Carol exited the cafeteria, holding a sandwich half wrapped in plastic she was biting into, with Father Krickett by her side. As they got into the hallway, they stopped and waited as Carol chewed her bite and John unwrapped his own sandwich he'd bought earlier from a gas station on the way here. After a few moments of chewing, Carol finally swallowed her food and exhaled.
"I think, if all goes right, you could be open by next year," Carol said. "Really?" John asked. "I don't see why not," Carol said, "I can have all this paperwork whipped into tip top shape in no time, and other than that, it's just remodeling, right? Which you've already started." Carol and John turned and began heading down the hallway further, each eating as they talked. "Either way," Carol continued, taking another bite, "you also have to consider how you're going to pull people into your space. You can't exactly advertise a church." "That won't be a problem," John said, "I know plenty of people, some from the church I did work at and others not, who have been searching for a place they could practice religion without feeling persecuted by it. That's what this is all about. Creating a safe space for religious queer folk." "That's a very beautiful thought, John," Carol said, and John smiled. Just then, they heard the sound of something racing down the hall behind them, barreling towards them. Carol and John quickly stepped aside as Boris and Burt came speeding down the hallway, each in their own respective wheelchairs. As they skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, Boris threw his hands up in the air in victory. "I told you mine was the better model!" Boris said loudly as Burt rolled himself closer, looking annoyed but laughing. "I suppose I can't argue with the facts," Burt replied. "What are you two doing?" Carol asked, approaching them. "We were comparing who had the better wheelchair," Boris said, "if I'm gonna be stuck in this thing I'm at least gonna have some fun with it." "Alright, this isn't even yours," Carol said, gripping the handles of Burt's chair and wheeling him away, "You took this from Mr. Landerson." "She's not using it, she's in a coma!" Burt shouted as they headed down the hall, Boris and John chuckling as they watched them leave. John started walking beside Boris as they headed for the door that led to the back of the home, into the garden, Boris wheeling himself alongside the priest. "I take it you're feeling better," John said. "I feel like I'm doing remarkably well, all things considered," Boris replied, "but let me tell you John, it was...life changing. I didn't even know what was happening. The last thing I really recall is being in the bathroom, and...and Polly was there, but she was younger. She looked like she did when she was in her twenties, and I was so freaked out. At first I didn't even understand what was going on. I wonder if hallucinating like that is normal." "I think so," Father Krickett said, tearing a piece of his sandwich off and handing it to Boris, who graciously accepted, as he continued, "but you really shouldn't push yourself. I know you're just happy to be alive, and everyone else is too, but you really need to watch yourself for a bit, Boris. At least until you get a final report from the doctor telling you you're all good." As they strolled past Larry's flower garden, where he was busy digging into the soil, John smiled to himself. He took another bite from his sandwich as Boris finished chewing and swallowing the bit that John had given him, before John glanced back down at Boris as they stopped right in front of the gazebo. "When is your meeting for Chrissy?" Father Krickett asked, and Boris sighed, shaking his head. "Tomorrow," he said, "though I'm not sure how well it's going to go over now, what with me in this chair. I look infirm. They won't exactly be pleased about someone so old, in a wheelchair, taking care of a child, regardless of how much help he has." "Well, the wheelchair is temporary," Father Krickett said, "I'm sure it'll go fine. They'll be able to tell how much you both clearly care for her, and that's what's ultimately important. But, as always, if anything goes wrong, my confessional door is always open." "Not until you get that church up and runnin' it ain't," Boris replied, the both of them chuckling. *** "I've never bought furnishings for a church before," Whittle said, standing in the curtain aisle of a department store, running her hands down a very soft mauve curtain, she added, "do churches have curtains?" "Offices," Sister Jenn said, admiring a different set on the opposite side of the aisle right behind Whittle, "I don't particularly want the sun in my office all day. But no, traditionally, one does not adorn stained glass windows with curtains, you aren't wrong." "Isn't it kind of sexist to make the nun do the shopping? I thought this church was supposed to be progressive," Whittle said, grinning over her shoulder at Jenn, who just shook her head, chuckling. Lately, Whittle had been helping Jenn find furniture for the church, despite the church still being a ways away from being fully opened. Regardless, Father Krickett had told them that they should have it ready before its opening anyway. So, since Whittle wasn't working at the moment, and had nothing much to do when Chrissy was at school, she figured she may as well tag along on these errands. "You know," Jenn said, coming to Whittle's side and admiring the curtain she had been looking at, "I...I didn't really want to say this, because I appreciated the help, but I may not even be around to appreciate the outcome. I'm thinking about leaving the church. Nothing's final yet though, depends on a lot of factors. But at least if I do, I'll know I had a hand in making it come true, and making it look good." "Why are you gonna leave?" Whittle asked, dropping the curtain and turning to face Jenn, who pulled her habit off and ran her hands through her wheat blonde hair. "A lot of reasons," Jenn said, "some personal, some not so personal. For one thing, I'm not sure that spending my life in the church is the best way to dedicate myself to the lord. I'd rather find my own way to celebrate my relationship with them. But also, I..." Jenn stopped and bit her lip, looking at her nails before looking back at Whittle. "What?" Whittle asked. "I don't know," Jenn replied, shrugging, "just things like that, I guess." With that, Jenn turned back and headed down the aisle, Whittle jogging to catch up with her. Jenn knew if she never said anything, then she could live in her daydreams forever. The daydreams where she and Whittle were together, and happy. If she said something, and it wasn't reciprocated, that daydream was dead, and right now...well, right now she couldn't risk losing it. *** The following day, Boris, Whittle and Chrissy sat in the hallway of Chrissy's school, waiting to see the headmaster, Kevin Arnold. As they sat there, Whittle running her hands over Boris's wheelchair spokes, she couldn't help but giggle, causing him to look down at her. "What?" he asked. "You put a baseball card in here?" Chrissy asked, "Really?" "It's not a ten speed Boris," Whittle added, laughing. "How dare you, if I want to be stylish, I'm going to," Boris said, just as they heard a pair of shoes passing by them, and looking up - expecting to see Kevin Arnold - they spotted Father Krickett who stopped in front of them, hoisting a bag on his shoulder and a bible under his arm; Boris raised an eyebrow and asked, "what are you doing here?" "Teaching a class," John said, "this isn't technically a catholic school, but they do offer catholic classes. I'm just trying to pay my debt to society. Though, if truth be told, the kids don't seem all that invested in what it is I'm trying to teach them. These godless heathens." "They're children, John," Whittle said. "Yeah, demon children," John said, making Chrissy laugh as he reached out and patted her on the head before walking away, Boris rolling away after him. The two continued down the hall a bit, side by side, as John opened the flap of his bag and jammed his bible inside, saying, "I kid, but it does make me a bit sad to see so many young people outright reject religion instead of taking what parts of it work for them and using it to bring them comfort and guidance. Yes, it has its problems, and yes a lot of it is outright outdated and wrong, but there's still some good in there too." "It must be difficult to be a priest in this day and age, it's true," Boris said, "well, if you ever want to be cool and hip with the kids, you could get yourself a wheelchair like me. Then we could cruise together." "You're almost insufferable in that thing, you do realize that right?" "Almost? Was I not before?" Boris asked, the both of them laughing just as Boris stopped in front of a woman in a light blue suit standing in the hallway, who glanced down at him; he smiled up at her and tipped his hat, saying, "sorry ma'am, didn't mean to bump into you." "You're okay," she replied, smiling politely. That was when Boris realized she was talking to headmaster Kevin Arnold, who looked sour. Boris was confused. Weren't they supposed to have a meeting with him? What was he doing with this woman? Did she work for the school? She was dressed nice, she could be from the schoolboard or something. "Um," Kevin said, stepping past the woman and approaching Boris, kneeling down to eye level, his voice lowering, "I didn't want this to happen, I just hope you know that. I fought for you. But...the law's the law, and they're her legal guardians, and she...they have every right to take her home." Boris was so confused. What was he...then it hit him. Chrissy. He was talking about Chrissy. "Wait, who-" Boris said, as the woman also knelt beside Kevin and smiled weakly. "My name is Marianne Harris, I'm the social work assigned to the case," she said, "you two seem to have done a wonderful job, but her parents have been undergoing therapy, found ways to work together, and are in a much healthier place than they were before. Chrissy doesn't want to go home, but...well, she's a minor, and she doesn't really have a say, especially when the court has deemed her actual guardians competent enough to raise her again." "No, no wait a minute, I thought we were supposed to have a meeting!" Boris shouted, "what happened to the-" "Boris!" a voice screamed from down the hall, echoing off the walls, causing Boris to turn quickly in his wheelchair only to see Whittle standing there as Chrissy clung to her legs while two cops tried to gently pry her from Whittle. Boris felt his heartbeat quicken as he suddenly started racing down the hall, only to watch Chrissy be pulled apart from Chrissy and start to be led away. Suddenly Boris spilled and fell off his chair, his chair rolling onto its side. He looked up only to see Chrissy screaming and kicking as she was carried off, Whittle racing after the cops. Boris felt Marianne and Kevin help him up and back into his chair upright, and as soon as he was wheels up again he took off, racing after them again. As he got closer, he saw John pass him and wrap his arms around Whittle, pulling her back as she shrieked at the top of her lungs, kicking in the air. "You can't take her!" she screamed, "No! You can't just take her! John let me fucking go!" Boris was quickly past them, but his arms were sore, and he knew he had no recourse whatsoever even if he managed to actually catch up with them. He finally stopped, watching Chrissy and the cops disappear around a corner, as Marianna hurriedly walked past him, apologizing quietly again, trying to catch up with them as Kevin stopped, hands in his pockets, as he just shook his head dejectedly, watching their pain multiply. "It's okay," John whispered into Whittle's ear, "just calm down." "Fucking let go of me!" Whittle screamed, forcing her way out of the priests arms and then, turning and approaching Kevin, slapped him across the face, which he didn't respond to, and then Whittle turned and fell face first back against John, sobbing against his outfit. John glanced at Boris as he rubbed Whittle's back, trying to comfort her. In a literal matter of seconds, just like it'd happened so long ago with Ellen, Boris's entire world was ripped apart yet again. But this time there were so many more casualties. *** Sister Jenn was hanging curtains when she heard the front doors open and turned her head, still on the stepladder, only to see Whittle entering the building. Surprised, she quickly dismounted the stepladder and wiped her dress off, as Whittle got closer and stopped, looking at the floor. "Regina?" Jenn asked, "Reggie?" "...they took her," Whittle whispered, "they took her from us. They ripped her right from my arms. I...I couldn't do anything. They just took her." "...what?" Jenn asked, clearly confused. "I need you to tell me something, anything, to make this stop hurting. You're the nun. You're the one with belief," Whittle said, "I need to hear it from someone who genuinely believes in it that this happened for a reason or some bullshit or whatever." "Well," Jenn said, pushing some of her hair from her eyes, "uh...I won't say it happened for a reason, but...sometimes joy is temporary. You know? You were there in her time of need, and she gave you both something you needed. But...Boris has his own daughter, doesn't he? And things have gotten better with them, hasn't it?" "...but what about me?" Whittle asked, "I don't have anything." "Well, yes, you do. You have Boris. You have John and...and myself," Jenn said, "I mean, you came and sought me out specifically because you needed comfort, right? So you do have things. You have all of us." "...you are comforting," Whittle said, "whenever you come by with John, or like yesterday when we went shopping, I do feel comforted. I don't know if it's cause of your ties to the church, or...or what, but, you are comforting. Thank you. My chest hurts so much. I can't...I can't believe they just...ripped her from me. She told me she wished I were her mother, and now her bedroom is empty, and...I can't go back to the apartment. Not tonight. Not right now. Can I just sleep here, in the church?" Jenn laughed, then caught herself and apologized. "Um, well, it's not exactly situated for such a thing," Jenn said, "but I don't think avoiding things is the healthiest way to cope with them, no matter how much they may hurt. After all, from what you've told me about Boris, isn't that what his problem used to be? Maybe he's leading by example now. I don't know your entire life or history, Reggie, but...you're definitely stronger than you might feel right now. I do know that much." "But I'm good at running from things. Ever since I left my boyfriend and moved in with Boris, I've tried so hard to stay detached," Whittle said, sitting on one of the pews, Jenn seating herself beside her, listening as Whittle continued, "I mean...I've tried going on dates but they didn't work out, I tried not to feel like a mom and now I do, and all it's resulted in is hurting me." "You didn't run from this," Jenn said, "you ran to me. Not away." Whittle looked up and their eyes locking. "...um," Whittle said, stammering, "...well, yeah, cause you...I feel safe around you. I went to temple as a little girl, but, you know, I was never gung-ho about it. I never really sought comfort in religion, but...you make me feel safe. Maybe it's just cause you're easy to talk to, I don't know, but...seeing Boris with John has made me a little jealous, I admit, that he has someone that close that he can talk to. I mean, sure, you and I are closer in age than they are, but..." Jenn leaned back on the pew, cupping her hands on her lap, listening. "...I don't know how to say this," Whittle finally said, "especially in a house of God, but-" "You don't have to," Jenn said, sitting up, "I understand. It's why I'm thinking of leaving." "I don't think you should leave, I think you should stay," Whittle said, surprising her as she added, "because you're so good at what you do. You can help so many people the way you helped me. But I also...I don't think you need to live your life by the way the church thought you did. That was the old church. This is new. This is your church. You and John are creating a special place here, for people like yourselves, and so what if you're queer, or whatever, you can love people and still be involved in the church. God wouldn't want your pure dedication, and if he does, well, that's an ego I've yet to understand. But I think God would want you to be happy and comfortable, and not alone or afraid." Jenn felt her breath caught in her chest. Her face flushed. Whittle reached out and put her hand on Jenn's, squeezing it gently. "...I've...uh....never dealt with this before," Whittle said, "and maybe it's the loss speaking right now, but I need to...I need..." Whittle started to cry, and Jenn put her arms around her, pulling her into her and stroking her hair. "i need you," she whispered, and Jenn nodded. "I am here, and so is God," Jenn said. After a few moments of this, Whittle finally pulled back, her eyes soaked with tears, her hair sticking to her face, as she looked at Jenn who just stared back and smiled sweetly. After a moment of looking at her, Whittle leaned in and pressed her lips against Jenn's, surprising her. Jenn quickly felt herself being pushed onto her back on the pew, as Whittle mounted her and started kissing her harder, something Jenn took absolutely no issue with. Sure, maybe a church wasn't exactly the right place to be romantic, but tonight, they each took what they could. Meanwhile, Boris was sitting in the diner, across from John, flipping a container of creamer repeatedly while John looked through the menu. After a few minutes, John looked up and Boris noticed him. "Are you going to stop that?" John asked, grinning. "...it's funny," Boris said, "maybe not in an actual sense but more in a sick irony sort of way, that the last time I was in a situation where a little girl needed my help, it was because her legs were broken, and now here I am. Yet another little girl needs me, and I can't chase after her. The world is a disgusting place." "Everything is beautifully circular," John said, "perhaps just in the worst kinds of ways is all." The waitress stopped by the table and John ordered food for them both, along with some coffee. He had a feeling they might be here well into the night after what happened that afternoon. "I have a doctors appointment in a few days," Boris said, "hopefully get out of this chair and get back to my life." "You aren't locked out of your life cause of the chair," John said, "your daughter was in one, and look at all she managed to accomplish." Boris smiled, nodding. John always knew what to say. "...it was kind of fun racing Burt, I admit," Boris said, "maybe I'll challenge him one more time, race around the courtyard, champion of the world style." "You need to take your joy where you can get it," John said, chuckling. And nobody knew that better than Whittle and Jenn, who had wound up back at Jenn's apartment, barely able to stop kissing as they made their way inside and fell onto the couch, both breathing heavily, hands exploring every inch of one another. Whittle pressed her lips on Jenn's neck, making her gasp as she pulled her dress off over her head quickly and then felt Whittle sit up beneath her, kissing your collarbones, making Jenn's entire body red. As her eyes canned the room, they landed on a painting her mother had given her when she'd first joined the church. It was a painting of Jesus healing the sick, and she smiled. She buried her face in Whittle's hair and was happy knowing that, for at least tonight, she was healing someone as well in a way she needed. It didn't make her a saint. But it at least helped her accept who she was, and that's all that mattered.
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Golden Years follows the exploits of a bunch of old people in a retirement home as they try to have fun, relax or come to terms with the soon to be end of their lives. Archives
April 2024
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