The first time James experienced a crush was when he was around age 9. There was a pretty African American boy named Donald Lewis who lived in the corner house between James's street and intersection. Don, as he was lovingly referred to, was a year older than James and was often seen playing on the street with his two sisters and their friends. James, on the other hand, spent most of his time alone either on the lawn or in the house reading old copies of Encyclopedia Britannica. When James could waddle out of his home and into the outside world, he would try to get closer to Don by throwing his football near to Lewis's house or purposefully crash his bike onto the curb of their portion of the sidewalk. James's parents caught on that their little alpha developed a crush on the older omega boy. They quickly stampeded any attempts and dragged James away. The Lewis' usually laughed it off, seeing James's actions as little kid hijinks rather than an ill-attempt.
But James's mother, Lucille, on the other hand, remained quite stern. James spent months trying to court Don till one day Lucille ultimately had enough. In this final attempt, James purposefully kicked a soccer ball over to Lewis's front yard as an excuse to finally cross the threshold. "JAMES!" screeched Lucille at the top of her lungs. She had only turned away from him momentarily. Her dress swung violently as she stomped towards the stunned James. Never having heard his mother yell before, James was far too scared to move. Her apron was still on and her hair was in rollers underneath a thin net. She grabbed him violently, her usual darkened complexion red with fury. The Lewis family, including Don, stared as James cried loudly while being dragged away by his ear. Once inside the house, Lucille slapped James squarely in the face. James was once more stunned and immediately stopped crying. "Stop following that boy," Lucille growled sternly, her perfectly manicured fingernail pointing at her pink-cheeked son. "Foresters don't mess with their lot." It had been thirty years since that incident and James still didn't know what his mother meant by that or why that particular incident crept into his dreams that night. He never found out if it was because Don was black, an omega, a man, or a combination of the three.
James rubbed his eyes as they slowly adjusted to the brightly illuminated bedroom. H scratched his chest underneath his pajama shirt, sleeping in it after last night's mild embarrassment. He often didn't dream, usually working himself to the point of exhaustion after either grading exams or planning courses. The pheromone frenzy of the night before had caused James to momentarily regress emotionally and surface long-buried feelings which evidentially included memories of his mother. James relaxed his furrowed brow and tried to shake off his irritation. He was after all back in town to preach, not dig up the past. Drowsily, James finally left his bed and made his way into the bathroom to spruce and shave in case congregants arrived. He placed pomade on his fingertips, running it through his dark curls in an attempt to fight off the humidity outside. Once satisfied with the look, he put on his prescription glasses that resembled aviators (his students had recommended them) and put on his uniform of black trousers, a black shirt, and a white collar.
It seemed that James' arrival had developed into town gossip. Before the clock even stroke noon his home had become a rotary of James's old neighbors. Once one old couple stepped out, a new one made their way in. Having woken up so late, James had only had time to prepare some crappy black coffee he had enough sense to bring down with him from Providence. Luckily, the townsfolks didn't come empty-handed. Every school teacher, nurse, and mailman that still lived there brought in freshly baked bread, jams, pies, and pitchers of sweet tea. With every encounter, the sad, bachelor-style refrigerator filled up with food. Thank goodness I cleaned up, he happily thought to himself. Many of the people stopping by weren't Catholic but simply were curious about how he was getting on. They would chat away, barely touching the food they have provided while James happily stuffed himself with goodies. The conversations were quite repetitive; the older folk complaining about Jimmy Carter, the rising taxes, and the promiscuous young people in Atlanta. James didn't mind too much, after all these were people he'd grown up with and he delighted in hearing how his former classmates were doing. If this had been a bigger town, James would be holding a small mass on this Monday morning but he knew his true work would possibly take form through physical tasks and labors for the town. "If you could stop by and help me move my fridge, dear" had remarked Mr. Sanderson, a five-year widower and retired ER nurse during his brief visit. "If you could stop by and tend to some weeds" slyly suggested Mrs. Tanner, a former school bus driver now turned amateur botanist, as she handed James a small batch of homebrewed bourbon. James sighed, nodded, and agreed to the tasks his congregation suggested.
I've become the town handyman, James wondered to himself. With pen and paper in hand, he began to jot down the requests and needs of the people in town. He divided them into several tasks to span throughout his month's stay. In addition, he was told of several other folks who would like to be visited in their homes for the eucharist seeing as some of them had mobility issues. James had suspected he'd be doing home visits. The old church had no central air and performing mass felt like an hour in the sauna. Though the pheromones of the older folks were not very strong, between the heat and their scents, instincts were bound to show up. The mixture of sweat and primal characteristics stirred congregants in very unbecoming and odd ways. James remembered the vacant looks of congregants sitting through a hot, Wednesday mass. The word of Christ would mute to silence and the heat took over, quickly rejuvenating the folks present. As soon as communion was taken they would quickly scurry home—right before that week's announcements were made. Many babies would arrive, like himself, around the later winters and early springs as consequence.
"How was your first shift, Jimmy?" spoke Miss Sharon, as always in a sunhat and long dress. This time, she was dressed in a light baby blue that worked well with her complexion. James laughed and shook his head. He had collapsed onto the rocking chair on his porch, sweaty but sipping on some cool lemonade handed over by the local Baptist church. He took off his collar and unbuttoned the top few buttons. "It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, But now I am booked with home repair jobs for the entire month." His black dress shirt's sleeves had been rolled up revealing firm forearms. His sweat stuck the fabric to his body, demarking every muscle and movement he made. Miss Sharon smirked slyly and remarked "Giving this old lady a show? It won't work on me... may on Mr. Sanderson perhaps." James's mouth gapped and his face was completely pink at a loss for words. Miss Sharon had never spoken like that—much less inferred homosexually laced commentary. "MISS SHARON?!" shrieked James. She was like his own mother. Miss Sharon waved him off, sat on the chair next to his. "Oh come on, I am an old lady not blind," she remarked, "We all know Mr. Sanderson swung that way. We don't mind." She pulled out a small paper fan and began to fan herself, obviously making herself comfortable. Still in shock, James went to the kitchen to bring Miss Sharon a glass and poured some lemonade.
Still fanning herself, Miss Sharon happily accepted the drink, waiving for James to sit and join her. "We didn't have a chance to catch up yesterday since you arrived late," she said, making sure to add a bit of poison to the end of her statement. "How's your father?" James took a seat next to her and frowned slightly. "Not too good to be honest. Since mother passed, dad has been dedicating all his time to work. I encouraged him to possibly look for someone new, even a friend but..." James' words quietly died down. It was difficult to speak of his mother's passing even if it's been several years. Miss Sharon listened intently and nodded without remark. James had forgotten how much he enjoyed speaking to her, she always allowed for others to speak as long as they wanted before making her notoriously insightful remarks. "What can I do? He's still angry about me becoming a priest but since I am the only family left, he's had to reckon with it." Miss Sharon took a sip. "Does he like living in Providence with you?" "Hmm... I wouldn't say like. He misses Georgia but doesn't want to live too far from her grave." "Is he involved with the church?" "Not so much anymore. I think she was the real devotee... I mean before she ran off."
Miss Sharon nodded, "I remember there was not a day she didn't stop by the church while he was away fighting the krauts. She prayed and prayed the war would end." Miss Sharon's eyes suddenly grew distant. "I remember the day she comforted me when I got news of my Jamie. I was screaming and crying but your ma she held me that night and cried with me." James looked at Miss Sharon puzzled. "Jamie?" he asked, never having heard of this person before. Miss Sharon's gaze became saddened yet her eyes twinkled lightly. "Back then, even more so than now, we weren't allowed to speak of our loves, Jimmy." Miss Sharon continued drinking her lemonade and let her story die. James found her words to be quite cryptic and carefully chosen. Feeling odd about the interaction he made to make a mental note to look for someone named Jamie in the town records. Despite Sharon's outwardly strong character and poise, no one knew her story. She had shown up in this town right before his father's deployment. At that time, a woman in her early thirties moving husbandless to a small town was unheard of. Only his mother, it seemed, knew of her origins.
"I heard you're teaching at the university, how has that been going?" Miss Sharon stated, still with a distant gaze and ready to change the subject. James nodded, quick to move back into the conversation. "Ah yes. It going very well. I am teaching theology and world religions for undergraduates. So far, most of my students are going into seminary studies but some are a couple of just regular kids." James finished his drink and smiled. "I didn't think I would enjoy this position so much. The kids, they have brilliant questions and challenged faith in such constructive ways now." Miss Sharon smiled "I understand. I felt that way teaching all y'all Sunday school. Even if some of you were sneaky little rats getting into my peach grove." She stared at James who laughed and turned away. She's never going to forgive me, he thought to himself. "How are you, Miss Sharon? I met your nephew last night." James stated, curious as to the origins of this new character as well. Miss Sharon grinned "Yes, Claude. His my—" She paused slightly clearing her throat before finishing her statement, "friend's son. We're very close and I see him as my nephew. They live up in New York but I used to visit whenever we had a holiday." Miss Sharon finished her lemonade and said "He's here for the summer since I couldn't make my way to New York this year." So he's here for the entire summer, James thought to himself, unsure as to why this was important information.
The two remained speaking for a while and before they knew it the sun had begun to set. Miss Sharon stood up slowly, her bones crackling with every gesture. "Before you say it," she began, "no. I do not need a ride home, Jimmy" James kept his lips shut, knowing it was for the best. He walked with her down the steps and to the end of the road. "If you don't mind," Miss Sharon spoke, "I'd like you to speak with Claude while you're here. He must be bored hanging out with all these old people." James felt a bit uncomfortable—like how when he was younger and his parents forced him to befriend the kids of other businessmen. "I'm not much younger myself, Miss Sharon," James remarked, "he must be in his twenties. I don't even know if the kids like The Beach Boys anymore or what's currently hip." Miss Sharon rolled her eyes, "See, I don't even know what that is. Please, speak with Claude. He is always either nose deep in his law books or out drinking in the city." James nodded and waved goodbye. Like the night before, he watched her slowly walk into the evening and out of his line of sight. James wondered if Claude would stop by that tonight as well.
After Miss Sharon, only one more couple stopped by. It felt as if everyone in town, be it protestant or catholic, had welcomed him back. That is, except for one. Even though the last thing on James' itinerary was entertaining Claude., James couldn't help but feel annoyed. He had wanted to iron out any misunderstandings, although no misunderstandings were had. Or maybe James had simply wanted to make sure he had not offended Claude in any way. He couldn't shake the awkwardness he had felt between the two of them. By the time James had cleared his dishes and inhaled a bit of casserole dropped off by the Kirshner's, it had become nighttime. With one last glance out the window, James decided to head to bed but make sure to at least leave the porch light on.
The following day, James began to make his rounds. He packed up his travel case with holy water, wine, and wafers, donned a collar, and hopped into his shabby car. James delivered communion in between the odd jobs he had promised the day before. He stopped by Mr. Sanderson where he indeed helped move the fridge and of course, completed numerous tasks previously unmentioned as they steadily increased in difficulty. At Mrs. Tanner's, James pulled weeds. Mrs. Tanner's gaze was intensely felt during his manual labor and practically had to pry the woman away as James inched back into his car. Her scent reeked of deep amber tones interlaced with musky, older people's scent—even the brief time spent close with Mrs. Tanner was enough to give James a headache. He had begun to drive back to the clergy house when suddenly James decided to make a detour to his old home.
He turned into the desolated cul-de-sac. His childhood home, a once stylish two-story cookie-cutter, lived vacantly on the street. James parked in the driveway and walked towards the home. The ground crunched underneath his feet. The once clear walkway had become invaded by weeds and wild flora. The lawn had grown unkempt, patches of earth erupted and the grass yellowed due to summer heat. James had shook the handle of the front door but alas, the home was locked. He peered into the windows—the home was empty of any furniture except for the clunky kitchenware his mother had selected from the Sears catalog way back then. It was strange to see his old home covered in thick layers of dust. It was where his mother hosted numerous dinner parties and where his father stubbornly tended to the record player. She would always were her hair in ringlets that behaved opposite her natural tight curl pattern. Her deeply tanned skin would be powdered to a lighter complexion and would often wear the latest East Coast fashions. James, when he was young, had always found it strange how she pretended to be the charming, social butterfly that was expected of an alpha female. Lucille demanded attention and led the household with a firm grip but in front of guests, she always softened her character. James' father instead, never put on any airs. Herbert was a quiet Southern man who served in the Army and ran a carpeting business. He preferred nights in with a good book or gazing into the night sky through his telescope in the backyard but had a weakness for Lucille. Whatever she wanted, she got thus, monthly dinner parties it was.
"I'm guessing you're not breaking and entering," said a voice behind James. He quickly turned around to see Claude, in running gear complete with sweatbands and shorts. His hooded sweatshirt that read 'Emory University School of Law' was doused in sweat. Both the sleeves and the bottom of the sweatshirt were cut off revealing Claude's pink but firm physique. James quickly tensed and blushed. He had been so busy peering into his former home to notice anyone around him or take in how suspicious he must've looked. James opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. "I was giving you the benefit of the doubt," jokingly remarked Claude, "but now I am becoming weary of you." Claude walked up to James who finally strung together some words and said "T-this was my old house." Claude looked in through the window as well, very close next to James. James was well aware of the proximity between their bodies but remained totally still, not wanting to be the first to move. "Wow, look at that kitchen. It looks like the Jetsons!" James chuckled, he could see the resemblance. His chuckle lightly died down and he continued to look on. Claude looked back to James, first noticing his attire and then the stern look in his eyes. "How long since you were last here?" he asked, prying lightly. "Hmm, about ten years since I've been in town and about fifteen since I lived in this house." Claude peered into the window once more. "You parents must have been well-off back then. Those are some stylish appliances to leave behind." James felt uncomfortable, it wasn't so much about Claude mentioning wealth but his ability to immediately pick up on a sore subject. "Dad didn't want to throw it away nor did he want to keep it." "Why?" James briefly avoided Claude's eyes and muttered "Not sure."
Even Claude knew it was a lie but decided to not place too much pressure. James turned to him and asked, "Were you on your jog?" Claude nodded, "Yeah, I am on my last mile. Have you been doing your priestly thing?" he asked gesturing to James's attire. Momentarily, James had forgotten he'd even been wearing his collar. "Yes, just helping out some folks with their chores and serving some communion." Claude nodded before saying "Debent ut vestri comitatu." James brightly smiled and replied, "Spero ita! When did you learn Latin?" Claude scrunched his nose while lightly grinning. James couldn't help but notice how his freckles accentuated his mischievous look; he looked very cutesy. "I learned a bit in high school and have been brushing up since attending law school. I'm now in my final year so I've had some time to hone on it." James had suspected the young man was a bit older than he appeared but he did not suspect him to already be at the end of his postgraduate studies. "Were you just now more impressed with the Latin or with my studies?" Claude poked cunningly. "Can I say both?" retorted James, now grinning too. The air between them felt light and James heard his heartbeat a bit quicker.
"Usually I make people choose one but since it you," Claude teased while wiping his brow with his armband, "I'll let you off the hook." James blushed and tried his best to control the smirk on his face. As the two walked towards James's car, Claude announced "I need to finish my run but I am glad I ran into you." "Me too," replied James, a bit too quickly. "I'll catch you around." And just like that, Claude resumed his stride and swiftly descended the street. James looked down on the ground, feeling shy for some reason. His heart continued to beat loudly as he slowly inhaled the lingers of Claude's scent. Catching himself in an unbecoming position, James's grin slowly dropped, and jerked his head back, What am I doing? It was very inappropriate. He took the keys out of his pocket and slid into the driver's seat. After putting the keys in the ignition and blasting the A/C, he placed his forehead on the hot steering wheel. It burned his skin but sought to have the pain adopt the role of a small penance. He shouldn't be flirting with an omega, much less Miss Sharon's young nephew.
A knock on his passenger's side window broke up James's wallowing in self-disgust. He turned to see Claude gesturing to roll down the window. James leaned across the car and quickly rolled it down. "I'm so glad I caught you," panted Claude "but are you okay?" Claude was looking at the red steering wheel mark on James's forehead. James could feel the warmth erupting from that spot. "I'm fine, I was just... praying," he countered which elicited a confused nod from Claude. "I see... Anyways, I was wondering," continued Claude "if you were busy tonight?" James felt his ears grow pink and a subconscious smile erupt on his face. He was sure he had smiled more today than he had in his entire life. "It's just I've done nothing but studying and thought we could continue our chat. It's okay if you're too tir-" "No, please! Stop by," ejected James. "I'd welcome your company." Claude smiled back and giddily replied "Great! I'll finish my run and stop by later if that's okay." "Yes of course. Enjoy your run." With a quick goodbye, Claude ran off again this time with a little bit more speed in his stride.
It was as if the promise of a visit had erased and replaced James's momentary worries. Rather than self-flagellate as he'd done before, James pulled out of his childhood driveway already planning a dinner for two of them. Oh, I should also pull out that new hooch. He turned the wheel onto the old road and began to drive down. As he pulled into the intersection, he saw an older African American couple speaking with a couple of young kids. They turned to James's car, startled as not many people made their up to that street. Perhaps out of Southernly manners or perhaps because they recognized the little Alpha boy from thirty years ago but the Lewis's warmly waved at James. James teared up slightly and waved back before turning out into the intersection.
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