Date: Thu, 07 Aug 2008 16:51:14 -0400
From: montrealormolu@aol.com
Subject: The Glance - chapter 3

"What is going on with me?" asked John quietly to himself as he, too, got
into his car and drove home. It had been such a long time since he had
allowed himself to be interested in another man. He'd been a priest for
years, and in all those years there had been very, very few people who knew
about him.  It wasn't any of their business, he'd told himself. He was
there to be their priest, to help them to know God, to help them deal with
the realities of life. They didn't need to know about his private life,
he'd told himself. So he'd struggled for all these years with his very
human yearnings for companionship, and his knowledge that who he was deep
down was a challenge to his vocation as a priest. Truth be told, that was
what had motivated him to move to this parish; he was tired of living in
small towns and having to be all by himself. Maybe, in a city, he could
have a personal private life, too.

But it was hard. The push to stay carefully hidden in the closet was
strong. And all the work involved in a parish -- the people, the
situations, the management stress -- they took lots of time, too much time.
It was easy to be swamped by all the work, and to put himself and his own
needs on the back burner.

Chuck has just shocked him into looking at himself again. Was this life in
this parish, even in a big city, any different from what he had had in a
small town? Was this why he had talked himself into the move? Was he any
less lonely here than he had been there?

He didn't want to answer those questions. He had a carefully constructed
life; he was safe -- and lonely. Maybe it really was time to change things.

The week sped by. He had lots to do -- as usual. He had to teach, work on
next week's sermon, attend countless meetings, listen to people in pain,
and try to find time for himself. He was busy. He found himself humming
quietly as he worked, though, something he didn't usually do. He was happy
-- and that was unusual. He caught himself sometimes just gazing into
space. He was looking forward to seeing Chuck again.

Sunday arrived, and John was quickly swamped in all the details that went
with pulling the service together. Did they have all the acolytes, were the
lay ministers all here, were the announcements in place, where was...and on
and on and on. Somehow, in the midst of all the hustle and bustle, John had
to find a still place inside him so that he could preach, and somehow, in
the midst of all the hustle and bustle, John found that he was humming
again; he was looking forward to seeing Chuck.

As he walked down the aisle, he looked for Chuck, and didn't see him. Maybe
he was late; maybe he had decided not to come -- where was he? John pulled
his eyes back into the center, trying to focus himself for the service. He
had to keep his mind centered. After the opening hymn, he began the
prayers, quickly moving into the "Gloria." His eyes moved quickly over the
congregation -- nothing. He moved on, chanting the Collect of the Day, and
then sitting for the readings. He stood as the choir and congregation began
to sing the Gospel Acclamation and moved into the center aisle with the
Gospel Book, ready to chant the Gospel. As he lifted his eyes and crossed
himself, he caught sight of Chuck off to the side, looking a little
flustered as he moved into a pew. John smiled to himself. "Good, he's
here," he thought, and he moved easily from the Gospel reading into the
sermon, preaching joyfully to the assembled congregation. He saw Chuck and
others nod a few times during the sermon, letting him know that they had
heard the point of the sermon. He felt good about that. The service moved
on, the Offertory, the Liturgy of the Eucharist, and finally the Communion
as he moved from one to another, placing the host in their uplifted hands.
Once again, Chuck's eyes caught his. They smiled at each other,
communicating through their eyes. "The Body of Christ, the Bread of
Heaven," he said as he placed the Host into Chuck's palms, letting his
fingers rest there for a second. And he moved on to the next person in
line, aware that he body was thrumming with joy. The service quickly wound
down and John found himself once again at the doorway, shaking hands,
chatting with each parishioner, offering comfort, joking, connecting with
each one. Chuck shook his hand, holding it a moment longer than usual,
smiling into his eyes. "I'll wait for you after the service," Chuck
said. "OK, I'll be there in a few minutes."

The usual after-service round of greetings seemed to take much longer than
usual. Why did everyone want to ask him a question when he just wanted to
get out of there? He was tired and ready to go, and there was this hunky
guy waiting for him. Finally, everyone was done, everything was locked up,
everything was put away, and he could go. He hurried out to find Chuck out
in the parking lot, leaning against his car, just watching the world go by.
John said, "It's my turn to drive, and your turn to pick. So, where do you
want to go?"

"Well, I found this cute little French restaurant. Are you up for that?"

"Yup, love French food, at least when it's good."

"Oho, a food snob!"

"No," John protested, "I just like really good food. And, I don't like
mediocre French food." Chuck laughed at him, and John found himself joining
in the laughter. Chuck made him smile, and that was good, that was very,
very good. It had been a while. "Ok, stop making fun of me and just tell me
where we're going." Chuck laughed again.

They got into the car, buckled up and moved out of the church parking lot.
After a lot of "Turn here, turn there!", they found themselves in an older
part of the city and parked in front of a little, unprepossessing
restaurant, Le Café Chez Nous. John had never been there before, but it
looked good. When they opened the door, it had that homey, little French
country look. Waiters bustled around in their white shirts, black pants and
long aprons. A matronly hostess greeted them at the door and led them to a
little table for two, nestled into a corner giving them some privacy. A
cute young man hurried over to the table, placing fresh bread and butter in
front of them and quickly filling up their water glasses. The waiter came
over with menus and a slate blackboard with the specials of the day, and
then left them to read the menu. They fell silent, reading carefully,
trying to decide what to eat. John shook his head, "How did you find this
place? The food looks great! The menu is limited, obviously depending on
what the chef can find fresh that morning, and it sure looks and sounds
authentic." Rapid fire French exchanges could be heard in the background,
accompanied by much loud dish and glass clatter, and the occasional,
dramatic French swear word. "Look at this, they have Poulet Basquaise. I
haven't had that in years. And they offer sweetbreads and brains and fresh
fish and, and, oh my God, they have an incredible dessert menu!"

Chuck laughed again, "You really are a foodie, aren't you? You're like a
little kid in a candy store, looking at everything and trying to figure out
what you can stuff into your mouth. That's cute. Who would have thought?"

"Hey, I am a gourmet. I like great food in small quantities." John defended
himself, "But, I really, really like great food."

"So, how come you don't weigh 300 pounds?"

John blushed, "Oh, I used to. But it just wasn't good for my health. So, I
went on a very stringent diet, went to therapy, worked on my eating issues,
and made some lifestyle decisions. I love food. I'll never get over that.
But, I can't afford to indulge myself in terms of quantity. So, I try to
limit the quantity, increase the amount of exercise I get, and I'm really,
really picky about the food I eat. If I can't eat a lot, then what I do eat
needs to be very, very good."

Chuck tilted his head to one side and looked at him. "You've really worked
on this, haven't you? This must have been a really big deal for you."

"Yes. I was killing myself and decided I needed to stop. I was a
food-aholic.  I guess I still am, but now I'm a recovering food-aholic.
Unfortunately, I can't stop eating completely like an alcoholic can stop
drinking. But I can try to deal with my stuff, with all the needs which got
dumped into eating." John smiled back at Chuck, "In fact, I'm doing that
right now by going out with you. I like you, don't know exactly why yet,
but I do. And I need to have friends with whom I can just be myself. That
helps me to not over-eat. Otherwise I just hide behind my weight."

Chuck's hand covered his on the table, "Good. I'm glad you feel that way. I
like you, too. And I want to get to know you a lot better. I need friends,
too." They looked at each other quietly. A small, discreet sound drew them
back. They blushed and drew their hands back, looking up at the waiter who
had materialized from nowhere beside their table. He smiled warmly at them,
and silently let them know that he approved, all that with just a smile and
a look.

"Messieurs, we have some wonderful specials today. Can I interest you in
them, or do you want to stick with the menu?"

"Please tell us the specials."

He quickly ran through the blackboard, explaining the highlights of each
dish and their different cooking methods. All three entered into the
difficult decision-making process, what to eat, how to plan a wonderful
meal, what wines to drink. Finally, they settled on their meal, picked some
wines to go with it, chose a dessert as the final climax, and settled back,
exhausted by all that work and yet stimulated by it, too. They looked
forward to a wonderful, gustatory feast.

The food appeared, course after course, carefully timed to their own speed,
watched over by the waiter who managed the whole meal effortlessly. They
had chosen a tasting menu, a little bit of this and that, each dish chosen
to complement the whole meal. They ate, they drank, they laughed, they
talked. And their relationship deepened through the shared meal -- a glance
here, a touch there, a quick smile, a momentary hushed pause as they looked
into each other's eyes. Truly, it was a heavenly banquet.

At the end, they slowed down. The quietly efficient waiter had cleared the
table, cleaning up the detritus of the meal, leaving the tablecloth clean
and neat. "Messieurs, would you like to move out to our patio for coffee
and cognac?" They agreed and moved out to a small, candlelit table. The air
was deliciously scented with flowers. A small breeze brushed over the
trees.  They drank delicious French coffee and their cognac, and sat in
companionable silence. The hummingbirds flitted back and forth, hovering in
front of a particularly delectable blossom, their wings a blur in the air.
They were full -- full of good food, full of good wine, filled up with good
companionship.

"This was good -- really, really good. I've enjoyed every minute of it."

"Oh, John, I really needed today. It's been tough moving to a new city and
starting a new job. Oh, I don't regret it, but it's been tough. Today, was
really good for me, too."

"Do you want to come back and see my house? I'd like to show it to you."

"Yes."

They got up, paid the bill, leaving a great tip for their wonderful waiter,
and went out to the car. They drove back to the church. Chuck got into his
car and followed John back to John's house. They parked in the driveway and
got out. John opened the door and turned to Chuck, "Well, this is it.
Please come in." Chuck entered the door, and a new chapter in both their
lives opened up.