated. “For normal people, at least. But the circumstances surrounding us are anything but normal, Xavi. I'm a priest. I'm a man of God. I'm bound to the vows I've made... oaths that I've sworn to uphold... pacts that I've entered into with the Lord. I... I cannot break those...”
“Oh,” he mumbled. I felt that he wanted to say more, to express his arguments about what I've said, to make me change my stance. But he was too jolted, too despondent, too beaten that no other words could escape his mouth.
“I'm sorry, Xavi... but this... whatever this is... this couldn't continue,” I declared with much sadness.
“But...” he mustered all the courage, all the strength and all the will he had to state his side. “What... What vows are you exactly breaking? I mean... it's not like we made love or anything. Yeah, there was that thing in the bathroom when you held my... you know... and I came... but aside from that, it's not like we had sex, right? All we did was... was...” he began to choke up, making it very difficult for him to finish what he was saying. “All you did was... was that you became my... my daddy...”
“Believe me, Xavi,” I replied as I held and squeezed his arm, “that made me happy. So very, very happy. I don't think I've ever been happier my entire life. Being your daddy was a wonderful, wonderful thing...”
“And it's not against your vows, right?” he pressed, trying to cling to the tiniest sliver of hope my words gave him.
“It is,” I dejectedly answered.
“Why?” he demanded to know.
“Xavi, I allowed myself to become your daddy...” I began to say, with my own voice cracking as well, “because I'm in love with you.”
“I... I'm sorry?” He couldn't believe what he just heard, but it was clear that it caused him a lot of distress. That made me question if I did the right thing in telling him how I really felt.
But I have already spoken those words, and if I'd take them back, I'd just be making matters worse.
“I'm in love with you,” I repeated more firmly. “I'm in love with you, Xavi. I've been in love with you since the first confession you made at the chapel... when I heard your voice... when I heard your stories... when you shared your thoughts... when you opened your heart. There was goodness in you, one that was wrapped in mystery... the kind of mystery that begged to be unraveled. You made me realize that despite the robes I wear and the vows I made, I'm still human... only human... human enough in desiring to discover the real you behind the layers of enigmas that shrouded your being. And you kept coming. To church. For confession. Without even having any sins to seek forgiveness for. And I got to know you more... to know you better than most of the people that have become dear to me... to know you deeper than any lover I've had before... and these despite not having seen your face or knowing your name. My love for you only grew as time passed by. You've become the best part of my days and the reason why I've lost sleep for countless nights. My love for you only intensified - to the point that I was craving for your presence; to the point that I couldn't wait until 4:15 in the afternoon when you secluded yourself in the confessional, always on time and without fail; to the point that the significance of my days have corroded as the only thing that mattered for me were those precious minutes we shared inside that booth. I denied all of these, of course, because of who I am and what I was supposed to be. But when you didn't come for confession a few days ago, I got worried. I've never been that worried before. And that made me realize how much you meant to me... how much you made me whole... and how much I didn't want to lose you. And I couldn't deny this feeling any more. I am in love with you. I apologize for that.”
With a smile on his face and his eyes swelling like they were about to shed some joyful tears, Xavi reached for my cheek and caressed it with undeniable affection. “What're you apologizing for, you silly thing?” he asked. “What you said was beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” I retorted. “It's not my intention to make it sound beautiful. I told you the truth.”
“And the truth is beautiful,” he insisted. “So why do you feel sorry about it?”
“Because I don't want you to feel discomforted or perturbed,” I answered.
“Discomforted or perturbed?” he wondered. “Because I may not feel the same way?”
“Yes,” I acknowledged.
“But I do,” he revealed, his words striking my heart like a club. My spine trembled as my gut swirled. What he said made me happy – very, very, very happy. But it also made me very much afraid.
“You do?”
“Yes,” it was his turn to confirm what he just shared. “You say that you've been in love with me since my first confession. But I... I've been in love with you earlier than that. I've been in love with you since I first saw you celebrating mass one fine Sunday morning of December. You looked so gorgeous... ravishing even... too handsome and too manly to be a priest. I was immediately attracted to you... but when I heard you speak... when I heard your sermon that didn't sound like a contrite retelling of the biblical verse for the week... when you poured everything in your heart just to make that verse relevant... when you tried your very best to touch the lives of those who were listening to you... my fascination quickly evolved into a kind of yearning that was too overwhelming to dismiss. I've thought about you every single day since then...”
“Even when you were with someone else?” I had to ask. “Your... daddy?”
“Yes, even when I was with him,” he confessed. “But, just so you'd know, my relationship with him was purely that of a baby and a caregiver. There was love, of course... there was tenderness and affection and concern and all that... but only within the parameters of what we had. We were partners, in a manner of speaking... but we weren't lovers. I never saw him as someone like...” he hesitated to continue.
“Like?” I egged him to go on.
“Like you,” he went on to say.
“Like me?”
“Yes. Like you. That's why even when I was with him, I began to attend confessions. I wanted to hear your voice without having to wait until the next Sunday. I wanted to be with you, alone, with me and no one else, even if we wouldn't get to see each other or know each other or share each other's personal details. I just wanted to spend time with you, hoping that I'd get to know you better even though I was aware that you were only there to hear my sins... and God! After five months, I've made up some sins I didn't even commit just to have reasons to go to that confession box! I know, I know... lying is a sin... but it was a sin I wasn't willing to confess at that point in time.”
We both laughed at what he divulged.
“So yeah, we're in love with each other,” Xavi continued as he held my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “We're in love with each other and we love each other. What's the problem then?”
His question brought me back to the sad reality that we had to confr
ont.
I stood up and began to put on my clothes, much to his surprise and dismay.
“It's a problem because I love you so much,” I answered, “and loving you this much, this way, and under these circumstances is against my faith.”
“We... We can keep it a secret,” he suggested, desperately, like he was pleading for his very life. “I wouldn't tell anyone. No one will ever know.”
“I will,” I told him as I put on my robes. “I'll know, Xavi.”
“But... But if you love me like you say you do, wouldn't you be able to overcome that?” he continued to argue.
“I can,” I said as I began to walk towards the door, stopping just before I could leave the room. “I can, Xavi,” I repeated. “But I'm sorry. My faith... my faith is strong.”
I stepped out of the bedroom to the sound of his weeps.
I didn't dare to look back.
My heart was just as broken as his, and if I'd turn around, I'd just see him in agony and he'd see my own torment... and that would just make the pain even worse for the both of us.
And so I went on to walk away, with each step weighing on my soul like boulders, knowing that I'd never get to see him again.
8
The Neglected Signs
That fateful morning, during homeroom in sixth grade, right before Mrs. Sarmiento called my name to go in front and tell the whole class what I wanted to be when I'd grow up, and right before I would surprisingly say that I wanted to become a priest even though my mind was thinking of another profession... the day when I received my Calling... something happened. Just as I began to walk towards the teacher's desk, the ground shook. It was an earthquake. It wasn't an intense one. In fact, it was a common occurrence in our small town which was right in the middle of an active fault line. Still, it managed to cause some alarm. It lasted for just a couple of seconds and everyone in the room laughed when it was over. I looked at Mrs. Sarmiento as I didn't know if I should still proceed or if we should wait and be wary about potential aftershocks. She just smiled and gestured for me to continue. And I did.
I graduated Summa Cum Laude after four years of pursuing a B.S. Psychology degree. The university I attended also requested – which was more like required, actually – the Summa honoree to deliver a speech during the commencement ceremony. I prepared one which was both amusing and poignant. I planned to cap it off with an announcement of my intent to enter the seminary, delivered with a line which I worked on for weeks: it's God's will that I become a priest so that you'll have less competition as shrinks. It wasn't the best, but I was certain it would solicit a few laughs. I was excited about it but before I could even reach the podium, a commotion broke out at the farthest end of the auditorium. It turned out that a man, a father of one of the graduating students, suffered a heart attack and was immediately rushed to the hospital. Everyone remained in a state of shock for minutes after that incident, even during my speech. The line that I prepared? It was met with silence. The audience didn't even know that it was supposed to end my address.