Man of the Cloth

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..."

Here we go again. Its been two days since your last confession, Margaret. How much sinning could you possibly have done in that time? I know your family. Your husband works a 70-hour week, and you opted to leave your publicist job and stay home to take care of the kids. Why? Because you didn't like the fact that little Tommy's teacher is a trans woman, and would rather raise your kids yourself without, and I quote, "the world's influence corrupting the morals you hold dear." Ugh, its typical in this town. Wait, what?

"...that woman. I mean, why would she even think that would be acceptable behaviour in this day and age? Honestly, I know I'm not supposed to judge, but I don't want Tommy to be afraid to go outside because he might see Miss Carter's cheeks hanging out of her skirt like that! That would traumatize a child! How does she even wear that and not freeze to death? I mean, it's the middle of February! All the men here are married, and she just..."

Ah, that's the real problem she has with Miss Carter. She's not worried about the kids. It's her husband she's worried about. If only she knew what he confessed last week -- she wouldn't be so worried about Miss Carter as she would be worried about Greg from the bar on Main Street.

"My child, what can I help you with? There's not much I can do about your neighbour. What have you done that you need absolution?"

"Well...Its causing me to sin by being prideful and having ill feelings towards her. I need her to stop causing everyone on the block to sin, because I know I'm not the only one who thinks it."

Thank the Holy Father for the lattice between us, otherwise she would see my eyes roll. Don't get me wrong. I don't regret my calling. This work is far more important than anything else I could have done. But sometimes I find problems like Mrs. Hill's judgmental attitude to be a little....tiresome.

...

It's a chilly day out. After that big snow the other day, I'm surprised to see so many people out. Probably ran out of bread, milk and eggs. I look down as I walk to hide my smile. Not sure why. It's bright and beautiful, if cold. I'm headed to the drug store. I'm about to run out of the Adderall I was prescribed a few months back, and need a refill. Textbook ADHD. Once the doctor prescribed the symptoms, everything seemed to come together. I've been doing much better since I started the meds. I didn't even realize zhow many coping mechanisms I'd become accustomed to from childhood until I suddenly realized how unnecessary some things I do out of sheer habit were. I still use them. Not much has changed. They just don't offer the same needed comfort they used to.

The bell on the door rings as I push through the threshold.

"Father Thomas! Nice to see you on such a chilly day! What can I get for you?"

Mike always makes me feel warm and welcome. He always insists that I call him by his first name, and always wants a hug after I pay for my meds. Such a nice man, like most people in this town--except poor Mrs. Hill. I hide a small smirk on my face as well as I can as I tell Mike my order. You'd never find this kind of familiarity in Chicago. If I went into a pharmacy in the city, I'd be greeted by some emo teen girl who looked more bored and grumpy than my 13-year old, floppy-eared pup, Flash. Poor thing. He's not the high-spirited young puppy he used to be. I named him after my favourite childhood hero from the 80's, Flash Gordon. Now he flops his ears on the floor and just looks up at me with his tired old eyes. Looks more like that old hound dog in a Bugs Bunny cartoon than any kind of tight red tank top-donned saviour of the universe.

"So you're the famous Father Thomas..." I turn in a startle to see who was talking from behind me. I had to take a small step back when I saw how wholly my personal space was invaded. Almost backed into the counter. In front of me was a more of a monster than a man. Tall as street light and built like a fireman you see in those calendars they sell each year. I buy them just because....You know...It's a charity for a good cause. It's important to show my support to the community. Anyways, this guy is just....Massive. Full, well groomed beard that reached down to his meaty chest. Big, kind, blue eyes. Has long hair put up in a man bun. His sense of style is astonishing. Hes wearing a crisp, white dress shirt, a full, blue suit that looks tailor-made on him, and some very nice tan Oxfords. Wait...Are those Santoni's? Okay, man has class. What does this guy do to be able to afford those?

"...It's nice to finally meet you. I just moved here a couple weeks ago, and my neighbour Helen is always raving about you. 'Father Thomas said this last Sunday', 'Father Thomas did that'...You're all she can find to talk about. Nice to finally have a face to the name." He lets out a booming chuckle so low and gracious that all the glass in the pharmacy seemed to simultaneously reverberate. I regain my composure from the startle at this beast.

"Oh, I'm sure you're exaggerating. But Mrs. Summers does enjoy a good sermon. Kind of nice to see her paying attention through all the snores." I smile and reach out my hand, which the behemoth grabs with a grip so firm I begin to wonder why my hand feels so soft and limp. Seriously, it's like shaking hands with a grizzly. He's wearing a single, thick gold chain around his giant wrist. "You must be..."

"Dillon. Dillon Beckett. I was just hired last month at the plant down the road from town. CEO. As I said, I just moved here. I'm afraid I'm not much of the religous type, but I do enjoy a good conversation about deep thoughts. We should get coffee sometime, hash out some cool subject." His smile is infectious--like the room is filled with his energy the same way it reverberated his laugh. Behind me, Mike gets my attention. I pay for my meds, thank him, and say my goodbye.

"Mind if I walk with you for a minute? I'd like to get your thoughts on how the townsfolk think of the plant. You know, research. Care to be my informant for a minute?" I nod nervously, and again say goodbye to Mike before we head out.

The sun's already melted much of the snow from the other day. Tomorrow we're supposed to get more. Winter's always been a season I am...Without sounding ungrateful to the Father, I am least fond of it.

"So Father, I didn't expect someone so young, from Helen's ravings over you." Dillon laughs with that low boom, like when you hear a teenager drive by with his subwoofer on full blast. "Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Looks like you might have a bit of a crush on your hands." I chuckle a bit, quietly. Compared to him, I must look like an otter walking next to a bear.

"Well...I'm afraid any such thing is going to have to be kept tucked in by her. I'm afraid she's not my type."

"Oh? I thought she was a very attractive, young woman. What exactly is 'your type'?" Again I make a nervous chuckle.

"Non-corporeal." Dillon laughs heartily.

"That's right. I forgot, you priests have to be....celibate. Too bad, Father. You don't know what you're missing. Or maybe you do?" He looks over to me with a side glance that seems more devilishly suspicious. He's messing with me now. Of course I know what I'm missing. I wasn't always a priest. Truth is though, I didn't think much of it. My first, last and only time with a girl was at a party in college before I received my calling. In fact, it was sort of the cause of my accepting the call to ministry. It was okay. I certainly enjoyed the time I spent with her. Oh, I don't even remember her name. We had met at the party, and after it was over I walked her back to her dorm when she invited me up. I was so nervous and shaky, I almost backed out. But after it was over, I just felt...Kind of gross. Not to mention guilty, like I'd taken advantage of this poor, random girl I'd never met. We had both had drinks at the party: and she was sober enough as far as I could tell. But I was drunk enough to not think about the consequences. I mean, what if I had gotten this poor girl pregnant? I checked on her months later to make sure she wasn't before leaving the university to pursue the priesthood calling, but I just didn't like how I felt during the whole experience. And the physical feeling was...Just okay. I just didn't see the point of all the hype over sex. It wasn't that big a deal to me. Yet people will lie, cheat and steal over such an unsatisfying act.

I'm not about to admit any of this to this giant jock of a manly guy, though. I don't want to come off as...Wait, what do I care what this guy thinks of me? He probably expects me to be holy and righteous anyway.

"I think of sex as...A thing that receives far too much more attention than it deserves." I said with as much pretentiousness as I could muster, trying to seem like a wise man beyond my years.

"Spoken like a true man of the cloth, Father," Dillon says with an accusing tone and a smoldering side grin. "Or perhaps like a man who speaks outside of his range of experience. Could it be that you simply have a poor comparison to judge by?" Just what is that supposed to imply? I'm sure he has plenty of experience. He's wildly handsome, muscular with a nice build. Clearly confident. Successful. No doubt he's in his head comparing my little experience he imagines with his multitude of conquests.

"I do hope that if you intend to corrupt a certain member of my congregation, you don't need my permission, Mr. Beckett. I'm her priest, not her parent." Dillon looks at me, an expression of minor shock written on his beaming face. He booms another chuckle.

"What, Helen? Ohhh no, Father. Don't get me wrong. Helen is an attractive woman, but...I'm afraid she's not my type either: though I do prefer more corporeal partners than yours, Father." Confused, I lightly shake my head and then turn to him. "I'm gay, Father."

"Oh." I couldn't help it. It just slipped out.

"I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable." Dillon says, probably more nervous than I ever thought was possible for this man.

"Of course not. We accept all people at St. Andrews. I'm just kind of ashamed that I made the assumption I did. I apologize." I said, trying to regain some dignity. Why does this guy even care what I think? I get if he's uncomfortable, but his body language doesn't show the typical discomfort I see in other non-religious people when a controversial topic comes up. It almost speaks...

"None needed, Father. I wasn't offended. More..." Dillion gives some thought to what's about to come out of his mouth. "...apprehensive." What am I supposed to say to that? Apprehensive of wha....Oh.... "Yeah. Looks like it's not Helen you need to be worried about. I mean, when you think about it, the road from 'Father forgive me for I have sinned' is a short step into 'Daddy Im sorry, I've been bad.'" His chuckle sounds more shaky than the confident, boisterous laugh in the drug store. He's not nearly as nearly as nervous as I am right now, though--I'll guarantee that. I've never....even entertained....I mean, I'm a priest. A man of God. And I realize that the Church has received a lot of....

"I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, Father. I know you're a priest, sworn to celibacy and all that. But if my line of work has taught me anything, its that you have to take chances. Bend the rules. Take the right gambles. I don't intend to live my life with any regrets, if I can help it. And you're very, very handsome, Father." Again that booming chuckle that just reaches into your soul and grips it. "Apparently, I'm not the only one who sees it. So why not take a chance at appearing inappropriate?"

"Mr. Beckett, I really appreciate...." I say, practically sweating through my collar. I try to hold back the impure thoughts that have been waiting at the door in the back of my mind since this behemoth of a man first spoke to me.

"Dillon, Father. Call me Dillon." He pauses, thinking to himself for a second. "Better yet: I've been calling you Father. If you want, you can call me Daddy."