Page 3 of Gay for Pray
She hugs me so tightly and for so long it’s like I’m about to spend a semester overseas instead of right down the road. Her eyes are even wetter when she releases me.
“Have fun,” Lucy says. She’s only a couple years younger than me and may apply to Arpor Sacred Sacrament University this year, the same way I did when I was a high school senior. She’s always telling me to have fun while I’m there, but I chalk it up to her being in high school. When she gets to the university and the seriousness of her studies hits, I’m sure she’ll be just as diligent a student as I am. She’s always been clever and determined.
“Study hard,” Dad says. “Stay focused.”
He doesn’t add that he expects me to do better than he did. He expects me to go directly into the priesthood, unlike what he did.
“I will,” I say.
“And let us know how it goes with the choir,” Mom adds.
“Don’t worry, I will.”
I have no concerns about getting in. I breezed through try-outs last year, and I expect this year to go just as smoothly. I’ve been singing in the choir at Dad’s church for my whole life, and while the liturgical choir at school is a way bigger stage, it’s one where I’m perfectly comfortable.
I slip out of the house before they can delay me any longer.It’s a short half hour drive from my tiny town to the university town that supports A.S.S. Uni. In no time, I’m dragging my few bags into my new dorm room, which I’ll share with a guy named Aaron who I’ve never met. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to make friends or party or do any of that stuff. I’m here to fulfill my father’s expectations—and my own. I’m even harsher on myself than Dad could ever be, so I don’t need his implied judgment to motivate me to stay focused regardless of the reckless debauchery my peers might engage in. I thought a Catholic university might be different, but that proved far less true than I’d hoped.
Easy introductions fill the start of the week. I’m happy to settle into the routine of my new classes. Some people like to arrive early and socialize before class officially begins, but not me. I’m not here to socialize, so why would I waste my time that way when I can continue my Bible study at home instead?
That annoying guy is in my philosophy class again, but I’m more prepared for Jude’s grating presence this year than I was last year. The first Monday that we both walk into class, he smiles at me in a way that turns my stomach. Is it possible for someone’s mere presence to corrupt everything around them? I sit as far from him as I can, doing my utmost to pretend he doesn’t exist. I’m going to have to deal with him if we both have the same major, but I don’t have to pretend to like it. It isn’t just his smarmy smile either. It’s the glint in his pale eyes, the leftover dye in his hair, the way he dresses in clothes just a little too tight and a little too flashy. He knows he doesn’t belong here, but here he is regardless, not even trying to fit in. I don’t understand why the university allows it, but I suppose he hasn’t outright broken any rules yet, at least not where the university could catch him.
I shake off the mandatory Jude sighting and try to go about the rest of my week. My other classes won’t be quite as rigorousas my philosophy requirements, but I did manage to sneak into a class about Bible references in classic literature that will fulfill my English requirement without making me want to scratch my eyes out. I don’t get what people see in most of the classics. I had to lie to my dad about some of them last year because they bordered on books he might disapprove of.
Then I get back to philosophy class on Thursday, and Jude is looking even more smug than usual. I try to shake it off, but the look stays with me all throughout class as the professor talks more about our first reading assignment from earlier in the week.
“One of the first questions we’ll tackle is why we study philosophy at all,” Professor Demsky says. “Why do we look for morality in places like philosophy? This might be an especially interesting question when we add in religious conviction.”
I swear the professor’s eyes flicker toward me in particular. I’ve made no secret of my plans for my future. My professors and advisors all know it. Professor Demsky even knows my dad. She’s the head of the philosophy department, so she met my whole family during orientation.
She moves on. “One of the ways we’ll explore this is by talking about divine command theory and ethical relativism.”
I put my head down and start furiously taking notes. I’ve already done the reading, as well as next week’s reading, and a bit of supplemental reading I added in just to cover all my bases, but I take meticulous notes regardless. It never hurts to do a little bit of extra study, though I have to admit I didn’t find my classes very challenging last year. I’m hoping sophomore year will be a bit more intellectually stimulating. I’m not here to talk about basic concepts I’ve understood since high school. I want to dive deeper into this stuff, really explore the thorny philosophical issues that so often present a conundrum for theological studies.
The lecture is also helpful for keeping my nerves at bay. I have choir try-outs right after this, and while I should be a shoe-in, anxiety still bubbles in the pit of my stomach. There’s always a chance someone comes in and takes my spot because they’re that good. I’m confident, but I’m not an idiot, so I’m going to give it my all. I chose my favorite song, one I’ve sung in my father’s church more times than I can count. Even if I was fainting with nerves, I should be able to belt it out and secure my spot.
Sometimes, I wonder if music would have been my career if my father wasn’t a deacon. If I had a more secular life instead of being raised in the church, would I have made different choices? Besides religion, it’s always been singing and music that filled my heart. When I sing at church, I’m not just praising God; I’m expressing something about myself that only seems to come out in song. I could have become a music teacher or something if the priesthood wasn’t my path, but I’ll never know, so there’s no point thinking about it.
For a second, I wonder what Jude is getting out of this. He’s not majoring in philosophy to go on to seminary like me. He’s not following a passion like music. So what is a person like that even doing here? Why is he in my philosophy classes at a Catholic university? It doesn’t make any sense, no matter how I rack my brain to try to find an explanation. He’s a loud, obnoxious, flashy aberration. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs at some school with no rules and no code of conduct, where people live life like they’re in a raunchy music video.
I shake myself out of my head and focus on the rest of the lecture. I can’t be getting distracted in my first week of school, especially by someone like Jude who doesn’t deserve a second of mental energy.
Professor Demsky finishes up, then gives us our next reading and response assignment before she lets us go. I pack my stuffup slowly. I still have a few minutes before I need to get to the church for my try-out, and it’s a short walk from the philosophy department.
I’m one of the last out of the classroom, and I head out of the brick building and onto a broad path that spreads out like a starfish, offering students pathways to every other part of the campus. Trees overhang the path, cooling the California sunshine. A few people lounge on the grass between academic buildings, napping or talking or reading.
I choose the branch that will take me toward the church, but I only make it a short way down the quaint cobbles before I notice Jude standing still and checking his phone. He feels my eyes on him and jerks his head up, a broad smile flashing across his face.
“Perfect!” he says, mockery dripping off every letter. “If anyone knows where the church is, it’s you. Mind helping a guy out?”
“Why wouldyouever need to know where the church is?”
I can’t imagine a less likely place to find Jude hanging out on a gorgeous afternoon…or ever, really.
“Uh, I happen to be trying out for the choir, thank you.”
My blood goes cold. He must be messing with me. There’s absolutely no way this guy would join a church choir.
“What’s the real reason?” I say. If he’s lying, maybe he intends to do something I should stop.
