August 25th, 1980
That train of thought turned itself into a full-fledged spiritual temper tantrum– sitting on Diane’s sofa railing aloud at God. Oh, we’ve been through that before. I got drunk and went to bed and didn’t even try to go out. Here you are in New York City on a Saturday night drunk and cursing god for your loneliness.
Sunday morning I decided not to allow this already weary attack on the way God is managing the earth to lead me into mortal sin, so I shaved, dressed and walked the couple of blocks to St. Gregory’s. The morning was bright and quiet; the sunshine so bright that it reminded me of early spring mornings and contentment and happiness. The sermon was about how God often rebukes and disciplines his children, and how this is part of his love for us.
St. Gregory’s is familiar and warm and the stained glass and richly colored statues evoke memories of the first Catholic church I entered. The atmosphere is genuinely Latin– most of the parishioners are Hispanic. There is nothing new or modern or stark about the church and it fills me with an effulgent sense of worship and peace. My indifferent creator of cruel fate is now a loving father who has gently rebuked me. Losing Phil was the just punishment I deserved for lying to him, for sleeping with other men, even committing adultery by sleeping with my neighbor’s lover. I have been wicked and evil and have broken God’s law and as a result I have lost the love of my life. The deeply hued statue of Christ gazes down at me in steadfast love and I am filled with shame at what I have done and beg God to forgive me. Forgive me and give me one more chance. Oh, I see the error of my ways– just give me another chance at love, Almighty Father, and I won’t trample the gift underfoot like I did with Phil. Give me a lover and I will love him with all my heart, and set up a Christian household and never stray again. I turn and face the blue robed statue of Mary. O holy mother, you have never failed me. Pray for me, Mother– that God will forgive my sins and send me a lover. Her pure loving face returns my gaze and I know that my prayers will be answered. I know that God loves me and will send me a lover. Somewhere in this wide world there is a handsome cowboy catholic looking for a lover. God will send him to me. I stare around the church to see if anyone just happens to fit that description. A gay man sitting behind me returns my stare but I quickly look away. He has frizzy hair and NO mustache and looks too delicate and white. A turkey, I think to myself and say another Hail Mary.
Outside the day is becoming warm and lazy. Spanish women gather on the sidewalk outside the church and chatter to one another. Two somber faced little girls in white first communion gowns and gloves with the shiny Puerto Rican black hair in thick Shirley Temple ringlets stand beside their fat dark father bulging in a rust colored polyester suit. Horses klop down the middle of the street ridden by bright scrubbed faced blonde teenage girls lazily headed for the park.
A few hours later I have been shit on by a trick who I asked to sit on my chest and jack off on my face. He thought I said, “shit on my chest.” He did. I never asked him if he was catholic or not. I did, however, ask him to leave.
Allan calls from the coast. Hanging up and walking into the living room with my umpteenth beer and Loretta Lynn on the stereo, I realize that I have not lost my brother. I think it is impossible to “lose” something that you love. Separation has nothing to do with the power of love. The power of love is indestructible.