When We Were Catholics | Chapter 2 - The Comfort Between Us

“You know some people just like to fuck with other people. And rape them.”

“Yeah. people are fucked up.”

A pause. A silence, comfortable in nature, loaded with unasked questions.

Do you remember me?

and

Was it you?

and

if it was, why?

“Did you get raped last year?”

Well, that was straightforward. He said it without emotion, without affect, quietly, not loudly, but somehow I felt…

He’s a friend.

Unlike some other people I don’t know.

“Yeah. Patrick raped me. Patrick and Zach. And a bunch of other guys I don’t know.”

An unasked question hangs in the air. Does he notice?

A stalemate.

There is more to a conversation than words. And sometimes it’s more of a risk to one’s security to talk than not to talk. You never know, the most innocuous word, opinion, story, even, can stir someone up.

We’re all kids pretending to be adults in this old world of ours. We blame sin on age, thinking kids are better, youth was better, that there are so many crappy adults and we don’t want to be like them, we deny the fact that we are them, and we forget that sometimes maturity is better than the comfort and ignorance childhood brings. And some people hang out to youth and immaturity and fun, while others focus more on the adult side of the world — on work, on security, on family and stability.

And sometimes.

Sometimes knowing is better than not knowing.

“The fear of the Lord begins with knowledge.”

He takes out his little black book and starts scribbling away. His turtoise-shelled glasses somehow don’t fall off the bridge of his nose.

There’s this trait of his: he looks put together, even when there is chaos and storm in his heart. He doesn’t reveal it to the world. And he’s organized to the point of ridicule.

But I liked that about him.

Fr Victor is younger than me by a few years, but he has a maturity to him that is given by the Holy Spirit. Many Catholics are wise if they have been Confirmed, the Holy Spirit grants them gifts.

And the rest?

“Who cares, that’s their problem.”

There was that moment, during Mass, after I confessed sins during Reconciliation, when he teared up. He wanted to cry. His expression didn’t change, he let no stranger in, he let no emotions out.

But he wanted to cry.

And I found that a beautiful thing.

“Our birthdays are a day apart.”

“It’s not about astrology, ok, it’s not. It’s not about us being ‘earth’ and their being ‘fire’. It’s not about that. Just some people don’t give a fuck about other people and what consequences their actions might bring. They don’t care. They lack empathy.”

That’s the most he said of recent. Where did this come from?

I laugh at an inside joke.

“I partly agree with you… I still think they’re Aries though.”

“LOL. Please STOP blaming Aries and Fire signs for EVERYTHING.”

And as much emphasis as he put on these words, why was the volume still below threshold?

“I mean, Avatar the Last Airbender? It’s actually a true story.”

“LOL. Avatar’s a kid’s show.”

“One of my favorites though.”

He grins, an unspoken phrase in the comfort between us.

Mine too.