The Iero boy had changed since our last encounter.
He wasn't much of a boy anymore.
Although he couldn't have grown more than an inch, the way he carried himself was different; his chin tipped higher, his chest resting outside of its old hiding place behind his shoulders, and there was a slight quirk to the corner of his lips, new and unwavering.
The piercings that decorated his face and that tattoos his body spoke volumes.
He was a man now. That timid, confused little Iero boy was gone.
Over the years, I'd often thought about that little boy, how he shuffled into my office late one evening while his mother attended a women's service. The way his lips quivered as he told me he'd been having dreams. I'd chuckled and told him that dreams were a pretty normal thing to have.
His voice dropped to a whisper, his shoulders drawing in as if he wanted to withdraw from the world, "Dreams about men."
I hated that memory because every time it crossed my mind, I felt that same pang in my gut that I'd felt the day he'd actually uttered the words. It was fear that he would go through what I'd gone through, and at such a young age. I wanted to put an end to it. I wanted to do the impossible. I wanted to make him forget about ever wanting to touch, to feel, to be with and hold another man. I didn't want him to fight that battle himself, I wanted to fight it for him.
But the things I told him were horrible. And I damaged him. That became evident in the year before he left the church. The damage showed in the way he so openly hated the church-goers around him, so openly hated me. He resented the church and all it stood for because it told him that he couldn't be who he wanted to be. He couldn't act on his desires, he couldn't be with someone he loved, he couldn't enjoy himself.
I had told him, that day in my office, that he could find happiness without all of that--the touching and the kissing and the feeling and the warmth, the physical pleasure. I had told him that I had done just that, and it had been the only time I'd ever spoken out loud of what I held as my deepest secret to anyone that wasn't Mikey. It had been a foolish move and it had been a lie anyway.
What I didn't tell the Iero boy was that I had those dreams, too, and that the only thing I wanted more than to be with a man was to make my father proud. Yet even after my father's passing, I felt held down, restrained and kept from what I craved when I was alone in bed. Frustrated that I wouldn't let myself commit the sin that I so desperately wanted to commit.
It had been those feelings that I'd been trying to keep Frank from ever experiencing. Instead, I'd given him other damaging things to feel.
By the way he looked now, though, grown up and confident in the way he walked, I was fairly certain that he'd avoided the emotions I had been riddled with since becoming a priest. I felt happy for him, even through the intense jealousy. He'd been with men, I could practically see it on him. He'd had sex, he'd touched, he'd pleasured and been pleasured, and he was fine with that.
After the service, I found my eyes wandering to him as I talked with church-goers, and I had never wanted more to shed my clothes and pull on clothes like he was wearing; ripped blue jeans, a t-shirt displaying some band, and ratty sneakers that had seen better days. He still had no respect for the church or anyone in it.
"Father Way," Linda Iero was suddenly meters away from me, her son in tow. I stood up straighter, offering a hand for the woman to shake as she greeted me, "You remember Frank? It's been a while."
I looked past the woman to her son, his eyes dull and uninterested for a moment before they moved to connect with mine, seeming to turn a shade darker. The slight smirk on his face grew.
I nodded and shook his hand, "Of course. Nice to see you again."
Frank was chewing gum. His mother shot him a look as he smacked on it before saying, "Nice to see you, too." His words had a darker tone than mine, and I was beginning to get the idea that he was always like that now--dark and cynical, especially when it came to the religion that shut him out.
I cleared my throat, years of regret and heavy loads of guilt weighing on my mind, "Do you have time to talk? It's been so long." After Frank had left the church, I'd decided that, if ever given the chance, I would set things right, or at least try, even if it was already too late.
He seemed to think for a moment, and then glanced at his mother, who smiled and nodded at him. "Sure."
YOU ARE READING
Father's God
FanfictionThe Iero boy had changed. He wasn't much of a boy anymore. (Priest!Gerard)