Coming Together With Pride

by Alessia Brio, J Buchanan, Lisabet Sarai

  I hit the wipers to clear some of the dust off the windshield. Way, way off in the distance, I saw an ugly dark hump rise out of the hills like a big black boil on the ass of the world.

  "Stop the car!” I ordered.

  The hydro-car slowed to a halt. I popped the door and stepped out into a lazy swirl of dust. There it was, Sermon on the Mount. Just looking at the place made me want to puke. I was so going to get even with Father Raphe when I got back. I'd call his ass for Confession every night for the next two months, and I didn't care if he knew I was jerking off when we prayed. I needed something to look forward to in order to make it through this road trip to Hell. Praying with Father Raphe was pretty much the best I could hope for.

  * * * *

  The hydro-car arrived at my mother's house less than an hour later. It pulled up to the big bronze gates at the base of the mountain and rolled down the window for me so I could lean out and shout at the security vid.

  "Hello? Anybody home? This is Daniel Cain. I'm here to see my mother, Althea!"

  The vid screen stayed blank. I sat in the front seat, tapping the dash board. Minutes crawled by like ants over my skin. Maybe Mom didn't want to see me after all. Or maybe she was already gone. Maybe I'd made the trip for nothing and should just tell the car to turn around and head home. I'd call Father Raphe up and tell him I did my best, and nobody could ask for anything more than that. I'd—

  The bronze gates squealed as they swung open. My head dropped to the dash.

  "Drive,” I muttered to the car. “Let's get this over with."

  The hydro-car puttered up the mountain, moving slowly. The road was filled with pot holes, its edges giving way to the steady encroachment of weeds and wild flowers. I opened the window and took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle and wild strawberry. Mom had really let the place go.

  The road circled around the mountain seven times before finally reaching the old church at the top. I got out and looked at the hulking structure. Like the rest of the place, everything was overgrown and starting to decay. Wild ivy trailed up the walls, in some places completely covering the old stained plaz windows. Cracks riddled the faux-stone siding, where it could be seen, and the creeping flora took this as an invitation to invade the house of God. Only the stairs leading up to the huge, arching double doors were free of the entangling vines, but even they sagged with age. I was almost afraid to try the first step, for fear my foot might go straight through and wind up poking into the bowels of Hell, which I believed must surely reside beneath my mother's demesne.

  "Nope, this doesn't look safe at all,” I quipped to no one in particular. “I'll have to go back, tell Father Raphe I couldn't risk injuring myself going up those steps. He'll understand."

  Yeah, right.

  I sighed and climbed out of the car. I was about to test the steps when the church doors swung open, and I saw a face that I hadn't expected to see again in a million years.

  "Hello, Daniel,” a heavenly voice called to me.

  "Gabriel?"

  I gawked. Standing in the doorway was a creature so divine it took my breath away. He was over two meters tall with long golden hair that fell in graceful waves to his broad shoulders. His face was long and lean, with full lips that immediately brought to mind Father Raphe. In fact, there was more than a passing resemblance between the two, if you put aside the fact that one was a priest in his late forties and the other was a robot-angel.

  Gabriel held out his hands and smiled down at me benignly. “Your mother feared you would not come. But I had faith."

  I scowled. “You can't have faith, Gabe. Faith is for humans. You're just a walking, talking piece of junk made up to look like an angel."

  "I have faith,” he insisted. “It is part of my programming."

  "Programming be damned.” Forgetting my earlier fear, I mounted the steps, taking them two at a time. I was moving fast now. I wanted to get this over with. Dealing with my mother was one thing, but dealing with Gabriel was something I was not prepared to do.

  "Must you use profanity?” the robot-angel asked with a frown.

  I stepped past him, heading through the door. “As a matter of fact, yeah. If you don't like it, stay the hell away from me."

  "I cannot do that, Daniel. I am your guardian angel. Your mother sent me to watch over you. I must do as she says."

  "So she's still alive, I take it?"

  "Yes, but you must hurry. God will soon gather her into His arms."

  Gabriel moved ahead of me and led the way through the church. I followed him up several flights of stairs. He hadn't changed a bit in the last nine years. He still wore the same flowing robes of blue and gold, the same rosewood crucifix belted around his waist. He didn't have wings like real angels were supposed to have. Wings on a robot-angel wouldn't have made much sense. They weren't expected to fly, just to watch over people and make sure they behaved. Parents of the Moral Minority usually bought them to spy on the kids and to teach Bible lessons and stuff. Mom bought Gabe when I was twelve, shortly after the first time she caught me masturbating.

  "This is Gabriel,” she told me, introducing me to the impossibly tall, impossibly beautiful creature. I fell in love immediately. “Gabriel will make sure you don't do anything sinful, like touch yourself or say bad words."

  Oh, if only I could have fallen out of love just as quick. Gabe was easy to look at but hell to live with. There wasn't any place I could go on the mountain that he couldn't follow. Not even to the bathroom, especially after the second time I got caught jerking off.

  "You should not touch yourself, Daniel,” he said, gently pulling my hands away from my aching cock. The bathroom walls echoed with his admonitions. “God and your mother will not be pleased."

  And that's pretty much all I heard for the next six years: Don't swear, Daniel, because God and your mother will not be pleased. Don't steal Communion wine from the pantry, Daniel, because God and your mother will not be pleased. Don't draw pictures of naked men in your Bible, Daniel, because God and your mother will not be pleased. Oh, and don't stain the bed sheets at night while calling out my name, Daniel, because God and your mother will not be pleased.

  That fucker Gabriel. He had to be so damned beautiful and yet still be such a complete prick. I wondered what he would think if I told him he was what finally made me realize I was gay? Not that I even knew the word gay meant anything other than ‘happy’ back then, but he was how I figured it out. A kid can only have so many wet dreams about another guy before he finally figures out that he's really not into girls the way God and his mother intended for him to be.

  "What made you so sure I would come back?” I demanded as we climbed the stairs up to the top floor of the church. I was breathing pretty hard, trying to keep up. The building was five stories tall, with the top story having been converted to living space for the family. The place was huge, a maze of empty rooms, and yet somehow Gabriel always knew where to find me whenever I tried to sneak off.

  "I just knew,” he said, smiling. “God and your mother will be pleased by your return."

  Christ Almighty.

  The room he took me to was the largest one of all on the top floor, maybe twenty meters in length by ten meters wide. It was my mother's room, the sanctuary where she stayed closeted most of the time when she wasn't busy punishing me. The place was lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves filled with Bibles and prayer books and hymnals, collected by the family over several generations. There were no fiction books to be seen, unless you thought the pre-Egalitarian Bible was fiction, in which case there was nothing but fiction in the room. There were no magazines, no newspapers, no tech manuals, no history or science or math books; just old time Bibles and devotional literature, all of it approved by the Moral Minority. In the center of this vast antediluvian library was a narrow bed with a simple wrought iron frame. A crucifix was attached to the top of the headboard and beside the bed was a small table with yet another Bible resting on it. This w
as the family Bible. I recognized the frayed cover even from a distance. My mother used to preach to me from it at every meal.

  Two men in non-descript gray suits stood on either side of the bed. I didn't recognize them. Gabriel walked toward them and announced, “He is here."

  I traipsed over, ignoring the men. All my attention was focused on the figure lying beneath the white sheet—a frail bundle of bones wrapped in papery skin, with hair so pale and sparse it looked like spider's silk draped about the scalp.

  "Mom?” I croaked.

  Her eyes opened. They were just as blue as ever. “Daniel,” she rasped. “Gabriel said you would come.” She reached over to squeeze the robot's hand. He beamed. “Tell me, boy, are you married yet?” she demanded. “Are you a family man, and a man of God? Or have you strayed too far to ever truly come home?"

  "But he has come home,” Gabriel reassured. “He is not lost. No one is beyond redemption."

  My mother nodded. “Gabriel has such faith. But tell me, Daniel, at least that you've settled down with a nice girl..."

  Oh Christ, what the hell was I supposed to say? The truth? I choked back tears. “Sorry, Mom. I just haven't found the right one, I guess."

  "Ah, well. At least you came. Gabriel will straighten you out. You'll see..."

  Her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell. And then it stopped.

  One of the strangers leaned over my mother. He put a hand to her throat and frowned. From a pocket, he pulled out a stethoscope. Her doctor, I realized blearily. He put the scope to her chest and listened.

  "I'm sorry,” he said, straightening up. “She's gone."

  Just like that. I traveled all the way out here on Father Raphe's say-so, and the most I got to do was tell my mother a little white lie. So much for closure.

  The other man cleared his throat. “My condolences, Mr. Cain. I'm Stephen Probst, your mother's attorney. I'm the one who called you earlier."

  "The guy I cursed out,” I said dully. I glanced at him and noticed a conspicuous absence of religious symbols on his person. “You're not Minority."

  "No. Your mother couldn't find a Minority lawyer so she had to look outside the community to handle her affairs."

  "No lawyers?” I looked at the other man’ clothes. “No doctors either, I guess?"

  The physician nodded. “The Moral Minority is such a small community these days. I'm afraid it's dying out...” He paused, looked at my mother and bit his lip. “Sorry, I meant no offense."

  "None taken,” I whispered.

  "Mr. Cain,” the lawyer went on, “I realize this is a great loss for you, and you'll obviously want some time to mourn. I don't want to bother you now, but just so you know, your mother left everything to you—"

  "Why?” I interrupted. “I thought she wrote me out of her will years ago."

  "She, uh, did. But as Doctor Farrell just pointed out, the Minority community is very small these days."

  "And aging,” Farrell added.

  "There was just no one else for her to leave it to,” Probst finished.

  "So I get it all by default."

  "Well, it was either you or the government, and being Minority your mother certainly wasn't going to leave it to them."

  I nodded. Nice to know there was at least one thing Mom had despised more than me.

  "Here's my card,” Probst said. “When you're ready, call me. Gabriel has the number as well. Your mother has already made arrangements for her remains, so Doctor Farrell will be taking the body with him. She'll be buried in the family plot tomorrow. It's to be a Minority ceremony, so..."

  "Only members of the Moral Minority allowed. I know.” I looked up at him. “Don't worry. I wasn't planning on going anyway."

  Probst nodded and took his leave. Farrell pulled the sheet over my mother's face. I got one last glimpse of her before Gabriel took me by the arm and guided me out of the room.

  "Come. We'll go to the chapel and pray."

  * * * *

  I did not go to the chapel. Once outside my mother's room, I dug my heels into the threadbare carpet and forced Gabriel to come to a halt.

  "What is it?” he asked, head cocked to one side as he studied me.

  "That guy, Probst. He said everything belongs to me now."

  "Yes?"

  "Including you?"

  "Yes, Daniel. Including me."

  "Good.” I pulled my arm away from him. “Do me a favor, Gabe."

  "Yes?"

  "Fuck off."

  "What?"

  He stared at me. I could almost see the cogs in his computerized brain spinning as he tried to make sense of what I just said.

  "I own you. Therefore, you have to do what I say. And I say go ... a ... way. Get lost. Beat it. I don't want to be around you right now."

  "Daniel, I am your guardian angel. Your mother set me to watch over you."

  "My mother is dead. You do what I say now. So go."

  Gabriel took a step back, frowning. “Go where?"

  "To Hell, maybe? Anywhere. I don't care so long as you're not hanging around me."

  "Are you going to the chapel to pray for your mother?"

  "No, I'm not."

  Another frown. “Very well then. I will go to the chapel. I will pray. For you and your mother. Perhaps you will join me later."

  "Fat chance."

  I spun on my heel and stalked off. I needed some time alone.

  I needed time to confess.

  * * * *

  "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

  I sat in an abandoned office on the first floor of the church, staring at the familiar grille pattern on an ancient vid screen.

  "Where are you, Daniel?"

  I swallowed hard. Sermon on the Mount. I got here just in time to see my mom die."

  "Oh, Daniel.” Father Raphe's voice reached out to me through the vid phone. It sounded warm and comforting. “I am so sorry. Did you even get a chance to speak to her?"

  "Yeah, I had all of two seconds to tell her a little lie about how maybe I wasn't gay anymore."

  "Is that why you called in to confess? Because you lied to her?"

  "No.” My shoulders started to shake. “I called because ... because ... Oh, fuck. I'm glad she's dead!"

  I put my head in my hands and sobbed. Father Raphe waited on the other end of the line. When I was done crying, he spoke again.

  "Daniel, you had a difficult, complicated relationship with your mother."

  "I didn't have any relationship with my mother at all!"

  "All right, I suppose that's true."

  "All my life, that bitch kept me under lock and key. I couldn't go anywhere, do anything. Wouldn't have been so bad if I'd known that she at least cared about me. But she didn't! Not once did she ever reach out to me, ever try to hold me or even touch me. She treated me like I was some sort of sick freak!"

  I was shrieking now, a real hysterical sound that climbed the office walls and threatened to shatter the windows.

  "I know, Daniel, I know,” Father Raphe soothed. “And I am sorry for that. You have lived a very lonely life, and you have every right to be angry at the way your mother treated you."

  "Why does it hurt so much? She never hit me,” I said between gasps for breath. “She couldn't even touch me to do that."

  "Emotional abuse can hurt far more than physical,” Father Raphe said. “The scars cannot be seen, but they run much deeper."

  I cried for a while longer. Father Raphe waited. When I was done, I spoke.

  "Will you give me penance, Father, for the sin of hating my mother?"

  "No,” he said. “Because I don't think you hated her. I think you loved her a great deal. If you didn't, would you hurt so much?"

  I had no answer for that.

  * * * *

  I found Gabriel in the family chapel the next day, kneeling before the altar. His lips moved in silent prayer. Even though I couldn't hear the words, I knew what he was saying. Father, forgive the sinners who know nothing
of love. They love not themselves, nor any other. They partake of each other's bodies and call that love, but it is a lie. Father, forgive these sinners and love them even though they do not love You.

  "Still using that same old prayer, Gabe? You'd think that after all this time God might have heard you and done something about it. Maybe cured me of being gay."

  Gabriel turned. “God does not interfere with free will. You choose to be what you are. You choose to stray from the path. Your mother set me to watch—"

  "Yeah, yeah. Mom set you to watch over me and guide me, to keep me from sinning, and still I chose to be a fag. You know why I made that choice, Gabriel?"

  He shook his head.

  "I didn't,” I said flatly. “It wasn't my choice at all. I was made this way. God made me gay. I just chose to accept that fact and moved on with my life."

  "Your ... sexuality is merely a trial God has given you. You still have free will. You could choose to be other than what you have become."

  I walked over to the altar. Unlike the rest of the church, this place was well kept. The altar's surface was polished smooth, probably by Gabriel's hands. Imagine, a chapel lovingly tended by a robot; a robot who prayed no less.

  "I could choose, huh? You mean I could find some girl, marry her and have sex with her, have a couple of kids, and go through my life pretending everything was okay?"

  "You would not be pretending. Everything would be okay."

  "Bull shit.” I turned away from the altar. “Do you know, in the world outside this place, there are plenty of people out there just like me? Men who love other men, women who love other women. Some people even love both."

  "Sinners abound,” Gabriel replied. “They live their miserable lives and tempt others to join them."

  "But they aren't miserable,” I snapped. “They're happy because they can be themselves!"

  "They do not know themselves; otherwise they would not live a lie."

  "A lie? You think being queer is a lie?” I grabbed Gabriel by the collar of his robes and shook him. “Here's the lie, you fucked up piece of machinery! You and my mother tried to force me to be straight. You didn't watch over me, you hovered like a God damn vulture, waiting for me to stumble so you could come swooping in and tear me to pieces for it!"