What’s happening to me? I’ve never had this reaction before; my chest hurts and I feel like something is choking me.
Closing my eyes, I breathe through my nose and out through my mouth, repeating this a few more times until my breathing returns to normal. Is this what panic and hopelessness feel like? I hate it. Being in that emotional state makes me feel like I’m drowning and I can’t find my way to the surface.
I roll the window back up and restart the truck, then drive off after checking for traffic.
By the time I park in my usual spot back at the seminary parking lot, it’s almost five o’clock in the evening, an hour before Sunday curfew. I’m exhausted, and a dull ache throbs inside my head.
As I stare at the stone building in front of me, the place that once gave me peace and harbored my dream, my determination to become a priest is now tinged with guilt and doubt as I flick the overhead light in the truck.
I glance up in the rearview mirror, studying the eyes staring back at me. Uncertainty swirls in their blue depths, and I don’t recognize them.
Who is this person watching me?
I can’t even answer that without feeling disgusted with my behavior. My selfishness is what led me here.
Grabbing my phone from the cup holder on the console, I scroll through my contacts for Luke’s number, then tap it and lean my head on the headrest.
“Sol?” My uncle answers on the seventh ring. “What’s up?”
What should I say? Where do I even begin? How do I untangle this mess I created?
Will he judge me? I probably would if I were in his shoes. He warned me several times, yet I was stubborn and egotistical.
“Luke, I messed up really bad,” I whisper into the phone.
After a pause, there’s the sound of shuffling papers on the other end of the line.
“What happened?” he finally asks.
“Grace . . . It’s Grace. She and I . . .” I can’t finish that sentence, unable to get the words out. Shame is like hellfire scorching my body.
“Oh, Sol.” His voice holds so much sorrow and disappointment.
“I—I’m so sorry.” My nose burns with suppressed tears, and I can’t breathe properly.
Taking a deep calming breath. I need to deal with this on my own. I made my bed. Time to lie in it.
Lifting my head, I straighten my shoulders in resolve. “I’ll talk to my spiritual director tomorrow.”
“Wait, not so fast. Talk to me, son.”
“I’ll handle this, Luke. I can’t run to you whenever I mess up.”
He grunts in frustration. “What do you think I’m here for, Sol? You’re my family. And that’s what we do. We lean on each other when things go wrong.”
I sigh, pinching my nape to ease the tension. “I know I can come to you with almost anything and you’ll drop everything to help me. I love you for it, Luke.” I pause, letting the words sink in. “But not this time. This is on me.”
I hear the sound of a chair scraping on the floor. “Where’s Grace now?”
“She’s on her way home.” I glance out the window at the dark night, and for a second, I’m struck by the thought of walking out of the truck and letting the darkness swallow me. After everything I’ve done, it’s probably what I deserve. “I have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Luke sighs. “Get some rest. Call me as soon as you talk to your spiritual director.” He sounds resigned, tired.
When I get to my room, I strip out of my black pants, shirt, and coat, then slip on a pair of training shorts and a workout shirt. I lace up my running shoes at the door, grab my phone and earbuds, then head down to the gym in the basement.
A few guys are still working out, so no one’s paying attention when I climb on one of the treadmills. After programming my run on the screen, I shove my earbuds into my ears and select a workout playlist on my phone, hoping the hardcore rock music combined with an intense session will purge the pain in my chest.
From the corner of my eye I see Gerry climb off his treadmill. He nods in greeting before grabbing a towel from the cabinet in the corner, then ambles back and pauses in front of me. He taps his ear with a finger, then points at mine.
I’m not in the mood to talk to him or anyone else, but I can’t ignore him either. Gerry has been nothing but nice to me the few times we’ve talked. From the vibe I get from him, he seems like a great guy. Ignoring him would be a douche move on my part.
Plucking the earbuds from my ears, I force a smile. “Hey.”
“Pastoral assignment go well?” he asks.
I’m about to ask “Pastoral assignment?” then I remember the lie I’ve been telling him every time I go to meet with Grace. My cheeks burn and I avert my gaze, unable to meet his eyes. I nod curtly, hoping my non-verbal answer is enough to discourage any conversation.
“Are you training for a marathon or something?” he asks. Shit. He’s not going away like I thought he would.
I swallow nervously and then adjust the settings on the screen, bringing my pace down to a jog, before meeting his eyes. “Just needed a powerful run.”
His gaze sharpens as he continues to study me. I squirm, fighting the urge to look away. “Fighting demons, eh?”
My head jolts at his words, but I don’t reply. God, why is he still standing here watching me? I feel like I have my sins tattooed on my forehead.
He darts a cautious glance around the spacious room before stepping closer and saying in a low voice, “I know a thing or two about fighting your demons.” And with that, he tosses the towel into a hamper in the corner and then walks out of the gym, leaving me wondering what kind of demons he’s fought before or perhaps is still fighting.
I reprogram the treadmill to my previous punishing speed.
By the time I finish, every part of my body burns. For the first time since I walked into the seminary, I smile. Because for the past hour, just the pain in my legs and the need to push myself harder have consumed my mind and I haven’t thought once about Grace.
I contemplate foregoing the dining hall for dinner, but I don’t want to break the rules—attending breakfast and dinner in the dining hall to commune with other seminarians is highly encouraged. I’m already in enough trouble as it is.
I head back to my room and shower. While drying myself, I pause, towel in one hand and trail the words tattooed on my chest: Grace, first & last. My beginning and my end. My heart speeds up, responding to the truth in those words.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and all I can see is the way she looked at me before she got in her car and drove off.
She must hate me. Right now, I hate myself for causing her so much pain. I need to get my shit together and do what needs to be done. I’ll go to dinner now, then speak to my spiritual director tomorrow morning.
Once I’m dressed in black dress pants and a white button-down shirt, I head to the dining hall.
After dinner, I join my fellow seminarians at the chapel for evening prayers. This time when I pray, I have no idea what to tell God. Would He even listen to me? Accept my prayers?
My head is a war zone, and no one can rescue me. I have to rescue myself.
After prayers, I return to my room and change to cotton pajama pants sans shirt, then grab my phone from inside the drawer of my desk and check it for messages. My chest tightens with dread as I stare at the screen for several long minutes, as if looking at it will conjure up a text from Grace.