Free Inclination by Mia Kerick Page A

elbows on the table, I bow my head and clasp my hands together in
prayer. Psalm 23 already has its grip on my mind.
    The Lord is my
shepherd; I shall not want.
    My lips move
without intention—they’re completely in submission to the message of this psalm
that I’d repeated to myself in silence on many occasions.
    He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
    He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me
in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
    Yea, though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou
art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
    I feel the
burning behind my eyes that indicates the imminence of tears, but I press on
with my prayer.
    Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine
enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
    “Anthony. I am
pleased to see that you are punctual, as always.” Her voice is needle-sharp.
    I lift my head
abruptly, and my surprised gaze meets with her steady one. I’d been deeply caught
up in prayer, and for that reason I hadn’t even noticed that Mrs. Martine had
descended the stairs and moved to the table. She’s now standing in front of me.
    Surely goodness
and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house
of the Lord forever.
    I mouth a silent
“Amen” and then bless myself quickly. “Yes, I…I try to be on time for…for
things.” I stand up, as it seems like the polite thing to do.
    “Sit down,
Anthony,” she says dismissively, and I obey. “Your date with Elizabeth—it was
less than successful, I take it?” Mrs. Martine appears as if she’s trying to
swallow something both wildly sour and intolerably prickly—an uncomfortable
cross between repulsed and pained.
    I try to explain
myself. “I couldn’t do it, ma’am. I don’t think liking girls that way is in me… not at all.”
    “I am very sorry
to hear that.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    No sorrier than I
am.
    “I have invested a
great deal of deep thinking and a considerable amount of praying into this
matter.” She refuses to meet my gaze, which worries me.
    But still I nod,
thinking that I’d also thought and prayed about the subject to the point of
pulling my hair out .
    “I must suggest,
Anthony, that you find another youth group in which to participate. Our
Way…well, it clearly is not for someone like you.” Her words sound
matter-of-fact, as if she’s my boss letting me go from a summer job scooping
ice cream that hadn’t meant much to either one of us. “Do you understand?”
    I have no words.
I stare at her blankly.
    “If you have left
anything behind in the locker area, now is the time for you to retrieve it.”
    I can’t move.
    “Young man, go
get your things.” Her voice is suddenly more stern than businesslike. “And have
your mother drop the money you have collected for our summer pilgrimage by my
office in the rectory this week, the sooner the better. I believe that with the
amount earned at the carwash, the group has approximately $520.00. I will
expect it all to be accounted for,
placed in a large, labeled manila envelope.”
    I attempt to
speak, my lips even move…but no sound comes out.
    “Did you hear me,
Mr. Del Vecchio ?”
    I hear, but I
don’t think I understand. “You don’t want m-me in Our … Our Way…anymore?” I lift
my eyes to look at her and I try to establish some kind of emotional
connection. But she’s always looking away from me. She won’t return my gaze.
    “I do not think
Our Way is the right place for you to participate in a teenage worship
situation any longer.” And Mrs. Martine turns, takes several shoe-clicking
steps, and then stops. I think that maybe she’s changed her mind, and I wait
for her to turn around. But Mrs. Martine doesn’t turn. She simply says, “Please
be sure to close the door at the top of the stairs tightly on your way out.”

The Monster On The Air Mattress
    I’m