She and I are riding in a car together. She is wearing a light pink bikini and she has a pregnant lady’s belly. She is driving, but the steering wheel is on the right and I am a passenger on the left. We have agreed to travel to a hot springs spot in the country. After riding for a while, we come to a toll bridge but instead of each lane stretching by a booth with an attendant to accept the toll, each lane ends at a different type of fast food restaurant. There are a couple burger joints, a pizza place and one fast food place I’d never seen or heard of before. She knows which type of fast food she wants, but I can’t make up my mind, so I get out of the car and tell her that I’ll catch up with her later. Somehow I know the last restaurant is a mixture... of all the other fast food places and all of a sudden my decision isn’t so hard, and I choose that last restaurant, the one I’d never heard of or seen before but somehow knew was a combination of all the other fast food joints mixed together. After my selection I continue down the road, now somehow magically inserted into my own car. (Steering wheel on the proper, right side.) I know she is waiting for me at the hot springs spot in the country. I drive through the country side and I notice it is fall. The leaves have turned colors. Dull orange bushes and yellow leaved trees dot the countryside. Green hills give way to staggering mountains behind the vegetation on either side of the road. I realize that I am driving through a valley that winds through the countryside. I drive and drive. I turn around twice because I make a couple of wrong turns, or maybe I hadn’t turned at all, but experienced a sense of ‘lostness’ and consequently knew I was heading the wrong direction. Once I stopped and asked for directions although there was no traffic, much less other people to ask. The countryside was deserted. I had asked directions of my own mind. Finally I arrive at the hot springs spot. The springs are tucked away in an underground cave settled against the looming, rolling hills. I know she is inside the cave although no vehicle is parked near the entrance and when I look around my vehicle has mysteriously vanished as well. I enter the cave. The ceiling is low and made of solid rock. I cannot see more than 50 feet and cannot detect where the cave and its hot springs may come to an end in the shadows. I see her in her light pink bikini with her pregnant lady’s belly, slowly descending stone steps into the dark, bubbling hot springs. With one hand she is holding onto a metal banister running parallel to the stone steps and with the other hand she is beckoning me to follow her. She is smiling. I follow her.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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