The Seminarian Visits

He visited me often after I left the seminary. Partly, I pitied him. Partly, I loved him. His conflict and turmoil excited me. His willingness to let go gave me power. I never wanted to give that up. But his tears finally washed away my contempt, and we had to say good-bye. I never forget him. I hope he forgives me.

The Church of Rocky Horror

   
It all started innocently and ended maliciously. I loved the movies, especially the trashy midnight ones at the Uptown Theater. Mostly, it was the Rocky Horror Picture Show complete with a live, d-list cast performing along with the film. It was divine -- filled with smut, nudity, and fornication. This was my new church.

The seminarians said they loved Rock Horror even though that week they were trashing Priest. It was a lie. I knew. So I invited them to a showing that Saturday. Pride said yes, and the mischievous trickster smiled.

I arrived at the Uptown before everyone else. I told the performers about the special guests. My friends sat far away from me giggling. The seminarians arrived, and I showed them to their seats. The spectacle started and no seminarian, except me, stayed for the climax.

Priestly Bathroom Encounters

  
Father Paul claimed he talked to God and divined his greatness. It was Father Paul that recruited me in to seminary. He approached me one day to talk about why I was there, about the trouble I was causing by being who I was. "Jason, my son, can you tell me why you are here?"

"To be closer to God, Father. I want to be a priest." I replied.

"Well my son, I am afraid you can't be a priest because of who you are. I think you should leave the seminary," he said.

I saw Father Paul a few months later in a public bathroom cruising for sex.

One Semester Seminary

   
I was raised Catholic. Very Catholic. In fact, I went to seminary to be a priest when I was 18. I only lasted one semester. It was the most insightful and informative four and a half months of my entire life. I would never change that experience. I would also never relive it.

Morning Prayer Revelations

  
Morning prayer was a ritual and requirement, and every morning I reluctantly attended hoping I would be forgiven of all that took place the day and night before. Instead, I was greeted by my fellow seminarians with "Hey fag, you shouldn't be here." Or "Look at that fucking queer." The ones who visited at the early morning hours were the loudest, especially him with the confederate flag. These men were and are the future of the Church.

Early Morning Faggot

 
He knocked on my door at 3am. I was sound asleep, dreaming of possibilities of freedom and openness. I awoke to "Faggot! Open up!" And possibilities faded to the four confining walls of my dorm room.

I opened the door knowing the seminarian with the confederate flag and constant hate speech was on the other side waiting impatiently for his early morning blow job. I complied.