The Glance - 4. Chapter 4

The Glance – rev. 4

Monday morning came bright and early, like it always does after a good weekend. Chuck stretched, caught John up in a deep kiss, and then jumped out of bed. He had to hurry. He showered and got dressed. As he came out of the bedroom, he smelled the wonderful scent of fresh coffee. He followed his nose to the kitchen to find John, dressed only in loose gym shorts, pouring coffee. “Here’s yours, mine’s coming,” John said as he handed a steaming mug to Chuck, “I’ll have toast and eggs in just a second. Sit down and relax.” Chuck started to protest, but John hushed him quickly. “You need to eat something, and this will only take a sec.” Chuck sat down at the kitchen table, already set for two.

John had already started something on the stove. As Chuck watched, John bustled efficiently between stove and toaster. As if by magic, a plate appeared before Chuck. “Two eggs, poached on toast with home-made hollandaise. I think you’ll like mine better than McDonald’s.”

Chuck leered, “I already like yours better than anyone else’s.” He set to with gusto, a blissful smile crossing his face as he bit into the eggs and hollandaise. “God, this is good. I’ve never tasted anything like this before.”

John brought his own plate to the table and sat with Chuck, enjoying Chuck’s very evident pleasure at breakfast. “I’m glad you like it. I think everyone should start the day well.” Chuck quickly finished, polishing his plate with his toast. He sat back, full, “That was great! Thank you. But, I’ve got to go. I need to get back home, change, and then get to class, and …”

“Shhh. It’s OK. I know. Go, go, go. I’ll talk to you later.”

They kissed at the door, a long, lingering kiss, and then Chuck dashed out the door to his car, and drove off.

John watched him go, and then went back in. His fingers grazed his lips as he replayed that last kiss. His thoughts went over the last day with amazement. He went back to the kitchen, cleaned up and poured himself one more cup of coffee. Then he went into the family room and sat down. He drank slowly, gazing out the window at the backyard. The big Maine Coon Cat suddenly appeared and demanded attention. He stroked Joe, the cat, carefully, letting his fingers play behind the ears and gently down the back, rubbing the tummy as the cat rolled over, enjoying the attention. John let his mind drift. He didn’t understand what was happening. He’d always been in such control over his life, and now he felt swept away by ‘this’, whatever ‘this’ was. He really, really enjoyed being with Chuck. The sex had been great, breaking a long fast he’d not intentionally embarked upon. That was good. But, he was pretty closeted. How was he going to deal with all ‘this’? How was he going to deal with his parish, with his bishop, with his family?

“Hey, quiet down, John. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Sure this was great, but before you begin getting all worked up, see if it’s got a future.” Sometimes he talked aloud to himself; he was used to being alone. “OK, cat, time to get going.”

John got up, put his cup away in the kitchen and went back to the bedroom. He quickly showered and dressed, ready for a day at the office. His wardrobe choices were limited, which black shirt, which black pants, but he did have a choice of crosses he could wear. He put his cell phone in his pocket, grabbed his briefcase and went out to his own car.
The day dragged on, all the usual things – mail, phone calls, check in with the secretary, begin to work on next week’s sermon and bulletin, double-check the music, etc. Yet he found himself smiling at odd moments, remembering. He was in a good mood, not as tired as he usually was on a Monday, and everyone noticed. His secretary smiled back at him, wondering why he was in such a good mood. He went out to lunch, as usual, with one of his friends, another cleric.

They arrived at the restaurant together. It was a quiet little hole-in-the-wall, comfortable with excellent food. They sat at one of the little tables on the outdoor front patio, watching the people hurry back and forth to all their terribly important appointments. They ordered soups and salads, a light lunch for both of them. Idly they chatted, waiting for the soup to arrive, sipping a good white wine. His friend leaned forward, “You’re in a remarkably good mood today. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you got laid.” John blushed and looked down. “Oh my God, you did! OK, tell, tell.”

“Jeff, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Honey, who am I going to tell? I’m as closeted as you are. You know you can trust me. So, who is he?”

John still hesitated, then he leaned forward and began to tell Jeff about his weekend, keeping Chuck’s identity confidential, but telling him about how wonderful it had been. “I don’t know, Jeff, what do I do now? I really like him, but he’s a parishioner, and I’m in the closet, and …” John trailed off, looking confused. The waiter arrived with their soups and salads, carefully placing them on the table, arranging fresh bread and butter, crackers, and then stepping back.

“Will there be anything else, gentlemen?”

“No, thank you.” The waiter left them alone. They began to sip the soup, each lost in his own thoughts. After the first few spoonfuls, Jeff leaned back, took some bread and began to butter it. Then he looked up. “John, first, I’m really pleased for you. You’ve got it bad, and that’s just delightful. I know how lonely you’ve been, and if this guy can fill that void, then more power to you. Second, he’s a brand new parishioner, so I don’t think there’s an ethical conflict of interest. You know that you can’t be his priest, but he can come to see me when he needs one. So that issue can be kept clean. Third, this is the 21st century and we’re Episcopalians. Sure, some of us are still pretty uptight about gays, but others are not. You know that the bishop is a good guy. I don’t think he’ll have too much of a problem with this. And the parish – well, some will and some won’t, and that’s the truth of it. Fourth, don’t create problems before their time. Just see where this is going. Maybe it’s just a fling – though, knowing you, I kind of doubt that. And maybe it’s the real thing. If so, I couldn’t be happier for you. Just go slow, John. Don’t rush things. Let it develop naturally.”

John looked up at him, his spoon hovering over the plate. His eyes were watering, surprising himself. And he realized just how much he had needed to hear those words from his friend. Maybe, just maybe, it would work out.

Chuck sat at his desk, staring at the open door. He shook his head, realizing that he had been staring into space for a good five minutes. The doorway was still empty. What was he thinking? He had work to do – papers to correct, homework assignments to think up, lessons to plan. And here he was, staring into space. There was no one in the doorway.
He sank back into reverie, his good intentions of a moment ago already forgotten. He licked his lips; he could almost taste John. His thoughts kept slipping back to the past couple of days, to the bedroom, to dinner together, to the surprisingly good breakfast just before he dashed out the door. He had had a really good time with John. He couldn’t really believe that it was only a couple of weeks. He’d gone to the church on a whim, restless, searching for something. There was John, dressed in his ecclesiastical vesture, earnestly leaning forward to make a point during the sermon, reaching out to the people to draw them in. He was so cute!

Maybe he was ready now. It had been a couple of years since his last long-term relationship. That one had ended badly. Mike had been such a bastard, cheating on him and then leaving without even a note, just a message on the answering machine, “Chuck, I’ve found someone else and I’m moving out. The keys are on the desk. Bye.” Five years together and that was all, “Bye.” Not “love ya,” not “I’m sorry,” nothing but “bye.” He still found it hard to believe just how cold it was. He and Mike had played together, they had fun together, they … Well, that was over now. Mike had gone. He’d spent a miserable year after that, depressed and grieving. Then he’d begun to heal. He realized that he had put a lot into the relationship, a lot that wasn’t really there. He was a romantic. He knew what he wanted and he had hoped that Mike was it. The healing had been slow, and the move down here had been a part of it. He needed to start over, make a clean break. He’d lived in the same city for most of his life, even going to college there. Maybe he just needed to grow up and move on. So he had, and here he was in a new city, teaching at a new college. And – it looked like he was beginning a new relationship.

He shook his head and looked down at his desk. There was a paper there, with red marks all over it. Yes, he had been reading one of the student papers. Why couldn’t they learn how to use Spell-Check? He really didn’t think he should be correcting English in college, especially not in a fourth year class. Oh well, back to the grind. His eyes moved down the paper, his hand automatically correcting spelling, punctuation, and grammar as he went along. It was difficult sometimes to follow the content of the paper when he was distracted by the errors. He’d gotten used to it over the years, but it was still a distraction. He put that one aside and took the next one from the stack, and began all over again -- only another five to go. He sighed gently and continued his task.

The bell rang again, announcing another class ended and another to begin. He stretched, putting his pen down, leaning back in the chair and reaching back, his shirt pulled taut across his chest. He ran his hands through his hair, and rubbed his eyes. He pushed his chair back from the desk and got up. He was restless. He’d finished the papers, and his mind was awhirl. What to do now? He decided to go for a walk. He went out, closing his office door behind him, and began walking down the hall. He went down the stairs and out the front door of the old academic building, bursting into the sunshine outside. Standing at the top of the outside steps, he looked around at the students milling in front of the building, hurrying to and fro. The whole scene reminded him of a busy anthill, student ants rushing around, graduate student ants walking more slowly, carrying bundles of papers under their arms, professor ants walking purposefully, attended by their favorite student ants – all of it having a randomness about it and yet nobody crashing into anybody else. He smiled at his own whimsy, then walked down the steps to join the throng. He, too, was now one of the ants.

He walked over to one of his favorite trees on the Commons. It was on a slightly raised hillock, giving a clear view of the whole area. The sun shone down on everyone alike, dappling the ground underneath the tree. He sat down and leaned back, letting his legs stretch out in front of him. And he just looked, looked at everyone, seeing no one in particular, just looking. In his mind’s eye, he saw John. He built up the picture of John standing there in the bedroom; his eyes ran over John’s body, his torso, muscled yet smooth, his long legs, his cute little ass. He sensed himself stirring, aroused just by the image of his lover. There, he said it, at least to himself. John was his lover. That felt good, complete. Just admitting it to himself gave him a sense of peace and contentment. He knew that he wanted this relationship to go on, to develop. But did John?