Fiction: Shadow of the Cross - Page 2

foow · 01-22-2012, 06:42 PM

Chapter 1: Church Music

My inherent distrust of religion was solidified for me completely on a cool October night in Burlington, Vermont. Deciding that I needed to take a break from my studies, I had gone with a few Christian friends to volunteer at a soup kitchen at a large, modern church in the middle of the city. While I was sceptical of any activity taking place at a church—especially one of those big mega-churches—my friends promised me that the only religious thing I'd experience would be the grace, and when that came along I'd just have to close my eyes and pretend I was focusing on the divine.

And, for the most part, they were right. The meal was served with hardly a mention of God, and I found myself too busy with preparing food, cleaning plates and interacting with a whole bunch of really, really nice homeless people to even notice the big posters with Bible quotes hanging around the well-maintained gymnasium. I actually began to admire the church for holding these weekly meals, and was trying to determine if I could make it out every week, or at least once a month.

My admiration was short-lived. As we were finishing with the last of the dishes, one of the organizers invited—with the same amount of force that a mother would “invite” her kid to clean his room—to a worship service in the church's main sanctuary. I, of course, wanted nothing to do with such a service, and I had about a million things to take care of before getting back to school and work the next day, but my two friends were game and gave me no option to escape.

We were led by the enthusiastic organizer through a series of hallways. “Thanks a lot,” I hissed to Ryan and Mark, the two responsible for bringing me there in the first place. “I was just thinking how much fun it'd be to skip out on my work and spend two hours praying to a god who isn't there.”

“Relax Jord,” Ryan said. “I've been here before. It's actually really cool, and it doesn't take long.”

“Besides,” Mark added, “there might be some smokin' girls there.”

He chuckled, and I laughed with him, but I really couldn't have cared less. Though I gave off a straight, masculine image, I had absolutely no interest in girls. I liked guys. I guess that made me gay, but I didn't like attaching the label to myself. To me, and to most people, gay was a whole personality—someone who's gay not only likes the same sex, but also dresses well, can decorate an entire house, is rather weak physically and emotionally, and has a nasally lisp with every word he says. It's an unfair stereotype, but it wasn't one I wanted others to put on me. I could barely dress myself, I was the star left-defenseman of the hockey team, and spoke without any sort of accent. No one suspected that I wasn't straight, and I was fine to keep them believing that.

A few of my closest friends did know, as did the few guys I'd hooked up with since taking one hell of a brave leap about a year before, but beyond that I was Jord, the straight engineer and athlete. And I was perfectly fine with that. Sort of.

“Forget it,” I said, spotting an exit. “I'm out of here.”

“No!” Mark grabbed my shoulder. “C'mon, just try it.” He grinned. “I dare you.”

I sighed. The three of us, along with a few other friends, had been doing an informal dare tournament since our first year at college, and we'd reached a point where no one could ever turn down a dare, regardless of its safety or humiliation. Most of them focused around extreme stunts, like jumping off the rez roof into a huge pile of snow (which was so awesome) or riding a bike across a tiny bridge over a raging river (not so much). But this was new, and, I had to admit, rather crafty.

“Seriously?” I asked. “That's low, man.”

He shrugged. “A dare's a dare. Now let's go.” He pretty-much dragged me into the sanctuary, with Ryan behind us.

I'd been expecting a traditional church with stained-glass windows, rows of pews and a big organ at the front— all the weddings and funerals I'd attended had been in that setting. But this was something different entirely. The sanctuary looked more like a theatre, with rows upon rows of cushioned chairs, each on a different level to give everyone a view. A huge light system, which had to rival the ones on Broadway, hung above the stage, which itself was home to a live band playing some rather generic music. I counted three guitar players, two basses, a drummer, a handful of brass instruments, a guy in front of a turntable, and at least three singers. Occupying the first sets of rows were a bunch of clean-cut teens and young adults. I snorted a laugh. At least, with my baby face and short blonde hair, I'd fit in, despite now being twenty.

We took our seats amid a group of teenage girls, each clutching a pink Bible, as the minister took to the mic and invited us to rise and “join in praising our Gawd.” The band began to play a set of Christian worship songs, which were pretty catchy and kinda fun, but meant absolutely nothing to me. I can't say that for the others in the room, though. All around me, people had their hands in the air and their faces contorted as they sung how God was “love from above, the only One who gave His Son.” I tried to look as natural as possible, but once Ryan threw his arms up and started crying during one of the songs, it became really, really hard for me to not laugh. Instead, I focused on the two hundred people I didn't know and wondered what on earth they were thinking.

It was in the final song of the set, when I had become fully-bored with the bland lyrics, that I saw him. He was two rows ahead of me and about ten chairs to the right, standing amid a gaggle of girls. He caught my eye immediately. I felt my body take several short breaths as my mind took in his beauty. He wasn't too short or tall, but he was slim, with a black, striped button-up shirt hugging his torso tightly. He had long, black shiny hair that fell just over his ears and covered his right eye. As he lifted his hands in the air, he exposed his lower back and side, revealing some firm, toned muscle above his dark-blue boxers. I had to forcefully close my eyes and open them again to ensure I wasn't making this up in my head. I wasn't. I was looking at the cutest, hottest boy I'd ever seen.

The song finished, and we invited to take our seats. I slowly sat back down, keeping my eyes on him as I did. His head turned in my direction and he pushed his hair away, revealing a set of sparkling blue eyes. I—a calm, collected young man who rarely reacted strongly to anything—had to do all I could to contain myself. I felt like one of those girls at the Twilight conventions, who can't get enough of Edwin or Jacky or whatever their names are. I leaned back and took a few deep breaths, telling myself to just wait until the service was over, and then I'd be able to introduce myself to him. Somehow.

As the preacher took the stage again, a sudden revelation occurred to me. This boy was gay. Despite my lack of gay tendencies, I happened to have excellent gaydar, which I realized when I around 12 and had asked my parents if Neil Patrick Harris had a boyfriend (he came out of the closet three years later). I'd never been wrong before, and I was certain I wasn't wrong now. Maybe the vibes were coming from his excellently-worn clothes or the fact that his hair was a bit too perfect, but they were there and this kid was absolutely, 100%, like me. I wondered if he liked me.

The preacher railed on about the evils of pornography, and if I had subscribed to any of the bull I probably would have felt super-guilty. But I paid no attention. My head was pointed toward the stage, with my eyes shifted to the left. Sweet mercy, this boy was hot. The half of his face that I could see had a perfect complexion, completely smooth and free of any markings. His hair was actually glistening under the lights. It was like someone had drawn the image of the ideal young man and then turned him real. Oh, the things I could do to him. I grabbed a Visitor Bible and opened it over my lap as my body reacted to my imagination.

He seemed to be listening intently, but I found pleasure in thinking that he was dreaming about hot guys the way I currently was. That lucky son-of-a-bitch, he got to look at himself naked! And he had to looked good. This was clearly a boy who took care of himself.

The minister wrapped up his sermon and said a quick prayer, then invited us to “greet each other in the Name of Christ.” Greet each other? As in, meet? I nearly jumped out of my seat as everyone else rose. I patted Mark and Ryan on the back and murmured something about Thor blessing them, then headed toward my target.

“Hi!”

A lively, tall girl, about my age, stepped in front of me and offered her hand. “What's your name?”

“Uh, Jord.” I offered my hand and looked over. The boy was offering one-armed hugs to a bunch of the girls. The phony.

“Hi Jord! I'm Amber! Is this your first time at The Rock?”

“Uh, yeah.” I tried to edge around her, but she couldn't seem to tell.

“That's awesome! We have so much fun worshipping God here. How long has it been since you gave your life to Jesus?”

I shrugged. “Twenty years. Nice to meet you.” Like a good hockey player, I deked around her and got myself closer to him, only to be stopped by a few other, not-nearly-as-attractive, boys, each who offered me the “Hand of Fellowship.” By the time the band was back up and playing a new song, I was still a good fifteen feet from Mr. Hottie, who'd already gone back to singing. It was too late to introduce myself. I sighed sadly and went back to my seat.

Two songs later, the minister ended the service with a final prayer and the house lights came back on. I threw my coat on and again tried to make my way to the boy, but the group he was in was out the door in a hurry. I chased after them, only to get lost in the maze of halls that led outside. After a few minutes of wandering around, I knew that my chances of finding him were null. I tried to cheer myself up by saying that I could come back next week, but I really didn't want to sit through another service, and I really wanted to know who this boy was right now.

My cell phone buzzed as I walked back toward the sanctuary. Ryan had sent me a text asking where I was. I started typing a response, but as I turned a corner, with all my attention on my phone, I crashed into another person coming the other way, knocking him right over. He landed on his back, his straight black hair going in all directions. I pulled my cell phone away from my face and went to apologize, but the words failed to come out of my mouth.

It was him. I'd knocked him down.

“I—I'm so sorry,” I blurted out. I took a step forward, wanting to offer my hand, but then realized I didn't know him, so it'd be weird, and I pulled back.

“Oh, no, it's my fault,” he said, picking himself up and dusting off his tight black shirt, which I now saw had thin silver stripes going down it. “I should have seen where I was going.”

“But I was texting. You know what they say: don't text and walk.” And at that point, I had to resist the urge to slap myself for such a stupid comment. Don't text and walk? Seriously, me?

He laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” His voice was developed, but still a bit squeaky. “Were you just in worship?”

I nodded. “Yeah, it was great. Really brought me close to God.” Well, it brought me closer to what I was now considering to be God.

“Good. I like it there too.”

I grinned, like an idiot, for a few seconds before offering my hand. “I'm Jord.”

He shook it in his soft, yet firm, hand. “Josh.”

Josh. What a name. The first half of it identical to mine. The last part, “sh,” like saying “shush, and let's keep this relationship our secret.” He could not have a better name. And yet, I only knew his first name, and now I silently cursed at myself for not using my last name, so that he'd be inclined to give his and I could look him up on Facebook.

“Anyway,” Josh said, motioning past me awkwardly. “I have to go. My mom's picking me up.”

“Cool. Hey, it was great to meet you. Josh.” I cleared my throat. “Oh, how old are you?” Subtlety is not my strong suit.

“I'm sixteen. You're about the same, I guess?”

“Sure. Well, no. I'm twenty.”

He laughed. “An old-timer, then! I'm just kidding. Hahaha.” He looked to the side, and then back at me. “It was great to meet you too. Will you be back here next week?” His voice rose significantly at the end, showing a lot of hope in the question.

“Definitely,” I said. “I didn't know anyone this week, but—”

“You can sit with me next time!” Josh interrupted, sounding way more excited than he probably wanted. “I'll save you a seat.”

“Good.” An uncontrollable grin came across my face. “I'll be there. Can't wait.”

“Me neither. Bye Jord.” Josh dashed past me and down the hall. As soon as he was out of view, I collapsed against the wall, breathed deeply, and raised my hands in the air. That was more than I had ever hoped for. I had his name, his attention, and most importantly, a space right next to him at the next service, a week from now.

After letting my mind process the whole thing, I found my way back to the sanctuary, where Ryan and Mark were waiting for me. “I thought you wanted to get out of here,” Mark said impatiently.

“I do. Let's go.” I followed them out to the parking lot, where a blue sedan was just pulling away. I spotted a full head of shiny black hair above the passenger seat headrest.

“Well Jord, you managed to complete the dare,” Mark said as we climbed in his truck. “Now you never have to come back here again.”

“But I want to,” I said. “Next week.”

Ryan gasped audibly. “Are you serious? What happened to you?”

Mark started the truck and we headed back to campus. I shrugged. “I guess you can say I had an experience with the divine.”

We changed subjects on the ride home, and after they dropped me off at my apartment I took a long time making a late-night snack, and then a much, much longer time lying in bed, trying to sleep.

The next week could not come soon enough.

01-22-2012, 06:42 PM	#1
foow Member Join Date: Nov 2009 Location: NS, Canada Posts: 38 Blog Entries: 1	Shadow of the Cross Chapter 1: Church Music My inherent distrust of religion was solidified for me completely on a cool October night in Burlington, Vermont. Deciding that I needed to take a break from my studies, I had gone with a few Christian friends to volunteer at a soup kitchen at a large, modern church in the middle of the city. While I was sceptical of any activity taking place at a church—especially one of those big mega-churches—my friends promised me that the only religious thing I'd experience would be the grace, and when that came along I'd just have to close my eyes and pretend I was focusing on the divine. And, for the most part, they were right. The meal was served with hardly a mention of God, and I found myself too busy with preparing food, cleaning plates and interacting with a whole bunch of really, really nice homeless people to even notice the big posters with Bible quotes hanging around the well-maintained gymnasium. I actually began to admire the church for holding these weekly meals, and was trying to determine if I could make it out every week, or at least once a month. My admiration was short-lived. As we were finishing with the last of the dishes, one of the organizers invited—with the same amount of force that a mother would “invite” her kid to clean his room—to a worship service in the church's main sanctuary. I, of course, wanted nothing to do with such a service, and I had about a million things to take care of before getting back to school and work the next day, but my two friends were game and gave me no option to escape. We were led by the enthusiastic organizer through a series of hallways. “Thanks a lot,” I hissed to Ryan and Mark, the two responsible for bringing me there in the first place. “I was just thinking how much fun it'd be to skip out on my work and spend two hours praying to a god who isn't there.” “Relax Jord,” Ryan said. “I've been here before. It's actually really cool, and it doesn't take long.” “Besides,” Mark added, “there might be some smokin' girls there.” He chuckled, and I laughed with him, but I really couldn't have cared less. Though I gave off a straight, masculine image, I had absolutely no interest in girls. I liked guys. I guess that made me gay, but I didn't like attaching the label to myself. To me, and to most people, gay was a whole personality—someone who's gay not only likes the same sex, but also dresses well, can decorate an entire house, is rather weak physically and emotionally, and has a nasally lisp with every word he says. It's an unfair stereotype, but it wasn't one I wanted others to put on me. I could barely dress myself, I was the star left-defenseman of the hockey team, and spoke without any sort of accent. No one suspected that I wasn't straight, and I was fine to keep them believing that. A few of my closest friends did know, as did the few guys I'd hooked up with since taking one hell of a brave leap about a year before, but beyond that I was Jord, the straight engineer and athlete. And I was perfectly fine with that. Sort of. “Forget it,” I said, spotting an exit. “I'm out of here.” “No!” Mark grabbed my shoulder. “C'mon, just try it.” He grinned. “I dare you.” I sighed. The three of us, along with a few other friends, had been doing an informal dare tournament since our first year at college, and we'd reached a point where no one could ever turn down a dare, regardless of its safety or humiliation. Most of them focused around extreme stunts, like jumping off the rez roof into a huge pile of snow (which was so awesome) or riding a bike across a tiny bridge over a raging river (not so much). But this was new, and, I had to admit, rather crafty. “Seriously?” I asked. “That's low, man.” He shrugged. “A dare's a dare. Now let's go.” He pretty-much dragged me into the sanctuary, with Ryan behind us. I'd been expecting a traditional church with stained-glass windows, rows of pews and a big organ at the front— all the weddings and funerals I'd attended had been in that setting. But this was something different entirely. The sanctuary looked more like a theatre, with rows upon rows of cushioned chairs, each on a different level to give everyone a view. A huge light system, which had to rival the ones on Broadway, hung above the stage, which itself was home to a live band playing some rather generic music. I counted three guitar players, two basses, a drummer, a handful of brass instruments, a guy in front of a turntable, and at least three singers. Occupying the first sets of rows were a bunch of clean-cut teens and young adults. I snorted a laugh. At least, with my baby face and short blonde hair, I'd fit in, despite now being twenty. We took our seats amid a group of teenage girls, each clutching a pink Bible, as the minister took to the mic and invited us to rise and “join in praising our Gawd.” The band began to play a set of Christian worship songs, which were pretty catchy and kinda fun, but meant absolutely nothing to me. I can't say that for the others in the room, though. All around me, people had their hands in the air and their faces contorted as they sung how God was “love from above, the only One who gave His Son.” I tried to look as natural as possible, but once Ryan threw his arms up and started crying during one of the songs, it became really, really hard for me to not laugh. Instead, I focused on the two hundred people I didn't know and wondered what on earth they were thinking. It was in the final song of the set, when I had become fully-bored with the bland lyrics, that I saw him. He was two rows ahead of me and about ten chairs to the right, standing amid a gaggle of girls. He caught my eye immediately. I felt my body take several short breaths as my mind took in his beauty. He wasn't too short or tall, but he was slim, with a black, striped button-up shirt hugging his torso tightly. He had long, black shiny hair that fell just over his ears and covered his right eye. As he lifted his hands in the air, he exposed his lower back and side, revealing some firm, toned muscle above his dark-blue boxers. I had to forcefully close my eyes and open them again to ensure I wasn't making this up in my head. I wasn't. I was looking at the cutest, hottest boy I'd ever seen. The song finished, and we invited to take our seats. I slowly sat back down, keeping my eyes on him as I did. His head turned in my direction and he pushed his hair away, revealing a set of sparkling blue eyes. I—a calm, collected young man who rarely reacted strongly to anything—had to do all I could to contain myself. I felt like one of those girls at the Twilight conventions, who can't get enough of Edwin or Jacky or whatever their names are. I leaned back and took a few deep breaths, telling myself to just wait until the service was over, and then I'd be able to introduce myself to him. Somehow. As the preacher took the stage again, a sudden revelation occurred to me. This boy was gay. Despite my lack of gay tendencies, I happened to have excellent gaydar, which I realized when I around 12 and had asked my parents if Neil Patrick Harris had a boyfriend (he came out of the closet three years later). I'd never been wrong before, and I was certain I wasn't wrong now. Maybe the vibes were coming from his excellently-worn clothes or the fact that his hair was a bit too perfect, but they were there and this kid was absolutely, 100%, like me. I wondered if he liked me. The preacher railed on about the evils of pornography, and if I had subscribed to any of the bull I probably would have felt super-guilty. But I paid no attention. My head was pointed toward the stage, with my eyes shifted to the left. Sweet mercy, this boy was hot. The half of his face that I could see had a perfect complexion, completely smooth and free of any markings. His hair was actually glistening under the lights. It was like someone had drawn the image of the ideal young man and then turned him real. Oh, the things I could do to him. I grabbed a Visitor Bible and opened it over my lap as my body reacted to my imagination. He seemed to be listening intently, but I found pleasure in thinking that he was dreaming about hot guys the way I currently was. That lucky son-of-a-bitch, he got to look at himself naked! And he had to looked good. This was clearly a boy who took care of himself. The minister wrapped up his sermon and said a quick prayer, then invited us to “greet each other in the Name of Christ.” Greet each other? As in, meet? I nearly jumped out of my seat as everyone else rose. I patted Mark and Ryan on the back and murmured something about Thor blessing them, then headed toward my target. “Hi!” A lively, tall girl, about my age, stepped in front of me and offered her hand. “What's your name?” “Uh, Jord.” I offered my hand and looked over. The boy was offering one-armed hugs to a bunch of the girls. The phony. “Hi Jord! I'm Amber! Is this your first time at The Rock?” “Uh, yeah.” I tried to edge around her, but she couldn't seem to tell. “That's awesome! We have so much fun worshipping God here. How long has it been since you gave your life to Jesus?” I shrugged. “Twenty years. Nice to meet you.” Like a good hockey player, I deked around her and got myself closer to him, only to be stopped by a few other, not-nearly-as-attractive, boys, each who offered me the “Hand of Fellowship.” By the time the band was back up and playing a new song, I was still a good fifteen feet from Mr. Hottie, who'd already gone back to singing. It was too late to introduce myself. I sighed sadly and went back to my seat. Two songs later, the minister ended the service with a final prayer and the house lights came back on. I threw my coat on and again tried to make my way to the boy, but the group he was in was out the door in a hurry. I chased after them, only to get lost in the maze of halls that led outside. After a few minutes of wandering around, I knew that my chances of finding him were null. I tried to cheer myself up by saying that I could come back next week, but I really didn't want to sit through another service, and I really wanted to know who this boy was right now. My cell phone buzzed as I walked back toward the sanctuary. Ryan had sent me a text asking where I was. I started typing a response, but as I turned a corner, with all my attention on my phone, I crashed into another person coming the other way, knocking him right over. He landed on his back, his straight black hair going in all directions. I pulled my cell phone away from my face and went to apologize, but the words failed to come out of my mouth. It was him. I'd knocked him down. “I—I'm so sorry,” I blurted out. I took a step forward, wanting to offer my hand, but then realized I didn't know him, so it'd be weird, and I pulled back. “Oh, no, it's my fault,” he said, picking himself up and dusting off his tight black shirt, which I now saw had thin silver stripes going down it. “I should have seen where I was going.” “But I was texting. You know what they say: don't text and walk.” And at that point, I had to resist the urge to slap myself for such a stupid comment. Don't text and walk? Seriously, me? He laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” His voice was developed, but still a bit squeaky. “Were you just in worship?” I nodded. “Yeah, it was great. Really brought me close to God.” Well, it brought me closer to what I was now considering to be God. “Good. I like it there too.” I grinned, like an idiot, for a few seconds before offering my hand. “I'm Jord.” He shook it in his soft, yet firm, hand. “Josh.” Josh. What a name. The first half of it identical to mine. The last part, “sh,” like saying “shush, and let's keep this relationship our secret.” He could not have a better name. And yet, I only knew his first name, and now I silently cursed at myself for not using my last name, so that he'd be inclined to give his and I could look him up on Facebook. “Anyway,” Josh said, motioning past me awkwardly. “I have to go. My mom's picking me up.” “Cool. Hey, it was great to meet you. Josh.” I cleared my throat. “Oh, how old are you?” Subtlety is not my strong suit. “I'm sixteen. You're about the same, I guess?” “Sure. Well, no. I'm twenty.” He laughed. “An old-timer, then! I'm just kidding. Hahaha.” He looked to the side, and then back at me. “It was great to meet you too. Will you be back here next week?” His voice rose significantly at the end, showing a lot of hope in the question. “Definitely,” I said. “I didn't know anyone this week, but—” “You can sit with me next time!” Josh interrupted, sounding way more excited than he probably wanted. “I'll save you a seat.” “Good.” An uncontrollable grin came across my face. “I'll be there. Can't wait.” “Me neither. Bye Jord.” Josh dashed past me and down the hall. As soon as he was out of view, I collapsed against the wall, breathed deeply, and raised my hands in the air. That was more than I had ever hoped for. I had his name, his attention, and most importantly, a space right next to him at the next service, a week from now. After letting my mind process the whole thing, I found my way back to the sanctuary, where Ryan and Mark were waiting for me. “I thought you wanted to get out of here,” Mark said impatiently. “I do. Let's go.” I followed them out to the parking lot, where a blue sedan was just pulling away. I spotted a full head of shiny black hair above the passenger seat headrest. “Well Jord, you managed to complete the dare,” Mark said as we climbed in his truck. “Now you never have to come back here again.” “But I want to,” I said. “Next week.” Ryan gasped audibly. “Are you serious? What happened to you?” Mark started the truck and we headed back to campus. I shrugged. “I guess you can say I had an experience with the divine.” We changed subjects on the ride home, and after they dropped me off at my apartment I took a long time making a late-night snack, and then a much, much longer time lying in bed, trying to sleep. The next week could not come soon enough.