Second Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2004)
Fiction
— Second Place
Gift
of the Father
By Tom Glenn
(continued)
"I wanted more than anything to be big like you." Mike returned to the chair, folded his hands in his lap. "The best time was when you were home, between dinner and going to sleep. No, even better was when I got you to take me swimming and give me rides on your back. Remember the water slide?" Mike laughed.
John's olive-black eyes held Mike in a calm glow, the way they had so long ago. "You were afraid of the diving board."
"Until you held my hand and we jumped together."
"I remember your first head-down dive."
"I went in for competition diving in high school."
John grinned. "Bet you looked good in one of those diving suits."
"I was in great shape. Had to be, all those gainers and swans off the three-meter board." Mike swallowed. "Just before the dive, I'd say to myself, 'This is for Papa.' Later, I got past that. When I finally understood what you'd done..."
John's face lost its smile.
"I loved you," Mike said. "I was happy when you were there. I was alone when you left."
"I had to leave - to survive. I loved your mother."
Mike laughed.
"Since when do queers love women?"
John winced. "I was faithful to her until she locked me out of our bedroom - you were five. She had a lover."
"Then you switched to men."
"With relish."
Mike's eyes closed.
"I gave up shame," John said. "Monogamy, too. Until I found Bruce." He dragged his thumbnail across his forehead. "He died first."
"And what about me?" Mike said.
"You belonged to the straight life. I grieved over you. Then I gave up grieving."
Mike shook his head. "So I was left on my own. Who taught me to play baseball? Who taught me to defend myself? I had to learn on my own how to tie a tie, to shave, to drive." Mike bit his lip. "Nobody told me about sex. Nobody taught me to love women."
John froze.
"Nobody," Mike said in a raw whisper, "taught me not to love men."
John's eyes darkened.
"My first time was in high school," Mike said.
"Don't..."
"I swore I'd never do it again. I didn't know how to love a woman, so I knew I had to be celibate or I'd go to hell."
"I don't want to hear..."
"That's why I went into the seminary." Mike leaned his face closer to John's. "I met my first real lover there. I've had every kind of counseling the Archdiocese can think of. Nothing works. It's a curse. Sometimes I think God forgives what you've done but not what you are."
The plastic bags trembled. "Your mother knows?"
"No."
"You blame me," John said.
"You let me grow up alone with the curse."
John jerked up his chin as if for air. "Stop calling it that." The bags shuddered. "You think I chose evil?"
"You blanked me out, forgot I existed."
"Losing you was the hardest part." John drew a slow, deep breath, closed his eyes, and smiled at the ceiling. "'Henry raised both hands before the assembled knights and shouted, 'Who will rid me of this troublesome priest'?"
Mike sat up. "'And the knights there assembled withdrew, saying one to another, 'We know the king's will'."
"You were a tiny thing. I read you history, Shakespeare, Poe, Whitman. On Sundays - you wouldn't remember - when your mom had other things to do, I took you to the ocean. We'd sit in the sand under a buttermilk sky, listen to the rhythm of the waves. You'd sleep in my arms."
Mike took
a quick breath. "Yes, yes. The beach. I'd forgotten..."
