by Randy Ribay
He fills their orders and calls their numbers. They grab the sacks and leave without saying thanks. Dante locks the door behind them. Removes his chicken hat. Starts working through the closing duties, all the while cursing his coworker Marco who never showed for his shift.
An hour later, Dante finishes counting the cash from the registers and then deposits it into the safe in the manager’s office. He clicks off the lights, sets the alarm, and walks out.
Dante drinks in the fresh evening air. And before stepping into his car, he cranes his neck upward and gazes beyond the humming power lines and signs. He imagines distant galaxies. Galaxies where nobody wears chicken hats.
Or where chickens wear human hats.
Dante climbs the stairs carefully. He does not want to wake his grandparents who have been in bed for hours. Like usual, he takes a shower to try to wash away the scent of grease and fried chicken. He feels it’s bad enough to be black and work at a fried chicken joint. He doesn’t need to smell like the stuff.
After the shower, he returns to his room feeling wide awake. He considers the two PCs on his desk. One works. The other sits with its casing opened and circuitry exposed, like a patient in the middle of surgery.
After powering on the working computer, he glances at the crack under the door and confirms that the hallway is still dark. He listens for a moment, but hears nothing beyond the comforting hum of his computer.
Satisfied, he makes his way to a website he likes to visit while everyone else is fast asleep.
Above rows of attractive, smiling faces a headline proclaims Hot singles in YOUR area might be searching for YOU right NOW!
On his profile homepage, a small number two appears next to his mailbox icon. Intrigued, Dante clicks it.
The first message is from a user named Wonderboy24. Before reading the message, Dante examines the picture. The man, who appears older than both the number and the word “boy” that the username suggests, has sandy brown hair and retro wire-rim glasses. He has a square jaw and nice smile, but his eyes are too far apart and his nose seems too small for his face. Dante deletes the message without reading it.
The next message is from CuriousPhreek215. In his profile pic, CuriousPhreek215 is pulling a Phillies cap so low that the logo and brim take up three quarters of the shot. Beneath the brim are full lips and a closely trimmed beard. Dante does not fault CuriousPhreek215 for hiding his face, as he still hasn’t put up a picture of himself. Dante opens the message.
yo i noticed u nt 2 far. wnt 2 mt 4 a fk? hmu.
Dante deletes the message.
His inbox clear, Dante begins browsing profiles.
Picture. Username. Hobbies.
This is the order in which Dante scans the endless rows of lonely men.
If he likes the picture, he looks at the username. If the username is acceptable, he examines the hobbies. If the hobbies are acceptable, he clicks on the profile and reads more about the person. Straight lurking. As superficial as it gets.
He has never met up with anyone.
He has never contacted anyone.
He just searches, excited and scared about a world he’s long known he belongs to but has never had the courage to enter, not even virtually.
After about half an hour, he has scanned approximately fifteen pages of search results, twenty-five profile pics per page. He’s just about to log out when he notices that a new message has appeared in his user inbox.
The profile picture is the anonymous male outline that Dante also uses. The username reads Takei4Life. Annoyed by the lack of image but intrigued by the handle, Dante opens the message.
Hi DeeThreepio,
How are you? I read your profile and was really interested to see that we share a love for technology—I also built my own computer (I’m actually a programmer). But what I really liked was what you wrote in your biography. It was honest and sweet, and it really resonated with me. It felt like something I would write, even though I didn’t think of it myself (I hope that doesn’t sound weird—I’m just trying to say that maybe we have a lot in common on a deeper level, too). Even though you’re not looking for a relationship right now, how about a friendship? I’ve been really lonely lately and could use a friend. Maybe you could also?
Dante moves his cursor over the Delete button. He pauses. He rereads the message. Instead of deleting it, he types a brief reply.
Hi, Takei4Life. Maybe I could.
Dante hesitates. Then, clicks Send.
Immediately, he feels his face warm and his heart rate quicken. He moves the cursor to close the window, but then his inbox notifies him that there’s already a new reply from Takei4Life.
Great :) How about coffee this Thur? The coffee shop @ 16th & Walnut. 7:30pm.
Dante’s heart thrums.
Suddenly, he hears movement in the hallway. He minimizes the browser just as someone opens his door. His grandpa’s face peeks inside, eyelids drooping.
“Still up?” he asks.
Dante’s heart races. “Just gaming,” he lies.
“Well, it’s late. Get to bed, now. Don’t forget your auntie and uncle are coming over in the morning.”
His grandpa pulls the door shut. Dante listens to his steps recede. A few moments later, he hears the toilet flush, more footsteps, and then a door close.
Dante reopens the browser.
He types a reply.
See you then ;)
Quiet That Forms in Their Wake
Saturday
Dante hears the front door open. The shuffle of footsteps. Voices rattling off greetings. The sounds of his uncle’s family arriving. Not yet prepared to deal with his overly exuberant twin cousins, Dante remains in bed.
But as soon as the scent of frying bacon hits his nose, Dante’s out of bed and heading downstairs.
He finds his grandma at the stove and his grandpa sitting at the table in his usual spot with the newspaper folded over his knee. Dante’s Uncle Jason and Aunt Jewel sit on the other side of the table. His little cousins, Andre and D’Andre, are running around the backyard in the sunlight. One chases the other with a neon orange plastic Wiffle ball bat.
“Morning, sunshine,” his grandma says over her shoulder.
His grandpa nods.
“My, my, who’s this fine young man?” his Aunt Jewel says, standing and motioning for Dante to come in for a hug.
Dante embraces her, inhaling the combined scent of her perfume, lotion, and hair burnt from straightening. “Hi, Auntie Jewel.”
She kisses him on the cheek.
“S’up, Dante?” his uncle asks.
“Not much, Uncle J. Nice to see you guys again.” They shake, and after his uncle is done trying to crush every bone in his hand, Dante sits in front of a waiting plate of food.
“So. Senior year,” his uncle says, smiling. He is, no doubt, recalling his own eighteen-year-old exploits. Dante presumes that they were probably a far cry from what his own will be.
“Yup,” Dante says.
Still smiling, his uncle takes a sip of his coffee and then asks, “You taking some tough classes this year to get you ready for college?”
“The usual.”
“What’s your GPA?” his uncle asks.
“Three point one.”
“Not bad, not bad. But you got to work on that this year, man. Crack down on those books so you can get a nice scholarship. Know what I mean?”
“You shush, now,” Dante’s aunt says and kisses him on the forehead. “The boy’s doing just fine—and he knows computers. How many times has he fixed yours?”
“For real. D’s like a black Bill Gates. Still, I know Mom and Pops would appreciate him getting a full ride.”
“Amen,” Dante’s grandfather says.
His grandma turns toward them. “Oh, just ignore them, Dante. You get into the school you want, and we’ll find a way to make it work. Besides, your daddy’s military benefits should cover most of it.”
His uncle changes the subject. “Hey, you goi
ng to go out for football this year? Pops been telling me about his phone ringing off the hook from Coach.”
“Shoot,” his grandpa says. “Man won’t stop begging me to get Dante out on that field since this is last chance. Said the sheer size of the boy in full gear would bring scouts from at least a few Division III and Division IV schools eager to capitalize upon that potential.”
Dante keeps his eyes on his plate, “Football’s not really my thing, Uncle J.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. Wasn’t mine neither. That didn’t stop Pops from forcing me to play.” He slaps the old man on the shoulder.
Dante’s grandpa chuckles. “You should have seen this boy out there on that field, Dante. Nobody—and I mean nobody—could sit on a bench like him!”
Everyone laughs, even Uncle Jason. “Ain’t that the truth! That was your daddy’s game.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the mantle in the living room where Dante’s dad’s MVP trophy sits from the year his team won the state championship. “Damn, D. You should have seen him out on that field. Built like a Mack truck. Just like you. Dudes was so scared of him barreling down that field, they didn’t even try to tackle him. Just stepped right out the way!”
Everyone laughs again at the memory, even Dante. He had seen a few of the tapes. And even though he couldn’t care less about the sport, he would give anything to have been able to see his dad play in real life.
“But ain’t no matter,” his uncle continues. “I was the brother the head cheerleader had her eye on.”
Aunt Jewel winks at her husband and then turns to Dante. “So how ’bout you? Who you got your eye on?”
Dante examines his toast like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Nobody, really.”
“Not even that light-skinned girl with those pretty eyes you be playing games with all the time? What’s her name?”
“Mari,” his grandma answers as she sets down a plate of sizzling bacon onto the middle of the table.
Dante grabs a piece. “Nah. Not my type.”
“Well, don’t worry, honey,” his aunt says. “You sweet as can be. Girls will appreciate that more the older you get. The right girl’s out there just waiting for you to find her.”
“I kind of doubt that,” Dante says.
Before anyone can inquire further about Dante’s romantic endeavors, something—rather, someone—slams into the sliding glass doors that open into the backyard, making everyone jump.
The twins press their faces into the glass, one squishing his nose flat and crossing his eyes, the other putting his mouth on the glass and inflating his cheeks to display all of his teeth and gums. They drag the door open and burst into the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy. They immediately begin jumping on Dante’s back, vying for a perch atop his mountainous shoulders.
“What’s up, guys?” Dante says, resigned to his fate.
“Hey, Dante!” Andre or D’Andre says.
“S’up, cuz!” D’Andre or Andre says.
Dante could never tell the difference.
His Uncle Jason puts down his coffee mug and glares at the twins. “Yo—cut that out. Sit down and let the man finish his breakfast. Then you can climb him.”
Aunt Jewel pulls out two nearby chairs. “Andre, D’Andre, babies, I made you some plates. Have a seat and eat now.”
They stop climbing on Dante and follow her directions.
“I want french fries,” one says.
“Me too,” says the other.
“Well, this ain’t no restaurant,” Dante’s grandpa says.
The twins begin pounding their fists on the table in unison. “French fries! French fries! French fries!”
Uncle Jason puts his hands atop theirs to cease the noise. “Grandma cooked you guys some delicious food so least you can do is eat it. Once you finish half your plates, you can go play.”
“Won’t take but a minute for me to make them some fries if they can sit still that long,” Dante’s grandma says as she reaches into the freezer.
“Can we go on Dante’s computer?” one asks.
“No,” Dante says.
His grandma points the greasy spatula at Dante. “When Jesus was in Bethsaida and that big ol’ crowd came to him, you think he kept those five loaves of bread and two pieces of fish all to himself? No, sirree. He shared that bit of food and fed five thousand people with it. You think if the Son of God were on Earth with us today, he’d tell someone they couldn’t go on his computer?”
“Fine,” Dante sighs. He grabs another piece of bacon to console himself.
And just like that, the twins are off to Dante’s room.
Everyone enjoys the peace and quiet that forms in their wake. They eat their breakfast and sip their coffees in silence for a bit, and then conversation gradually resumes. They talk about Uncle Jason’s new teaching job downtown. Somebody retiring. Somebody’s new baby that everyone agrees is ugly. Aunt Jewel’s candle-making business.
And then the twins reappear in the kitchen. Grins stretch across their faces. Their eyes are wide and swing between Dante and their parents. They say nothing but look like they’re about to burst.
Everyone turns, waiting for them to speak.
But each just keeps prodding the other.
“Out with it,” Uncle Jason finally says.
“Dante likes boys!” they shout at the same time and then erupt in a fit of giggles.
Everyone turns to Dante. He feels like he’s on an operating table with his chest split open for surgery.
“Now what you two going on about?” Aunt Jewel asks.
“Come see!” they say and then dart out of the kitchen toward Dante’s room.
“What they talking about, D?” Uncle Jason asks.
Once again, everyone looks at Dante, expecting him to explain. But he can’t speak. He can’t breathe. He feels lightheaded and nauseous, like he’s either going to pass out or throw up. He just shakes his head like he has no idea. But suddenly he remembers. Last night, after browsing the dating site, he didn’t clear his browser history. They must have pulled up the site somehow.
To his horror, everyone rises, their chairs scraping back at the same time. They all head upstairs.
Except for Dante. He remains at the table with the last piece of bacon, too sick to his stomach to eat it.
To Strengthen Us
Sunday
When church ends and everyone scoots out of the pews, Dante’s grandpa grips his arm and steers him down a hallway toward the pastor’s office. His grandma follows. Nobody says anything.
They arrive while the pastor is still in the sanctuary chatting with the other members of his flock, so they wait outside his office door. Dante leans back against the wall, staring at his ill-fitting shoes. His grandpa folds his arms over his chest and reads the announcements posted to the bulletin board in the hallway. His grandma stands with her eyes closed and hands clasped together.
After some time, the church clears out and Pastor Paul approaches them. He ushers them into his office. It is a cramped, windowless space. Only a simple wooden cross hangs on the faded yellow walls. Papers clutter the desk around a large computer with a beige casing. Dante wonders if it even works. The pastor finds his seat behind the desk. His grandparents sit in the only two visitor chairs, and Dante stands behind them.
Dante’s grandpa then recounts what the twins found on Dante’s computer the previous day. The rows of men. Dante’s profile. Dante’s refusal to deny any of it. His grandpa’s words drip with shame.
Dante’s heart races. He prepares himself for what’s to come. He knows the arguments that will probably be made, the Bible verses that will probably be quoted. He knows it all. During his years of confusion, he’d read them all dozens, if not hundreds, of times. He’d read the commentary and the debates and made up his mind. He’s been secretly preparing for this moment for years, and he is ready to refute anything if need be.
Pastor Paul takes a deep breath and then touches the tips of his fingers together like a s
teeple. He leans forward and meets Dante’s eyes. He looks profoundly disappointed.
“You are not a homosexual, Dante,” the pastor says in his sonorous Nigerian accent.
His grandma starts crying quietly, and all the fight leaves Dante. He drops his eyes to the floor. He examines the carpet tiles, a visual white noise of patternless flooring meant to mask stains. “I’m not?”
“You are not a homosexual, Dante.”
“Um.”
“God does not make homosexuals, Dante. You are being tempted by the Devil. You must overcome these temptations, Dante.”
Dante shifts his weight to his other foot. He swallows hard. He wonders why the pastor keeps saying his name. “Why would God do that?” he asks after a few moments.
“God tempts us to strengthen us, Dante. Fire forges steel. Struggle forges souls.”
Dante considers this for a few moments. He does not disagree on that point.
“You can overcome these temptations, Dante—with prayer, with the support and love of your grandparents, with Jesus. ‘With God all things are possible.’ Matthew. Chapter nineteen. Verse twenty-six.”
Dante nods.
“How should we punish him?” his grandpa asks.
The pastor exhales. “Hate the sin, love the sinner. You must continue to love this child. Jesus still loves Dante, and Jesus does not want the Devil to win Dante’s soul. Pray for Dante, and watch over Dante. Do what you can to shield Dante from temptation. This is a battle with eternal consequences, a battle Dante cannot afford to lose.”
His grandpa nods. “No computer.”
Dante looks up, hating that everyone is talking about him as if he weren’t even there, as if he were a gremlin. “Why is it a sin?” he asks, working up at least some measure of defiance.
His grandpa looks taken aback at the question, but Pastor Paul maintains his composure. He waits a beat before responding, and when he does, his words are slow and somber, like mourners walking home from a funeral. “‘Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.’ Leviticus. Chapter eighteen. Verse twenty-two. Let us lay hands on this child.”