Love By its First Name

by Hanley, Don;

  Hebrews 2:5

  It had started raining soon after he left St. Louis at five thirty in the morning. He had told Rebecca that he would slip out quietly so as not to awaken her. She got up anyway and made coffee for them. He surprised himself by nearly crying when he gave her a hug and said goodbye. A terrible sadness continued deep inside him as he drove through the rain. It was a kind of anguished sadness that was only vaguely familiar, like leaving something behind that he would never find again. It was similar to the sadness he had felt when he left St. Gabriel’s, but this was even more personal, it seemed.

  He had to talk to someone about what he was experiencing. During the morning, as he was driving somewhere in the middle of Missouri, he stopped to call Wayne Cameron to see if he would be up to a visit. Thankfully, he was.

  He turned on the car radio and pushed the button to an ‘oldies’ station. The Beatles were singing, “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away, now it looks as though they’re here to stay. Oh, I believe in yesterday.”

  “Oh, shit.” He turned it off.

  He pulled into the driveway between Wayne’s two-story red brick rectory and the church. Jerry opened the storm door on the back porch just as Wayne opened the kitchen door. “Hey, Jer, just in time. Lunch is all ready.”

  They went through the kitchen and into the dining room. Wayne brought a steaming platter of roast beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots from the kitchen. He sat down at the end of the large, maple table covered with a linen tablecloth.

  A place was set on the side and Jerry pulled out the chair, sat down, and looked at the matching china cupboard opposite him and thought that it wouldn’t even fit in his little bungalow in Paris. “Don’t tell me you cooked all this yourself?”

  “I’d like to say ‘yes’ but it would be a lie. One of the ladies of the parish comes in once a week and cleans up. She said I was getting skinny and decided to cook for me a couple of times a week. You’ve hit a lucky day. Eat hearty because I’ll be having the leftovers till Sunday. How’re your culinary skills coming along?” Neither of them had ever lived in a parish without a housekeeper and cook.

  “I’m getting pretty good at sandwiches, soup, and salad. I get a pretty good meal two or three times a week with parish families.”

  Wayne put down his fork and, looking serious, asked, “Jer, you called collect today from somewhere in Missouri. What were you doing in Missouri?”

  Jerry finished the bite he had just put in his mouth, wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Remember Angela and Julie Kurtz?”

  Wayne nodded.

  “Well they arrived at my place in the middle of the night on Sunday. Monday morning, really. They were badly beaten up.”

  “It was Ralph, right?”

  “Yes. I decided to find a shelter for them far enough away that he couldn’t find them. Found one in St. Louis.” He went on to tell Wayne the story of Angela, Julie, and Sister Clair. He didn’t mention Rebecca.

  “Sounds like leaving the car at the airport was a good idea.” Wayne glanced at his watch just as the doorbell rang. “Uh, oh, it’s two-thirty. As I mentioned I have a young couple coming in for pre-marriage instructions. But I want to hear the rest of the story, especially why you chose St. Louis.” He wiped his mouth and got up. When he neared the door, he turned. “St. Louis. Isn’t that where your reporter-friend lives?”

  “Yeah.” Jerry poured himself another cup of coffee and leisurely drank it. He found himself thinking of Julie and Angela and hoping they were adjusting well to the shelter. His thoughts turned to Rebecca and he wondered what he would tell Wayne. When he remembered Rebecca telling little April that she wanted to get married but he didn’t, he got up and cleared off the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. He wandered into the living room and admired the woodwork around the doors, the stairs, and bookshelves flanking the fireplace. The house was nearly a century old but in very good shape. Once, Wayne had informed him, Lakeside had over seven thousand people; and it was the bustling trade center of the area and the parish had over three hundred families. Still, it was quite a bit more than poor old Paris. The Bishop didn’t consider Wayne’s “sin” of not publicly condemning Jerry’s sermon to be as great as his own “sin” of giving it. Wayne really did seem to enjoy the slower pace of the smaller parish.

  Although he was quite tired, he felt too restless to sit down. Putting on his jacket, he went over to the church and entered through the side door. Compared to his little church in Paris, it was huge, holding about eight hundred people. The stained glass windows gave a wonderfully mellow glow to the marble statuary and the smell of burning votive candles added to the feeling of peace and solitude.

  Slowly making his way across the aisle in front of the sanctuary, he stopped at the votive candles, and wondered when was the last time he had lit one? About two years ago when his sister lost her baby, stillborn. He felt for her and somehow hoped the candle would be a prayer for her and the baby. Does God pay attention to such things? He wondered. He didn’t know, but decided to light one for his struggle with temptation. He picked up the matches and lit a large blue candle and put two dollars in the box.

  Kneeling in front of the Blessed Virgin’s statue next to the candles, he thought of how much peace he had always found inside a church. As a young boy, it had been an escape from the turmoil of his family and the wrath of his father. Serving Mass for old Father Groel was one of the most serene times of his life, especially after his own father had died. While attending the Cathedral High School in Aberdeen, every morning before classes, he had stopped at the Cathedral and prayed before the Virgin. Now, in the solitude of the church in Lakeside, he longed for the peace and harmony he had experienced then. Becoming a priest was his way of finding permanent peace and helping others to find it. His brothers and sisters constantly chided him about his living “in a dream world.” Maybe he had been, and now the dream and the peace seemed shattered. He felt little peace since Melanie’s death, maybe even before then.

  Looking up at the marble statue of Our Lady, Jerry saw her enigmatic smile, flickering by candlelight. She seemed to be taking pity on him. Was she simply being indulgent to another poor mortal? He found himself feeling nostalgic for that time in his life when things seemed so clear, an all-powerful, all knowing and loving God who looked down from heaven and gave clear directions, through His Church, about how to live life. Then he knew exactly what was good and what was not. It seemed so clear and beautiful then but through the years he realized how stultifying and non-life-giving the messages were. Most people became fearful and shame-filled rather than the loving and creative beings God intended. As he knelt there, he realized that he would have to find a different way to pray, a way that would match what he hoped would reflect a more mature theology.

  His stay in the church was longer than he realized. He found Wayne in the kitchen wiping off the counter. They headed for the living room. Jerry sat down on the end of the couch and Wayne sat in a recliner opposite him. “Well, Jer, you sounded a bit down when you called. I got your message about not being able to get together on Wednesday, so we have our get-together on Thursday. Tell me more about your trip. Did you see Rebecca? The last time I saw you, you were quite steamed about her article.”

  “Yes, I saw her. She arranged, through her friend, for the shelter for Angela and Julie. We stayed at her place the first night.” He hesitated a moment, than added, “And I stayed with her the next two nights.”

  “Jer, you know I met Rebecca?” Jerry nodded. “She’s a very attractive woman.”

  “And you’re wondering what I was doing, staying with her, right?” Jerry guessed he would wonder, too, if Wayne told him that he had spent two nights with an eligible gay fellow.

  “You didn’t say ‘Rebecca and her husband.’ I’m assuming she’s single?” Wayne was on the verge of sounding like he was scolding.

  “Yes, Wayne, and you’re beginning to sound like a constipated seminary rector.” Jerry smiled.

&nb
sp; Wayne chuckled. “‘Constipated rector’, that’s good. And I’m beginning to think you’re acting like a seminarian who’s strayed and it’s bothering you. You said you wanted to talk about something. Tell me, old buddy, did you stray?” Wayne’s voice was that of the kindly confessor.

  “I didn’t go to bed with her or even kiss her, if that’s what you mean.” He was feeling defensive and didn’t like it. He knew it wasn’t Wayne’s intention. “No, Wayne, that’s not what’s disturbing me. What’s bothering me is that I’ve felt so damn sad ever since I woke up this morning—especially since I left St. Louis.” He glanced over at Wayne and saw only compassion on his face. Looking at the floor ashamedly, he added. “You know, when I was leaving St. Louis, I felt like crying, just like I did at my dad’s funeral. And like at Melanie Kurtz’s funeral ... I felt like I’d lost something. But I don’t know what it is.”

  Jerry sat looking at the floor. Wayne remained silent. After several minutes, he looked at Wayne and broke the silence. “After Melanie killed herself, I think I allowed myself to feel real anguish for the first time in my life. I wanted to shut down my feelings like I did when my dad died, but I just couldn’t do it.” He smiled a self-deprecating little smile. “For some reason it felt good to just feel the sadness. Now I’m wondering if I can allow myself to feel joy. My second day in St. Louis, I really felt good being with Rebecca. We just toodled around the city. Several times I wanted to put my arm around her or hold her hand, but I didn’t. She didn’t say anything or do anything to make me uncomfortable, except the way she looked at me several times.” He didn’t mention that she teasingly asked him if he wanted to take a shower with her. Sitting there thinking about it was enough to feel aroused.

  “What kind of look did she give you?” Wayne’s tone was that of a wise counselor.

  “Oh, warm, kind, like she was interested in me and wanted to really know me, I guess. I felt elated and uncomfortable at the same time. So uncomfortable that I got drunk.”

  “Jer, I’ve seen you drink a little too much but I have a hunch you’re talking about seriously drunk. How drunk?”

  “Drunk enough to pass out, vomit all over the place, and have to be put to bed.” The same half-smile returned.

  “Is that what’s bothering you, getting drunk?”

  “No. Oh, I’m ashamed of it, but that’s not it. I think it’s what I did yesterday.”

  “And what’s that, my friend?”

  “I numbed myself and was nice and polite and dead, all day.”

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  Jerry sounded more impatient than he intended when he said, “Wayne, don’t you get it? I numbed myself! Just like I’ve done all my life; whenever I begin to feel any strong feelings, I push them away, numb myself and go dead!” Jerry stood up and began to pace. “That’s it. I want to let myself feel! Feel joy, sadness, up, down. Hell, maybe even feel sexy and not feel guilty.”

  “Feel sexy but not feel compelled to act on those feelings, I hope.” Wayne sounded a bit alarmed.

  “So tell me, Wayne, do you ever allow yourself to feel sexy?”

  Wayne leaned forward and seemed to study the carpet for a few moments. He glanced at Jerry and back to the carpet. “I guess it’s my turn. Of course I feel sexual urges because I’m human.”

  “I mean seriously tempted by a particular person?”

  “Yes. For instance, there’s a minister here in town, about five years younger than me. We met at the Ministerial Alliance. After the first meeting he came over to welcome me to Lakeside. After we talked a while, he asked me if I was gay. I’ve heard that gays often know when a person is gay. I never paid much attention. Anyway, I told him I was and he told me he was and wondered if we could be friends. I said ‘sure.’“

  “And...”

  “And we’ve spent quite a bit of time together. We went to a ballet in Kansas City. He encouraged me to go to a gay bar with him. I told him I wasn’t ready for that. He’s had two relationships before, consummated, I guess you’d say. And, believe it or not, he tells me he’s in love with me.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him to me before.”

  “I guess I thought you’d sound like, what’s the phrase you used? Oh, yeah, a constipated rector. I guess we both have a constipated friend.” Wayne smiled for the first time since they began the discussion.

  “And what are you going to do with him? Would you like to, ah, er—” Jerry couldn’t bring himself to say “make love” to a man. It was hard to imagine.

  “Have sex with him? Of course I would like to, but I’m not going to. I like being a priest and I’ve been able to be celibate for over forty years. I guess I can continue with it. My new friend can’t understand my thinking, just as I imagine Rebecca can’t understand yours. But he’s willing to continue being a friend. I hope you will continue too, Jer. I need you and your understanding.”

  “Of course I’ll always be your friend, no matter what. You really think Rebecca would want to, uh, make love with me?”

  “How did she take your getting drunk?”

  “She thought it was funny, even though she had to clean up after me.” He wasn’t about to tell Wayne she also had to undress him and clean him up, too. “She said 1 sang some dumb song to her, but I’m not sure she wasn’t putting me on. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “If she didn’t care about you, she would have written you off. Instead, she found you funny. Yep, I’d bet she’d want to make love with you.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. So what are you doing about your gay friend, numbing yourself?”

  “Maybe a little. Believe it or not, I’ve thought about that. Here’s my conclusion: I’ll enjoy my friends, including my minister friend. I will not have sex and I will feel that joy! And I hope you will do the same, Jer. Look around you. How many men do you know, married or not, who really allow themselves to feel? I mean who are vibrant people?”

  Jerry looked at the ceiling for an answer. “Not many.”

  “Not many is right. I’d guess that as many priests are feeling people, percentage-wise, as men in general.”

  “You’re probably right. So I should quit feeling sorry for myself and get on with my wonderful celibate life, right?”

  “Right. You’ve been able to handle a friendship with the beautiful Kathleen Olson, so you’ll be able to handle Rebecca. Better, I’d guess, because she’s hundreds of miles away.”

  Jerry began to wonder if maybe Wayne was made of different stuff, as Jerry was already shutting himself down.

  * * *

  On the same Thursday, Rebecca sat opposite Dr. Marilyn Fisher. The therapist was dressed in a crimson business suit, softened by a frilly white blouse.

  “Thanks for changing the time of our appointment, Marilyn.”

  “I’m glad it worked out. You said you had unexpected out-of-town guests. A positive experience, I hope.”

  “Well, yes and no.” Rebecca told her about Jerry’s arrival with Angela and Julie and about their ordeal and placement at St. Claire’s home. She mentioned that Jerry stayed over for two days. She laughed when she told her about him getting drunk and singing. Rebecca didn’t want to tell Dr. Fisher about undressing him and putting him to bed.

  “So, except for his getting drunk, it sounds like you had a good time. I got a chance to read your article about him since I saw you last. He sounds like quite a guy.” There was a note of concern in her voice as she asked, “Rebecca, is he an alcoholic?”

  “I don’t think so. He said that this was the first time he’d gotten drunk like that. Yes, he is quite a guy, but he’s so damn uncomfortable around me. Yesterday, we were okay together but both of us tried to sound casual, at least, I did. Whenever we talked about anything personal, we tried to make it impersonal. Does that make sense?” The therapist nodded and Rebecca went on, “He seemed sad when he left this morning. I don’t know why, I was afraid to ask.” Rebecca looked out the window, sighed and said, “You know, Mari
lyn, I’m already missing him.”

  “It sounds to me like he’s made it very clear that he enjoys his priesthood and wants to continue to do so. So what are you going to do, Rebecca?”

  “I guess I’ll settle for being his friend.”

  CHAPTER 14

  For love is strong... it is a flash of fire,

  a flame of Yahweh himself. Love no flood can quench, no torrents drown.

  Song of Songs 8:6

  It was the third weekend of November as Jerry, preparing for the Saturday evening Mass, reflected on the previous week. In many ways, it seemed like a month, the arrival of Angela and Julie, the trip to St. Louis, the time with Rebecca, and his talk with Wayne. He was glad that he stopped at Lakeside. Talking with Wayne was helpful, although the sadness he had felt had not lifted entirely. He told Alice Peterson of his trip and the plight of Angela and Julie. As expected, she was her usual compassionate self. Rebecca had already called her to tell her she would be happy to read her poem at her funeral, and hoped it would be years away. Alice invited her to join the family for Thanksgiving, and Rebecca had accepted.

  He hated to admit it but he was happy to learn that Kathy had dropped Mr. Dylan Bradford. The news also helped him to stop thinking of Rebecca so often. Kathy arrived earlier than usual on this Saturday because she wanted to talk with him. “Jerry, that jerk told me that he wanted to break off our relationship unless I loved him enough to have sex with him. Up until that point I thought I did love him but when he said that, I went cold. When I told him I wasn’t ready for that, he called me a ‘prick-teaser.’“ She had put her hand over her mouth and grinned. “You know what I did? I slapped his face!” He resisted the urge to shake her hand.

  “Be honest with me. Do I do that?”

  “Not around me you don’t.” He had hesitated and then chuckled as he said, “But I don’t know how you acted around him down at the university.”

  “You want me to slap you too?” Kathy said.

  He pulled the chasuble over his head and looked at himself in the sacristy mirror to make sure everything was straight. He pulled the alb up a little on the right and tucked it in the cincture. He grinned at himself. Okay, Haloran, let yourself enjoy Kathy being herself again, even if it is more disturbing than when she seemed to have a beau.