to notice my entry. I walk over to him and hover over his shoulder for a bit. He shuffles his glassware around in the fume hood. “That was the longest meeting I have yet to witness here. Must have been pretty important. Let me guess. Your services are no longer needed here and you feel obligated to say good bye.” Cox says.
“Sorry to disappoint you doc, but I am still here to stay. I came back here to ask a favor. Can I borrow your car?” I ask.
“That’s an odd request... I expected a very different response. I don’t know why you would need my car, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I consider you a friend now, and what is mine is yours. I will give you the keys under one condition.” He says.
“What is the catch, doc?” I reply.
“You have to hang with me every weekend. I think that’s what they call it. Or, maybe, it is chill every weekend. You get the idea, right?” He says.
“Are you asking me to be your brofriend?” I ask.
“What's a brofriend?” Cox replies.
“A brofriend is like your right hand man. The go to guy for hanging out and your wing-man for scoring with the chics. Think best friends forever kinda thing, except on a guy scale. We don’t share or relate, but we support each other.” I say.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Cox says.
“Got yourself a deal there, doc. Every weekend, I will be there to help you score.” I say. Cox tosses me his keys and I am on the road in no time. It took the navigation skills of a maritime god to find the place, but I found 902 West Poplar. I pull into the drive-way and there is a hand written sign to press the button. I exit the car and proceed towards the garage door. I push the button and I can hear a doorbell chime inside the house. After a few minutes, a well weathered man exits the house. His short hair is completely gray, even his mustache has tasted old age. His face is surprisingly youthful, and I chalk it up to a case of premature gray.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to put the dogs up. Go ahead step inside. I gaze at the placard outside, and it reads AA Smoking every Tuesday/Thursday 8 PM. I walk inside what would appear to be a standard garage, but I see it has been renovated. There is a central altar and a whole host of chairs arranged in a semi-circular fashion. I watch the father walk to the back of the room and disappear behind curtains. I instinctively follow him and sit in the opposite side of the wall.
Father McFeeley slides back the divider leaving an ornate mesh between us. I shuffle around in the steel chair. ”Please forgive me father for I have sinned.” I say.
“There is no need to call me father anymore. I left the church years ago, but you can keep calling me that if you like. What is the nature of your sins?” He asks.
“I have sinned sexually, it was consensual, and out of love. We were not married when it happened, and we can never be married.” I reply.
“Did you have intercourse?” He asks.
“Yes, we did father. Like I said before, we actually love each other. It wasn’t like a spur of the moment thing.” I reply.
“Did it happen more than once?” He asks.
“Yes, father it did.” I reply.
“Were you or the other party under legal age?” He asks.
“No, we were both adults when it happened.” I say.
“Humans are creatures of weakness. Sometimes we try to justify sin because we feel in our hearts that it is right. In Leviticus 18:22, it states that if a man lay with another man, as a man lay with a woman, then they shall be put to death...”
“Wait a minute, TIME OUT! I’m not gay! I didn’t sleep with a dude. I slept with my sister!” I exclaim.
“Your sister? Are you kidding me? What the hell were you thinking?” Father McFeeley storms out of his confession booth. I follow behind him and try to plead my case. “Wait a damn minute!” I yell as I drag him down by his robe.
“Let go of me!” He says.
“Just hear me out, father, that is all I am asking.”
“Sorry to disappoint you doc, but I am still here to stay. I came back here to ask a favor. Can I borrow your car?” I ask.
“That’s an odd request... I expected a very different response. I don’t know why you would need my car, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I consider you a friend now, and what is mine is yours. I will give you the keys under one condition.” He says.
“What is the catch, doc?” I reply.
“You have to hang with me every weekend. I think that’s what they call it. Or, maybe, it is chill every weekend. You get the idea, right?” He says.
“Are you asking me to be your brofriend?” I ask.
“What's a brofriend?” Cox replies.
“A brofriend is like your right hand man. The go to guy for hanging out and your wing-man for scoring with the chics. Think best friends forever kinda thing, except on a guy scale. We don’t share or relate, but we support each other.” I say.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Cox says.
“Got yourself a deal there, doc. Every weekend, I will be there to help you score.” I say. Cox tosses me his keys and I am on the road in no time. It took the navigation skills of a maritime god to find the place, but I found 902 West Poplar. I pull into the drive-way and there is a hand written sign to press the button. I exit the car and proceed towards the garage door. I push the button and I can hear a doorbell chime inside the house. After a few minutes, a well weathered man exits the house. His short hair is completely gray, even his mustache has tasted old age. His face is surprisingly youthful, and I chalk it up to a case of premature gray.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to put the dogs up. Go ahead step inside. I gaze at the placard outside, and it reads AA Smoking every Tuesday/Thursday 8 PM. I walk inside what would appear to be a standard garage, but I see it has been renovated. There is a central altar and a whole host of chairs arranged in a semi-circular fashion. I watch the father walk to the back of the room and disappear behind curtains. I instinctively follow him and sit in the opposite side of the wall.
Father McFeeley slides back the divider leaving an ornate mesh between us. I shuffle around in the steel chair. ”Please forgive me father for I have sinned.” I say.
“There is no need to call me father anymore. I left the church years ago, but you can keep calling me that if you like. What is the nature of your sins?” He asks.
“I have sinned sexually, it was consensual, and out of love. We were not married when it happened, and we can never be married.” I reply.
“Did you have intercourse?” He asks.
“Yes, we did father. Like I said before, we actually love each other. It wasn’t like a spur of the moment thing.” I reply.
“Did it happen more than once?” He asks.
“Yes, father it did.” I reply.
“Were you or the other party under legal age?” He asks.
“No, we were both adults when it happened.” I say.
“Humans are creatures of weakness. Sometimes we try to justify sin because we feel in our hearts that it is right. In Leviticus 18:22, it states that if a man lay with another man, as a man lay with a woman, then they shall be put to death...”
“Wait a minute, TIME OUT! I’m not gay! I didn’t sleep with a dude. I slept with my sister!” I exclaim.
“Your sister? Are you kidding me? What the hell were you thinking?” Father McFeeley storms out of his confession booth. I follow behind him and try to plead my case. “Wait a damn minute!” I yell as I drag him down by his robe.
“Let go of me!” He says.
“Just hear me out, father, that is all I am asking.”
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