Inclination by Mia Kerick Read Free Book Online

another short silence, Dad’s hand finds its way to my knee, and he
says, “You know, son, if something is troubling you, you can come to your mom
and me with it.”
    I gulp back a
gasp. I am absolutely transparent.
    “We are here for
you—no matter what.”
    I’d certainly
have like to believe that, but Dad has absolutely no idea what he’s talking
about. “Uh…thanks.” The phrase comes out sounding like a question.
    “You’ve been sort
of…how do I want to put this? Let’s see…” I can tell that he knows exactly how
he wants to “put this” but is trying to find a way to say it so as not to be
in-my-face. “You’ve been sort of withdrawn lately.”
    “Withdrawn?” I
know exactly what he’s talking about but still I play dumb. There’s no way in
heck that I’m going to spill my problem to him. I’d probably spontaneously
combust with embarrassment.
    “You know, you
come home after school and go straight to your room. And you stay there ‘til
dinner, and as soon as the dishes are done you zoom back downstairs.”
    That’s how it has
been since that day in the cafeteria when my friends discussed, without so much
as a grimace, the novel idea of Kool-Aid-force-feeding mass murder of gay
people. “I’ve been studying for the SATs.” My excuse sounds lame probably
because it is lame. We are family people.
    “Well, the girls
are missing you. They’re used to watching that oldies television station with
you after school.”
    “I gave up
watching TV for Lent, you know that, Dad. No Highway to Heaven or The Lucy
Show until after Easter. Sorry.” We’re a classic television-loving family.
In fact, we’ve seen every last episode of The
Brady Bunch .
    “Well, we all
miss your presence. Make an effort, if you can, Tony, to spend a tiny bit more
time upstairs…because Mom and I miss seeing your face, too.”
    “Sure, Dad. I’ll
try.”
    At this
uncomfortable pause in the conversation, I lean forward and turn on the car
radio. I close my eyes to listen to Carrie Underwood’s strong voice asking
Jesus to take the wheel because life is too hard to deal with on her own.

Heartily Sorry
    As soon as I
finish saying my Penance, I launch myself from the pew and make for the heavy
doors in the rear of the church. I’m
probably the only kid who actually goes to confession for doing what I’ve done,
although I’m fairly certain I’m not the only one doing it. And I’ll admit that
I have extreme difficulty even thinking the word for what I did, let alone saying it out loud to a man as pure as a priest, so I will say this—it involves
“spilling my own seed.” Enough said. (Blushing fiercely.)
    I’m certain that
my voice trembled when I said my Act of Contrition, and I’m also fairly certain
that Father Joseph recognized my voice in that small, dark box. Even when I
disguised it to make it sound deeper—I think my priest knew the voice was that
of perverted little Anthony Duck-Young Del Vecchio .
    “O my God, I am
heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because of
your just punishment. But most of all because I have offended you, my God, who
are all good and deserving of all my love.…”
    Yup. I am heartily sorry for it, too. This
seed-spilling thing is another example of a sexual sin I can’t seem to get a
handle on. Or maybe I have too much of a
“handle” on it. Ugh, bad pun… It’s
just that sometimes at night, my fingers and their little fingertip-brains seem
to have an agenda all their own, and I lose control. And I like it… until after it’s over and I realize I’ve sinned
against the One I love so much. And when it hits me, as if for the first time, that I now need to confess my sin to
stop it from blackening my soul, I experience what you might call sincere regret.
    As I walk down
the sidewalk that leads me from the front of the church to the parking lot, I
glance back guiltily, to make sure that Father Joseph hasn’t come out of the
building to catch a