I Have Friends in Holy Spaces

10: The Chapter in Gerard's Point of View that Nobody Asked For

When most people think of my grandmother, they think of the kindred person they encountered; the one with the disarming smile and kind, soft spoken words who could appease the angriest of souls. They would believe that she was a saint, that she was too beautiful for this world and when she had died, almost everybody I knew mourned our loss and would come up and give me or Mikey their condolences.

Mikey took them graciously, but I didn't need them. I didn't want their condolences, I didn't want them to be sorry for me at all. She wasn't a saint, nor a kindred person. There was nothing nice to my grandmother at all; she was like one of those candies that looked sweet but when you eat them, you want to spit it out immediately.

   My life was hell with her in it and it became even more hell without her.

   I couldn't win; her verbal abuse drove me over the edge but yet nobody believed that it was a form of harassment so I kept it inside, soon adapting to a calm exterior. Despite the harsh criticism I received for any little action I did, I still wore a smile everyday at school and strove toward going to art school.

There was a pretty good chance that I was going to be accepted into my dream college. It got to the point where I was so excited for my letter, that I began to tell all my friends I was going to work in the comic book industry because no matter what would happen, I was going to find a way in to it, dream college or not.

When I see some of my former classmates at church, I want to hide because of the looks they give me; the ones of confusion. Isn't he supposed to be making comic books? They probably think, but no, instead I'm teaching those of the faith and constantly reminding myself to have some once in a while as well.

I will never tell a soul why I became a priest; if I go to hell, it burns with me. One could tell I wasn't made to be a man of cloth, I don't sound like one, my looks don't give people the impression that I am a servant of the Lord, and my disposition toward anything faithful is nothing but a monotone approach. Yet, it's my life now and I'm not going back to what I was before.

  Psycho

  Freak

  Sadistic

Those three words are the ones that described me most in my younger days; in fact I would chant them in my mind almost everyday just to remind myself I wasn't normal. If I was normal, then maybe I'd be living my dream.  But then again, the world has a way of making you happy through disappointment.

    The sun was melting along the horizon, a display of colors expanding across the sky as if it were a canvas. My study was placed near a window and it was quite beneficial for I like to take time out of my work to just watch the sunrise and think about what could have been.

My desk was a clutter of papers askew all over, random scribbles of writing on each sheet, most likely past and future lessons for the Sunday Mass and youth groups that were run. From my swivel chair, I scooted over to my desk and searched for a certain one; it was the exorcism I performed on the Iero house.  It was an old paper; it was probably older than I was and the writing had faded a bit but it was still legible. The former head of the church had given it to me before he retired and I almost discarded it then, not realizing how much importance it was.

   Soon enough I had found it and to make sure I wouldn't lose it around my study again, I placed it in a folder and put it on top of the china cabinet I had in here, locking its doors afterwards.

    There wasn't much left to do at the church besides clean it up a bit and since I had already done that, I stood up, grabbing my things and heading out of the church. Darkness was beginning to swarm the sky and out of habit I began to walk faster. Belleville was a dangerous community and even though I'm considered untouchable by the dominating gangs, I still never liked to take my chances.