The People in Rossford

When Brian stirred early Sunday morning, the boy in bed beside him murmured and turned over rubbing his eyes. As Brian pulled on shorts, the boy looked up and said, “Do I have to go?”

“No, young sir,” Brian told him, reaching for his tee shirt, and then his glasses. “You can stay right there.” He added, “And hopefully not go anywhere for a long time. It’s early yet. I just have a few things to do.”

The soft boy with the tousled hair stretched and yawned, turning over and pulling the sheets over him.

“All right then,” he said, falling back into sleep. “That’s what I want to hear.”

For the better part of, well, as long as Fenn had been with Todd, and longer, actually much longer, Brian Babcock had imagined himself, endlessly, hopelessly chasing after Tom in the hopes that, eventually, he would not be alone. All the sleeping with Tom, all the cheating, had been his desperate bid for love. The one night stands, the affairs with other people had been the bandage on the wound, what he did while he was still desperately seeking love.

But after that last encounter with the boy at the Video Watch, when Brian had left feeling strange and shaken with a free copy of Spartacusin his passenger seat and semen dripping into his underwear, he began to wonder if this was true. If what he had always told himself was true. What if, in fact, the sex he had had happened, not because he was desperate and sad, and searching in all the wrong places for his one true love? What if it had happened because he simply liked to have sex? He wasn’t supposed to.

And what if he really wasn’t waiting for the love of his life? Brian didn’t stop in the mirror to look at himself. He knew what he looked like. He knew what he could be like. Both the good side of him, and the bad. But there were people actually a lot worse than him. Nero and Hitler weren’t single. Was it possible that something in him wanted to be single, liked being single?

Recently, like last night, Brian had been dealing with the fact that maybe he was just a sexual person. Not a fallen, self hating person who punished himself through sex, but, in fact, someone who punished himself because he wasn’t supposed to be sexual.

Think about it.

When he had learned that he was gay, the only thing he really accepted was that he liked men instead of women. He never really accepted as good, or even amoral, his sleeping with men, which was probably why he’d never had an experience he wasn’t a little ashamed of.

Never. In thirty-five years.

With all the things he’d done, all the men he’d done, he had never, ever, not once, felt unambiguously good about it. Of course, most of his sex life was Tom Mesda, and it was hard to feel good about that. Todd, yes, that was different. Todd was the only lovemaking he’d ever felt good about.

And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t the lovemaking he felt bad about, it was himself as a lover.

And so, last night, when he had surprised himself by going to the club, and when this young, soft thing who couldn’t be past twenty-three had surprised him by his interest, the blood had flooded his groin, and something light in his heart made Brian take him home.

Going down the hallway and to the small living room where he had the manila envelopes laid out, he got a little hard and thought about the sex they’d make when he went back to that room, maybe until midmorning. He wasn’t the organist at Mass today, Tom was.

“Joseph Callan,” Brian said, suddenly business, suddenly wanting very much to please Fenn, who had trusted him, and made him a friend.

“Gosh,” Brian murmured. “Three houses. The stocks. The money.” He shuffled through the papers. “I’d need an accountant for this. I… No, I could do this.”

Brian shuffled through the papers, marking off things, taking notes, getting ready to get up and put a pot of coffee on. He needed to turn on a light. The sun wasn’t quite up yet. The boy in the bed could wait a little while. Brian was sure he would. When Fenn had found that money last year, he had just touched the iceberg.

“Guys,” Brian murmured to his friends who weren’t there. “You won’t believe this!”

When the alarm clock went off, Tom slammed it and climbed on top of Lee, kissing him.

“Wow,” Lee murmured, and kissed him back, “Now that’s what the fuck I need.”

“I know what you need.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Tom ignored him and, leaning over Lee, gently lifted the covers away, He went down on him, sucking him desperately and when Lee’s hands tried to come down, he pushed them back up and murmured, mischievously,“Unh uh,” while he went on about his business. They kissed and sucked each other while the sun came up, and then Lee, lay back and pulled Tom inside him, and Tom rode and rode and pushed until he shuddered and Lee reached his hands into that curly hair and pulled Tom’s face down, whispering: “Come in me. Come now.”

And Tom did, like a shuddering flood, and then they were both frozen, and slowly… they settled… down…. Lee throbbing, Tom lying across him.

After they had been so quiet that all they could hear was one another’s breathing, Lee said, “A penny for your thoughts, Thomas.”

Tom Mesda frowned, because his thoughts surprised him.

“I was just thinking…”

“Um hum?”

“I want a baby.”

Noah Riley pulled the pillows over his head and groaned at the knock on the door.

“Paullll!” he wailed.

“I got it,” Paul said, and a few minutes later it opened, and the hard sound of the soles of Kirk’s shoes could be heard.

“You ready?”

“Just about,” Paul said. “You’re early.”

“Because I don’t want to be late. You take forever to get dressed.”

“Well, it is church,” Paul said.

Then Noah’s door opened, and Kirk said, “Are you coming?”

Uncomprehending, Noah turned around and let out a long groan.

“We’re going to hear a priest who, supposedly, is a better preacher than Jesus,” Kirk told Noah, approaching his room.

“Can he raise the dead?” Noah said.

“Well, you look like you could use such a service.”

Paul stuck his head in the door.

“Leave ole Noah alone. He’s sleeping off Saturday night.”

“Saturday night in Rossford?”

“I went to Loretto College. Dorm party.”

“Wow,” Kirk said. “I kinda miss those.”

“We’ll leave you,” Paul said. “But after church we’re going to Fenn’s for breakfast.”

“Breakfast!” Noah croaked coming out of bed.

“You’re luring him to church with sausage?” Kirk said.

“I’m sure you don’t have to go church to be invited to the house for breakfast,” Paul said. “It’s not like Todd’s going.”

“True,” Noah said, climbing out of bed naked and carelessly rummaging the floor for his briefs before pulling them on. “But it looks bad, you know. And I don’t want to be reamed by Fenn again. He reams you in a really quiet way, like Chinese water torture. I’ll go. I’ll just have to catch up. Save me a seat.”

“Sure,” Paul said as Noah staggered out of his room in the direction of the shower. “But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about a full house at Saint Barbara’s.”

“You would if it was Saint Agatha’s,” Kirk said.

“Oh, don’t even start that.”

That morning when Lee was in the shower, Tom climbed in as usual, turning around for Lee to wash his back and then turning around, soaping the cloth and washing Lee’s back, washing to his feet. Lee turned and they faced each other. Tom bowed his head, his thick dark hiar plastered to his scalp and let Lee shampoo him.

The first person I ever showered with was Fenn.We were so young. How young? It was almost, but not quite, twenty years ago, and I felt old back then. Part of me feels like I have my whole life ahead. Part of me…. What did I do to mess up the first half? First half? Not half? Surely not half…

“I do love you, Tom.”

“I know you do.”

“I wonder. Because I’m not quick to say it. I’m too gruff sometimes.”

“Sometimes you’re just out and out illegal.”

“What you said yesterday?”

“Hum,” Tom was lathering his torso and groin.

“What you said, yesterday, before you got up to play organ at church… And right after you’d just finished fucking me.”

“Oh.”

Lee felt frown lines in his forehead.

“You’re going to make me drag this out. The baby.”

“Oh, yes,” Tom said.

Then Tom suddenly reached behind Lee, to rinse in his cloth in the spigot, and put it over the shower head, exiting quickly.

“Tom!” Lee called.”

Lee quickly rinsed off, turned off the water, wrapped a towel around him and followed the wet tracks—Tom never left wet tracks—to their room.

Towel wrapped around him, wet hair hanging thick over his face, Tom sobbed into his hands.

“Tom, stop! You’re…” Then Lee stopped. “Tom, are you really crying?”

Tom Mesda did not cry. Well, Tom Mesda did not wail. Lee had never been with a wailer before. That was for men whose boyfirends were named Pookie, and had streaked hair. Tom was so contained, which was what Lee liked about him. But now here he was half naked, shoulders shaking, wailing into his hands.

Lee sat down and wrapped an arm around him, and Tom flung himself into Lee’s chest.

“I’m almost thirty-nine years old!”

“You hardly look thirty.”

Tom pulled away from him, face red, aghast. Okay, now he looked thirty.

I don’t… look… thir….” Tom began. “Who gives a fuck what I look like! “

Lee opened and shut his mouth.

“I want… a son. A BABY! I want my own baby. I’m almost forty, and what have I done?”

A treacherous voice in Lee’s head thought of rattling off all the things Tom had, in fact done, and knew that this was would just make Tom stare daggers at him.

“Tom!” Lee began. “Tom!”

Tom’s crying died down to sniffles. Slowly, eyes sparkling, he nodded his head.

“If we…” Lee began, knowing how long it would actually take, how probably impossible it would be to adopt a child, said, “sign… adoption papers… you know, look for a kid. Try…” Lee went on, “to have a baby….would that make you happy?”

Tom looked at him, amazed. A smile blazed across his face.

“Lee!” he sang. “Lee! Yes!”

“All right,” Lee said, kissing Tom on the cheek. “Now… we need to get dressed Brian wants us to look over some shit.”

More tranquil, Tom nodded his head as Lee crossed the room.

“And Lee?”

“Um hum?”

“If you tell Fenn I cried like a bitch, you’ll be sleeping on the couch till the Second Coming.”

IT HAD BEEN A WHILE since Paul survived a Mass.

“Don’t worry,” Kirk whispered beside him, “I’ll get you through it.”

“I can’t even sing,” Paul said as Tom Mesda announced the first hymn.

“No one else can, either. It’s a Catholic church.”

“And,” Paul continued to whisper, “is everyone in the place gay?”

“Just the choir,” Fenn said, startling him. “And the priests, and the liturgy staff. And us. Now… whisper a little softer.”

The hymn began.

The Kingdom of God is justice and joy
For Jesus restores what sin would destroy
God’s power and glory in Jesus we know;
And here and here after the kingdom shall grow

It reminded Paul of Saint Augustine’s back in East Carmel, possibly because the church was a medium size with sloping beams. The procession was a simple one, and there came Dan Malloy, transformed in green and white, followed by two other priests. One he’d seen around here often enough to know that the other one, the taller one, must have been the visiting priest. The first thought in Paul’s head was, “He’s kinda hot.” The second thought was, “That’s a couple of years in hell,” and the third one was, “He looks familiar…” But that made no sense, so Paul put that thought away.

The Kingdom of God is mercy and grace,
The captives are freed, the sinners find place,
The outcast are welcomed, Gods banquet to share,
And hope is awakened in place of despair!

In a dance that Paul remembered, the procession made its way to the altar, the boy carrying the incense doing a smoky turn about it while the important looking man in the suit carried the gilt Bible to the podium or the pulpit, and Dan Malloy came to stand in front of the congregation as the hymn ended.

“Brothers and sisters, may you be blessed in the Name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.”

And beside everyone else, Paul heard himself saying, “Amen!” before they launched into the Gloria.