I wouldn’t forgive them. Ever.
FROM: Robin, Lee
TO: Yagoda, A.
SUBJECT: Hey
Hey Aleks,
It’s Lee again. I wondered if you didn’t reply because I used your other name. I’m trying but you know it’s hard to guess online, especially when you haven’t seen or talked to someone in a while. Not that I blame you. Although I think it’s kind of shitty that you didn’t reply to my message on your shop site.
I think about us constantly. Did you know that? All the time. I think maybe I missed my chance before. Did I? Could we make up lost time?
It wasn’t just me. I know you looked at me the same way. What we had was super special. Hope to hear from you soon.
Love,
Lee
—
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
—Christina Rossetti
8 Aleks
I sat in the absolute last row, in the pew closest to the back exit. I’d been so caught up in making and selling items for Anthony, I forgot that the nonnegotiable part of the ground rules was me attending Mass once a week.
When Aunt Anne Marie had woken me up, flustered about how I wasn’t ready yet even though we just had to walk next door, I actually hadn’t dreaded it the way Mom feared I might. Well, until I’d remembered I needed to wear a dress and hadn’t shaved my legs, so on this hot, humid day, I got to be a sweaty boy in pantyhose. I wished I was brave enough to go natural, but in a town like this, in a church like this, if I wanted to be invisible, I’d need to be invisible. And I was pretty sure most of the women here shaved their legs.
On the plus side, although I’d be sweaty and itchy from calf stubble, with the pantyhose acting as a barrier, at least there’d be no thigh chafing.
I still didn’t know Uncle Bryan that well, and based on what I’d heard through the vents of the confessional, we majorly disagreed on a few things, but Aunt Anne Marie really wasn’t so bad. You know, outside of the deliberate misgendering or thinking costumes were part of the Devil’s plan until she saw how much money I made then suddenly I was doing the Lord’s work, Amen!
I still couldn’t wrap my head around that one. But hey, I would take my victories where I could get them.
An envelope full of cash—a thousand dollars freshly withdrawn from the local bank’s ATM—was folded and shoved into my purse. I wished I’d thought to buy a new purse before coming here, one that wasn’t covered with characters from Magnetic Us, but you can’t plan for everything, I guess.
I slipped into the very last pew seconds before Mass began. A small choir led the congregation in a song while my uncle, the younger priest from the bake sale, and some altar boys—all wearing white robes—marched up the aisle to the front of the church.
I stumbled through the next half hour—sit, stand, kneel, stand, this was practically an exercise routine with really slow background music—until everyone was sitting again. My uncle began his homily.
There’d been a few tougher confessions over the last few days. Each time, figuring out how to help seemed to get easier and easier. Maybe someone just needed an anonymous letter sent to them telling them not to give up, or that really, they were not going to burn to a crisp because this one time at band camp they’d kissed a girl and liked it.
I rubbed my hands over my knees and glanced at my phone. My uncle had droned for what felt like hours. It was really six minutes. I closed my eyes, tuning him out as best as I could until I heard the word “homosexual.” My eyes shot open. I leaned forward, paying more attention now. One of the altar boys stood to the side, eyes downcast, face ransacked with guilt. I spotted the young priest, arms folded over his chest. He was looking into the crowd, seeming to lock eyes on a specific parishioner. I swore even from this distance I could see him roll his eyes. I glanced around the room looking for Sister Bernadette, but from behind, all of the nuns looked the same in their blue habits and white veils.
“ . . . and their decisions lead them away from the Lord’s will and the Holy Bible. Some are changing their biology. If anyone is plagued by temptation, they must turn to the Lord for help in atoning for their sins.”
What. did. he. say?
My fists bunched. So that was what they meant by “guiding me to the light.” Now I could see why Mom was hesitant about leaving me alone with them. How could people be so nice and seem to care so much and speak so hatefully against a person’s identity?
I shot to my feet and slid out of the pew, noticing a few parishioners glance back at me. Screw the rules. I could feel my uncle’s eyes burn into my back as I pushed open the door and stepped into the hot sun. The back of my dress was plastered against my skin from sweat, and those damn pantyhose were itching like hell. I walked around to the back of the church, where I had a view of the cemetery across the road. I had a powerful urge to march over there and start kicking a few upright headstones. Something to show my uncle that I reallllllly wasn’t okay with what he preached. Mom would probably give me a high five. But that didn’t seem remotely respectful to the dead.
A few minutes later the squeaking doors opened. Mass was over. Parishioners spilled out of the church, chatting as they moved toward the back lawn. Mostly their words were a hum, but among the hushed whispers I heard several variations on, “What was that homily?” I ducked my head, fighting the urge to say, “That was for me.”
A glimmer of blue caught my eye. It was Sister Bernadette. The hem of her habit fluttered just slightly in the breeze as she walked.
Shame she’s a nun. She’s too pretty to be one—
I cut off the voice in my head. It was one thing when it targeted me. That I could handle. I didn’t like it, but I could deal. You get used it when a bunch of real people have told you how fat and ugly you are.
But I wouldn’t put up with my inner voice talking shit about other people, spewing gross and crass thoughts at them. As if a pretty person wasn’t allowed to be a nun because she should be sexualized, or a person who wasn’t conventionally attractive might as well become a nun because no one would want to fuck her anyway.
I crossed over to Sister Bernadette, trying to shake the sickness inside me. A monster that constantly had such bad thoughts running through its head. It possessed me, the cruelty wrapping its tight fingers around me. “Hey.”
She smiled brightly. “Hi, Alexis. Did you enjoy your uncle’s homily?”
I craned my head. Was she asking me seriously? Was she mocking me? Was she clueless?
“I didn’t pay attention until the end.”
“Boring?”
“Offensive.” I rubbed the back of my neck, then immediately crossed my arms over my chest. If my back was that sweaty, the armpits of my dress were probably drenched. Great. Just great. “I had to leave. I was disgusted.”
“You left early?” She seemed genuinely surprised.
“Figured that’d be a less dramatic option than breaking something,” I muttered.
Sister Bernadette’s smile dissolved. “Was that around when he was saying the homophobic stuff?”