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"And if you knew him, you would understand just why,
As I remember him, I cry."

Portia Nelson, 1995

Having supervised David's wardrobe choices, Randy next announced his decision that the two were heading out to a Polynesian restaurant in downtown Atlanta. Never having dined in Polynesian style, David was pleasantly surprised as they entered. It was replete with an authentic Polynesian floorshow with women and men dressed in grass skirts juggling torches and machetes, and beating native drums as accompaniment to dances so vibrant, so sensuous that every part of the dancers’ bodies were shaking, wiggling, and telegraphing sexual innuendos.

David felt like a new ... well, at least a different ... person wearing Randy's modern style clothes. It was as if Randy had ordered the entire Under Gear catalogue at one time or another, and had suddenly presented David with the lot. He also felt different after having had his first experience of gay sex, even though he had been merely the passive receiver of Randy's oral 'talent.'

Although, he should have been mourning his deceased brother, all troubles seemed to have vanished, at least temporarily, for David. This was here and now, and as he and Randy entered the restaurant and walked through several dining areas to reach their table, all eyes ... both female and male alike had followed this attractive couple - and without a doubt assumed that the couple was gay! Strangely, David realized that it didn't seem to bother him, and he noticed that Randy certainly didn't mind. Time had regressed for Randy, and he was once again with his former lover Mark, introducing him to a new place, a site with lavish décor, elegant food, and elegant people.

David was fully aware that he would be returning to Virginia in a few short days; so, if everyone staring at him thought he was gay, why should he care? What difference did it make? No one here knew him, and God knows he didn't know any of them either ... so fuck them!

Randy loved showing off, and took full advantage of that; especially, trying to impress David by speaking to the waiter in some form of Polynesian as he ordered drinks and dinner for them both.

David had a wonderful time sampling strange pork and seafood concoctions smothered in tropical fruit, and drinking rum drinks mixed with mango, guava, and pomegranate juices. The Polynesian show was unlike anything David had ever seen before. Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that he and Mark had lived a sheltered life at home, and Mark must have had a blast being exposed to these things by Randy during the months prior to the onset of Mark's illness.

Several times, Randy toasted David with their drinks, then kept toasting ... each time making sure their hands touched. David found no reason to be shy, even when Randy reached to hold David's hand when the lights were dimmed for the show. Randy had been aware of Mark's two drink limit ... the same that David had revealed about himself, but before their dinner was over, David had consumed four 'fruit' drinks before he knew it. The fruit juices masked the alcohol flavor, and soon David was far beyond his limit and well past the merely 'feel good' stage. Had they been in a private, secluded dining room for two, Randy could have stripped David nude and had him right there on the table without David being able to resist.

Now Randy was fighting a mental battle with himself. Should he take David home and take full advantage of David's drunkenness, or should he be a 'gentleman' (which was certainly not his usual demeanor) and respect David's being straight? He decided to wait and see what kind of mood David would be in once they returned to his apartment, then 'take the big step' ... or not take it at all.

Randy wasn't high, or even slightly tipsy when he paid the check. He didn't even count the money he placed on the tray, and tipped the valet twenty-dollars when his Porsche was brought to the front door of the restaurant. David was trying to sing a chant they’d heard during the show and beating the dashboard of the car with his hands, as if it were a Tahitian To'ere drum, which greatly amused Randy.

Once at his home again, Randy took David's hand and led him to the door, opened it, and into his apartment.

"Would you like another drink, or maybe some coffee?" Randy asked cordially.

"Does your fancy espresso machine make some kind of fancy coffee with pineapples or bananas?"

"I ... I've never heard of making coffee like that; however, if you really want it, I can make you a cafe au lait with coconut milk."

"Sounds good to me...!"

"I can add some Hawaiian rum to yours, if you're game."

"Randy, the way I feel ... I'm game for almost anything ...!"

"Would you like to get out of those clothes and into something more comfortable while I get the ingredients and start up the machine?"

"These clothes are wonderful!" David said with a drunken slur... "However, if you do have something more comfortable, let me try it ... hell, let me try everything!!!"

"Come on into the bedroom and let's see what we can find ..."

"Lead on, Jeeves, lead on ..."

Taking David's hand just as a father would take his child's hand at Disney World, Randy sat him on the bed and quickly began rummaging through one of the many drawers, which had been built directly into the bedroom walls. Then he found a garment and turned around.

"Here! These ought to fit you, and they sure as hell should be comfortable!"

Randy handed David a pair of chocolate brown silk pajamas as filmy as a piece of women's lingerie.

"Man, these are kinda skimpy, aren't they? I mean, I can see my hand right through them!"

"Hell, there's no one here except you and me - and since you have nothing to hide from either of us ... well, they are comfortable. I should know!"

"You know, you're right! Who the fuck cares?" David exclaimed.

"Put them on while I go into the kitchen to make your cafe au lait.

"Should I leave your fancy underwear on underneath them?"

Those words seemed to stop Randy in his tracks. Without turning, he said, "That's up to you ... but if you really want to be comfortable ...."

"You're right again! You've already made friends with my dick. Why should I hide your old friend?"

'David is more looped than I thought!' Randy said to himself as he left the bedroom.

David removed all his clothes, including his underwear, and slipped into the silk pajamas. The fabric was so soft and smooth the mere touch of it gave David an electrical sensation in his loins. "Who the fuck makes these? Viagra, Levitra, or Cialis? They give me an instant hard on!" His voice carried all the way to Randy's ears.

"What's that?" Randy screamed from the kitchen.

"Skip it! You've already seen me this way ... and up mighty close to boot, come to think of it!"

David walked barefoot from the bedroom to the kitchen with no shame, not trying to hide in any way the protrusion tenting the bottoms of the silky pants.

"How do I look?" David asked, turning around as if he was modeling.

"Sexy ... sexy as hell!" Randy replied, highly amused at his inebriated house guest.

"What about you? Are you gonna get into something comfortable too?"

"I suppose I could ...?"

"Hop to it! I don't want to feel like I'm the only one on display."

Randy laughed and gave David a somewhat playful swat on the butt as he passed on the way to the bedroom. Instead of pajamas, David put on a pair of short shorts, and a fishnet wife-beater with a pair of leather flip-flops. He brought an extra pair of the sandals back with him for David to wear.

Looking at Randy's new outfit, David remarked, "Hell, I feel overdressed!"

"Believe me, if you were any more underdressed than you are in those PJs, you'd be arrested."

"Damn! That see-through undershirt really shows off your chest," David remarked.

"I have others like it, if you'd like to put one on..."

"What? And compare my chest with yours? You've gotta be kidding!"

"David, you have a great chest. Hell, you've got a nice build all over."

"You're just saying that because you want my body. Shit! You've already had my body ... the front of it anyway ... but you're not about to get at my backside. I know what you fags ... I mean, what you gay guys do. I read all about it, and I want no part of that action!"

"David, I told you I wouldn't force you to do anything. That's why I told you about the lock on the guest room door."

"Just as long as you don't have a key." He snickered at his own joke.

"The door has no key, just a deadbolt. It can only be locked and unlocked from the inside only, once you close the door."

"That's good to hear."

Disappointed as he knew he'd be; Randy suddenly changed his directions for the rest of the evening, "I think I'll make the cafe au lait with just the coconut milk and leave out the rum. I'm going to be the mean old bartender and cut you off, David. I'd hate to have you accuse me of something that didn't happen - something that won't happen - not as long as you're under the influence..."

"You mean like Michael Jackson and his boys at Neverland?"

"Well, kinda, I guess ... only you're older than I. As a matter of fact, neither of us is underage."

"So we're consenting adults?"

"I know enough about the law to know that in a court trial, the term 'consensual' only applies if both parties are stone-sober ... and I'm afraid you wouldn't qualify, my beautiful friend. Not by a mile!"

"You don't have any 'roofies' you're gonna slip me, do you?"

"Those I've never had; but then I ever had a reason to need them."

"That's good to know, too! Only let me ask something ... what if the drunken 'victim' becomes the aggressor?" David giggled.

"Meaning...?"

"What would've happened, if one of those kids attacked Michael Jackson? Could Michael sue him?"

"What are you getting at, David?"

"All right, I'm the one who's had too much to drink, and you're almost sober. I'm straight. I don't like men. You're gay. You do like men, don't you? What if I were to attack you - would you have me arrested?"

"I don't think that's gonna happen, but if that was the case, I don't believe I would. Why did you ask?"

"Dunno. I was just wondering...."

"David, why don't you go into the living room and sit, or even lie down on one of the couches? I'll bring your cafe au lait as soon as it's ready. OK?"

"All right, that's just what I'll do." Though a bit unsteady, David turned briskly and headed out of the kitchen.

When the cafe au laits were brewed and each poured into a delicate demitasse, Randy carried the hot drinks into the living room only to discover that David had passed out sound asleep. Randy smiled at seeing his guest curled up in the brown pajamas on the orange sofa; it reminded him of his favorite piece from a Whitman's Sampler, chocolate with orange cream center. Lord knows, David looked good enough to eat! But using his last ounce of better judgment, Randy resisted the urge to take advantage of his former lover's look-alike brother. Instead, he went to the hall closet and took down a large 'throw' to cover David, turned off the living room lights, and took the cup of coconut coffee to his bedroom, where he turned on the TV.

Randy's cable company had just added the new 'Here!' channel for gays and lesbians to their roster of choices. Randy tuned it in to discover the movie showing was "Latter Days," the story of a gay Mormon trying to find a way to balance his newly admitted homosexuality with Brigham Young's anti-gay tenets and the physical torture that seemed to be inflicted on any member who might stray away from the tract toting tribe.

* * *

Always, when Chris' phone rang after midnight, it was bad news ... too often announcing a death, or someone about to meet his maker, who wanted to receive a final dose of holy water, or a holy oily cross traced on his forehead. He had received hundreds of these calls during his short term as assistant curate of St. Thaddeus, but he had never been quite so upset or disturbed as he was after answering the phone call he received from Marcia Thompson with her news about her son Andy. Every emotion from 'a' to 'z' went through Chris' mind all at once. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't process what he’d just heard, and he could barely respond to Marcia’s cry for help.

At first, the words Marcia was sobbing didn't make sense to Chris ... something about Andy overdosing? The kid didn't use drugs! Chris was sure of that. He’d been talking with Andy just over six hours ago; then he suddenly remembered their conversation, and Andy's confession of love to him exploded in his mind. Had he spurned Andy's declaration to the point of leading the boy to attempting suicide at the rejection? Rejection that he, Chris, had spoke in such an off-handed manner? 'Oh, my God! Did Marcia say that Andy was dead ... nearly dead ... or was found dying?' These thoughts ran through Chris' cloudy mind. Marcia had pleaded that Chris hurry to her house, or meet her and Andy's father at the hospital.

'Oh, God! Not again!’ The emergency room where Chris had given last rites to Alex only twenty-four hours earlier, also from an overdose ... but Alex had OD’d on cocaine. ‘Could history repeat itself so soon with another teen’s death?’ Only this one struck even closer to Chris than Alex's death had - or even Mark's, for that matter, whose death occurred as a result of an illness.

It took Chris nearly a full minute to comprehend that Andy had apparently swallowed a bottle of Marcia's sleeping pills. Through her tears, Marcia had said that Andy wasn’t dead. He was still breathing, and Todd was attempting to perform CPR until the EMS arrived. Chris was to meet them at the county hospital ER, where Alex had been taken seemingly only hours earlier.

Chris hurriedly redressed in the same clothes he’d piled in the chair next to his bed, black trousers and vest with the semi-formal, sewn-on clerical collar. His emergency clergy kit containing his shawl, oil, and the communion sacrament was where he always left it, in the glove compartment of his car. "Oh, Mary, Mother of God, please don't let me have to administer final unction to Andy," Chris prayed. Three deaths in two days! That's too much for anyone - even a priest!

Though still half asleep and completely in shock, Chris got into his car and sped away toward the hospital, praying the news waiting for him would be good, or at least not quite so 'final' when he arrived. Marcia and Todd were waiting at the hospital triage station. Todd was at the admitting desk giving the clerk Andy's medical history and digging through his wallet for his insurance cards. Marcia was nervously trying to peek through the big swinging panel doors through which her unconscious son had been rushed.

Inside one of the treatment rooms, a staff of two interns, an RN, an LPN, and a nurse's aide were busily working on Andy. A tube connected to a pump had been inserted down Andy's esophagus after he had been given a medication to induce vomiting. Patches with wires leading to monitors had been attached to Andy's chest, arm, and index finger to evaluate his vital signs.

When Marcia saw Chris' car enter the parking lot, she rushed outside to meet him. Chris could hardly get out of the seat before Marcia had both hands around his neck sobbing fiercely. Her actions and demeanor caused Chris' heart to sink. He feared that Marcia was about to tell him that Andy was already dead.

"Father Chris ... thank God, thank God, thank God you're here!"

Chris didn't want to ask, but it was his priestly duty ..."Tell me, Marcia, is Andy ...?"

"He's not dead, if that's what you want to know ... but they're still working on him inside. Please go to him, Father. They won't let Todd or me go into where he is. I know they'll let you see him." Marcia's voice broke, "In case he ... in case you need to..."

"Come back inside, Marcia. Let me see what I can find out about Andy's condition..."

"Yes, Father, quick!!!"

The two of them rushed back into the ER waiting room. As they passed him, Todd nodded to show he'd seen Chris, then pointed wordlessly toward the double doors.

The admitting secretary seemed annoyed that Todd had stopped giving her information, even though for just long enough to turn his attention to the young priest that had just entered. "Sir? Sir, you do realize that with your insurance, you must pay a thousand dollar deductible? Do you want to pay by cash or credit card? We don't take personal checks. That's hospital policy!"

"Jesus Christ, woman!" Todd yelled at the secretary. "My son is in there dying ... he may be dead by now, and all you can ask me to think about is your fucking money.”

"Sir, I will not tolerate foul language from you. I'll have to call security, if you can't compose yourself."

Unable to control his anger, Todd slapped what looked like a dozen different plastic credit cards on the counter and said, "HERE! Take any or all of them. They're all good. When you find the one you want to use, take the rest of them and shove them up your ass!"

"I warned you, sir! I'm calling security now!"

"Good! Make sure they come with their pistols in hand. However, if they attempt to shoot me, I'll do everything I can when I duck to make sure that one of their bullets hits you in the head!"

Chris ran to the secretary's desk to try to settle things down. "Miss, is it at all in your comprehension to show a little sympathy for this man? He's nervous and frantic, as I'm sure you can see ... and your petty aggravation is only making matters worse for him..."

"And who are you, the Pope?" the secretary snapped at Chris.

"I am the assistant rector of St. Thaddeus Catholic Church where Marshall Parker Unger is a member and a close friend." Chris knew he was a bit close to the edge, but it didn't stop him.

"So...?"

"Marshall Parker Unger is also the chief administrator of this hospital, and is probably your boss's boss's boss! So I hope, if you wish to keep your job tomorrow, you'll change your attitude and show a little compassion and dignity!"

All the red rage in the secretary's face was suddenly replaced with a mask of white fear. She reluctantly lowered her voice and addressed Todd in a quiet, civil tone, "I'm sorry, sir, but we do have rules..."

"Father, please go see about Andy," Todd replied to Chris.

Entering through the big doors, Chris was relieved to hear Andy coughing and sputtering as if he was regurgitating. 'Thank God!' Chris prayed. Dead bodies don't vomit! Guided by the sounds, he reached an area cordoned off with large white canvas dividers. Peering through an opening, Chris could see that Andy's eyes were open and an LPN and nurse's aide were holding his tilted head to purge the pills from his stomach into a plastic bucket like container. Andy's forehead was beaded with sweat, as was the neck of the hospital gown someone had put on him after removing his clothing. Andy was groaning in between gushes of brown liquid, each followed by several dry heaves.

When the intern felt Andy had rid himself of the sleeping pills, he ordered the RN to begin an IV of clear liquid. Chris had no medical expertise and assumed the IV drip was either saline or glucose. The aide wiped Andy's mouth and face with a wet cloth and tried to make the boy comfortable.

"Is that it, Doctor?" the LPN asked the intern.

"Appears to be..." the intern replied. "You know, of course, that this has to be reported to the Atlanta authorities..."

"Yes, sir..."

"Just make certain that your nurse's notes are complete, including all the procedures, the time, date, and so forth..."

"Yes, sir."

Andy's eyes began to look around the room at the medical staff which had just saved his life, and stopped cold as he saw the priest entering the cubicle. The one person he didn't expect to see was Father Chris; as his eyes made contact with Chris', he looked away instantly in shame. The doctor observed Andy's reaction to the young priest and asked, "You're the patient's minister?"

"Yes, I am..." Chris replied with reluctance.

"It's all right if you'd like to talk with him," the intern said to Chris.

"Thanks, Doctor," Chris said. He turned, and walking to Andy's bedside reached to take Andy's hand, but Andy pulled back with a jerk, as if he'd been burned.

"Don't!" Andy said, and all eyes in the room exchanged glances among themselves observing Andy's reaction to the priest. Chris felt all the staff staring at him ... almost accusingly, as if he might have been the cause of Andy's suicide attempt. Since the media had recently had a field day covering priest/altar boy molestation charges and court trials, everyone was acutely aware of priests' potential proclivities toward young

men. Chris was fully aware that he was innocent of any wrongdoing, but the skeptical leers from the medical staff still made him feel guilty of a crime which he hadn't committed.

"Could I see Andy alone?" Chris asked with trepidation.

A quick glance between the nurses, and "I ... I think one of the nurses should remain, in the eventuality that the patient has a seizure ... or something which requires immediate attention," the intern said.

'Like my reaching beneath his hospital gown and grabbing his penis?' Chris thought to himself. He knew what everyone in the room was thinking, and it aroused his anger, but he knew it'd be best if he remained calm and compliant with the doctor's instruction. "That would be nice," Chris said, patronizing the intern.

Everyone left Andy and Chris except the LPN, who stayed to 'chaperone.’ Chris took a step closer to Andy and said, "How do you feel?"

Andy's voice was weak, but he managed to reply, "Like someone just ripped one of those alien monsters from my insides, Father." His attempt at lightness was, in itself, pitiable.

"Andy, I won't ask why you ... did what you did. I'm sure you had your reason and, in time, when you're ready to talk to me about it, I'll be there for you. OK?"

"I guess ..." Andy couldn't look him in the face.

"Now, your mom and dad are just outside in the anteroom, and I'm sure they'd like to see you. I know they're going to be relieved to know that you're gonna be all right."

"Please, no! I don't want to see them!" Andy said. He still hadn’t made eye contact with Chris, and kept his gaze focused on the opposite wall.

"Andy, I'm sure the doctor will want you to spend the night here in the hospital, so maybe you could just say good night to your parents. I'm sure that would help to make them feel better."

"Alright ... but just 'good night.' I don't want to talk with them about ... anything."

"That, too, can wait, Andy. I'll just step outside and get them," Chris started to walk away from the bed, but turned back to Andy to ask, "Would you like me to pray with you before I leave?"

"No! I didn't die, so I'm not going to hell ... at least not tonight." His voice showed an effort to mask his true feelings.

"Very well," Chris said, leaving regretfully, but relieved that Andy had made no embarrassing or incriminating remarks about his earlier exchanges in the car with Andy.

Marcia and Todd both broke into tears at the news that Andy was going to be alright ... but the big mystery remained with them. Why? Why would Andy want to take his life? He'd never appeared at all depressed. He was never a problem as a child. Then it dawned on Marcia how quiet Andy had been when he returned from the evening meal route. He had barely spoken to either of his parents ... hadn't eaten the dinner which was still at home in the warmer.

'Oh, heavens!' Marcia said to herself. 'The warmer! I completely forgot to turn it off before I went to bed. Andy's supper must be as dried out as sand paper.'

"Thanks, Father Chris, I ... I'm glad the end of this isn't ... what is could have been, and I apologize for getting you out of bed..." Todd said to Chris.

"Todd, I would have been hurt and angry if you hadn't called me. Andy is one of my team. I couldn't operate my meal service without him, Jeff, and Tommy," Chris replied.

"Oh, my word!" Marcia said, "can you get by without him on the breakfast run? I mean, will you, Jeff, and Tommy be enough, or will you need someone to take Andy's place?"

"We'll manage just fine, Marcia. Anyway, no one can take Andy's place."

"He loves you so much, Father Chris..." Her face started to tremble with fear again. And Marcia's remark made Chris wince. How he wished she had phrased it differently!

"And Jeff, Tommy, and I feel the same way about Andy," Chris said slightly scoffing. "Marcia, if you, Todd, or Andy needs me this morning ... or later on, please don't hesitate a moment to call me."

"Thanks, Father, you're so wonderful."

"Thanks, Father," Todd echoed his wife.

Chris quietly made his goodnights and left the hospital. He was thankful that Andy was all right, but he was very much relieved to get out of the place before he found himself falsely accused, falsely arrested, or worse as a result of an innocent remark said in private by a lovesick school boy.

Before driving out of the parking lot, Chris looked at his watch and reasoned there wasn’t enough time left to bother going back to bed. He could use the half hour or so to begin preparing breakfast for the morning run. Tommy and Jeff would be at the church kitchen soon, but Chris would have to take over Andy's duties.