Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved (37 page)

She was met with brief silence.

“What?! You have some nerve, Rhapsody! I told—”

Rhapsody looked up at the clouds and held her forehead. “I...don’t...care who you told what, this, that and the third! My life doesn’t revolve around your schedule. I am sick and tired of the way you talk to me, treat me, and I am sorry that sometimes I let you make me stoop to your low, pathetic level!”

“Who are you calling pathetic?!”

  “If the designer shoes you love so much fit, wear it! You never say ‘thank you’ for anything I do for you. These past few weeks you have treated me worse than usual, really letting me know that you don’t give a damn about me. I won’t stand for it anymore. I will no longer be the sister, the
person
, because I
am
a person, Melody, contrary to how you treat me. You think you can say anything you want to me, treat me any ol’ kind of way, and I will still be here for you. It’s
over!
I should have thrown you out of my life long ago! This has been a long time coming, you—”

“Let me tell your ass something, Rhapsody! You are a—”

“Better woman than you, for finally pulling the plug on this bullshit! Blood is thicker than water, but I can’t tell. I’ve been treated better by a feral alley cat than my own sister. Until you learn how to act, and as much as this hurts me…” Rhapsody’s voice quaked. She tried so desperately to control her sadness, blending it in with sheer anger and a sense of release, to no avail. “I want nothing to do with you, Melody! Nothing!”

Rhapsody closed the phone, her entire body shaking. The interaction had been so unnerving, she slumped down into the grass, her heart beating harshly. She gripped her shirt as she drowned in so much emotional pain. It had been necessary—Melody was a cancer, and Rhapsody was the patient and doctor on call who had to perform the risky surgery, extracting her from her own life like the ailment that she was.

“Oh God,” she moaned as she gathered herself and stood back on her feet. After a while, she began to jog, her white Nikes hitting the pavement, pounding it as she seethed with anger but also cried a bit, on the inside...

Several weeks later...

Dane sat in the large chair in the vast room decorated in rich burgundy and gold, his hands gripping the intricate hand-carved arms as he looked at the men before him. The long-awaited meeting had been granted and, still in a semi-daze, he held tight on his surroundings, regardless of the cursed stares being tossed his way by many of the priests dotting the room, some of which he’d never exchanged more than pleasantries with. Fr. Kirkpatrick, dressed in black vestments, and the bishop, peering from over small spectacles, dissected him with their piercing eyes, staring at him as though he were a dirty, rancid smudge on all that was holy.

“...So, that is why I’ve applied for a permanent leave of absence, all of it, my faculties...”

“We will have to do a thorough investigation. Who else have you done this with?” he asked angrily.

“No one,” Dane answered sternly, his anger growing tighter, harder, and about to explode from him at any moment.

“We don’t know that. There could be
other
women, and we’d be in the line of fire for a scandal. You’ve broken your vow of celibacy, and from what you told us, it almost seemed premeditated, Fr. Caruso.” Fr. Kirkpatrick’s words cut him down like a tree, leaving nothing but a jaggedly serrated stalk.

Now, he was Fr. Caruso...no longer just ‘Dane’ or his ‘pretend’ Grandson. It stung.

Dane briefly turned away, trying to curb his tongue from making the situation even more volatile.

“I have done nothing wrong...by
your
law yes, but the law of my heart, no.”

“You made vows! They are now broken...broken vows...”

In exchange for wedding vows...

“The priestly laws were broken, Fr. Caruso when you consummated your relationship with that woman. However, I want you to think about this long and hard.”

Dane had been completely honest, laying his cards on the table, without getting into graphic detail. He walked in, took a seat and told them, without skipping a beat, that he had fallen in love, had fornicated and wanted out...
now.

“Christ called me to the priesthood. He didn’t call me to celibacy, lack of intimacy and loneliness. Those are the rules, and since I can’t change them, I can only change
me
...and I,” he pointed to his chest, declaring it to the world, “I am ready to move on. I was forced to go to this level by the Church, because you will not allow me to keep my vocation while maintaining an intimate, romantic relationship, and a marriage.”

The room grew quieter as he pleaded his case, tried to drive it home.

“I am not blaming you,
any
of you, for me being physically intimate with my girlfriend,” he said earnestly. “I made that choice intentionally, for a number of reasons I won’t be discussing here, since it is a private matter, but I
do
blame the Church for all the turmoil I’ve had to endure, regarding the fact that I only had two choices in order to stay active as a priest—hide the relationship, which I refused to do, or break it off, which definitely is not going to happen. These rules are unrealistic. Priests do not have to be lonely and devoid of female companionship in order to do our jobs. It is archaic, man-made, severely flawed, dare I say warped and unnecessary.”

Mumbles and irritated chatter began. Some of the priests looked enraged.

“Fr. Caruso.” The elderly bishop coughed into a napkin, balled it tightly into his palm and continued. “Loneliness is a struggle many priests and clergy have faced. It doesn’t lessen the seriousness of your actions. Instead of keeping this as a friendship, to help lesson some of that, which is understandable, you became physically affectionate and intimate, according to your own admission, and you do not appear concerned about the ramifications. You are one of our most beloved priests, and I wish you’d talked to someone before taking it this far. Since you don’t want a disciplinary hearing and don’t wish to stay, we are at the point of no return and must proceed with your removal.”

“I warned you, Fr. Caruso.” Fr. Kirkpatrick looked solemnly disappointed, hurt indeed. “I, too, wished you’d talked to someone, came to me,” the old man’s hollowed eyes glossed over, “and admitted you were struggling to the point that you’d do this, go this far. I tried to intervene before this happened. I sat down and spoke to you.”

“Yes, I remember, and I appreciated your concern.”

“Apparently not...”

“Fr. Kirkpatrick,” Dane narrowed his eyes and steepled his hands as he leaned slightly forward, “I respect you, I really do. You are a mentor to me, and I do appreciate that, please believe me. However, because I did not do as you said doesn’t mean I am a bad person or didn’t appreciate you taking the time to express your concerns to me.” He offered a smile. “I would like to say, for the record, that at the time of our discussion, the relationship had not escalated to the level that it is at now. I made a conscious decision to do such after weighing all of the implications and how I envision my life to be in the future. I thought about your advice, long and hard. I rolled it over in my mind, everything you said to me,
every word
of it,” he paused, “but I have to do what is right for me and,” he shook his head, briefly closing eyes, “living like
this,
is not how I wish to continue.”

Steel crept in Fr. Kirkpatrick’s eyes. Dane surmised this was due to some sort of shame, a sense of failure, due to him in some ways, having hand selected Dane to work at his parish. His gut instinct had been correct; Dane was a hit amongst his brothers in the order and the congregation. He did the things others didn’t wish to do, simply to help another. He rarely missed a Mass, even when ill, and conducted prayer groups at all times of the day and night. He was dutiful to others and people trusted him and leaned on him. When he’d conduct the sermon, the church would be filled, no seat left empty. He had a way of speaking to people, of reaching down deep, getting into their hearts...as if he, too, had walked a mile in their shoes.

Now, Dane had fallen from grace. He’d done the unthinkable and worst of all, some may confuse his lack of remorse for smugness. He refused to feel something that he actually didn’t, and although he knew the politically correct things to say, he wouldn’t go there. He would no longer allow
anyone
to pressure him into keeping secrets, or telling lies. The jig was up, game over.

“I can’t help that I fell in love. It happened, and quite frankly, I’m a better man for it. I am not the least bit sorry about falling in love with the Church, and
now
, with a woman.” His statement caused eyes to buck, men to look away in disbelief, and some to cross their arms indignantly, as if somehow, looking into
his
eyes would confirm their own struggles with the same dilemma. Likely, he wasn’t the only one in there who’d not only fallen in love, but made love to someone, and the hypocrisy sickened him. Yes, he was in the hot seat, but they would continue to burn...

“We will begin the laicization process,”  the bishop announced, his tone calm and dry. “You must resign all ecclesiastic offices you hold, Fr. Caruso, immediately.”

“He will die without his indult...” he heard someone say.

“You are not to teach, serve at any Catholic schools you were formerly designated. You will be considered a layman from this moment forward. Do you understand me, Fr. Caruso?”

Dane nodded, “Yes, Your Excellency, I do.”

“Far too lean. He should be ashamed!” a voice called out. He looked around sharply, trying to see where it derived from.

“Quiet!” Fr. Kirkpatrick stated. The old man’s voice commanded attention, as he loudly shouted out, a burst of emotion no one saw coming. Dane looked at the man. Their eyes locked—and he could sense a shield of protection coming from his mentor. Though he was angry with Dane, and would never say in front of the spectators what was
really
in his heart, that moment, that one word, to stop the verbal assault, let Dane know that, in spite of it all, the man loved him.

The proceedings continued until finally, Dane left with a written notice that gave him thirty days to find another residence, though he was told verbally to take his time. His heart was heavy. There were so many people he wouldn’t see anymore, and he’d been made out to be a pariah to others. He had plans to visit the hospital, and say goodbye one last time to the sick people that relied on his prayers, but with the passing of his dismissal, he was prohibited from doing so. There would be rumors, sordid gossip, sympathetic people, and those that were quick to judge. His lack of remorse, he knew, was what caused so many to see him as darn near demonic. He viewed his love making to Rhapsody as a sacrament, not a sin.

Wrath was coming; he was expecting it, unflinching. He’d given this so much thought that he knew, deep in his heart, there was no other way for him to be truly happy. He had to choose one lover over another, and he chose
her.

~***~

Many weeks later...

“My name is Dane Caruso and I am a recovering alcoholic, anime addict and fornicating ex-priest. Please don’t be alarmed about the controversial anime confession.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, clapping loudly as he stood on the vast, creaky stage gripping the microphone. He’d sought a therapist that specialized in transition therapy from the priesthood, and it made a world of difference. In the course of those sessions, the man said he had a gift of humor, and it may be advantageous to use it for a myriad of reasons—one being, Dane enjoyed making people laugh, but even more than that, it was another form of therapy for himself. He was able to laugh at himself, and turn it into something even bigger and brighter.

“Two prostitutes were driving around town with a sign on their car that read, ‘Two Prostitutes for one hundred dollars.’” A cop sees ’em and pulls them over, saying they can’t do that and if he sees that sign again, they’ll be arrested. One of the prostitutes says, ‘But that’s not fair, there is another man driving around with a sign on his car that says, ‘Jesus Saves’. The cop said, ‘But that’s different. That’s religious.’ And then he walks away. The next day, the same two prostitutes are out with a different sign; this one says, ‘Two Angels Seeking St. Peter, one hundred dollars.”’

The crowd lit up in laughter, amid claps and whistles.

“You know, priests are just like everybody else.”

A heckler yelled out, “No you aren’t!”

“Yes we are, look; let me give you an example. One day a man was driving down the road and saw a priest trying to hitch a ride. He normally didn’t pick up strangers, but felt since it was a priest, he probably should. So the priest gets in, and off they go. A little ways further, he sees a lawyer standing on the side of the road. He immediately sped up to try and hit him, but remembered the priest in his car and swerved, barely missing him. He heard a thud anyway, and panicked. He didn’t see anything, and figured it must’ve been something else and kept going. He looked at the priest and apologized, ‘I’m sorry, Father. I almost hit that lawyer.’ The priest looked at him and said, ‘It’s okay, son. I opened my door and got him on the way past." The crowd exploded in laughter and applause.