Page 6 of Biblical Knowledge
I sighed, shut my eyes, and tried to will myself back into unconsciousness.
Rolling onto my stomach, I immediately became aware of the problem.
“Damn it,” I muttered into the pillow.I was possibly the only man on earth who wished his dick would just clock in for work when absolutely required and otherwise keep its head down.
Even though I wasn’t on the priesthood track anymore, the Catholic guilt flipped on automatically, like a bad motion sensor light in an alley.Thoughts of the body, the flesh, lust — they all carried the faint stink of sin, even if no one else was in the room to see me wrestle with them.
I groaned, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and padded to the bathroom.The corner had a cracked tile, and the overhead light hummed when I flipped it on.Standing in front of the toilet, I waited — not for the urge to go, but for the stubborn erection to retreat enough to make it possible.It took almost a full minute, which felt like an hour under the buzzing fluorescent light.
Once I’d finally relieved myself, I shuffled back into the bedroom.The place was small enough that I could practically stand in the middle and touch all four walls if I leaned the right way.A narrow dresser sagged under the weight of too many theology texts and a pile of unwashed laundry.I dressed quickly, deciding there was no point in crawling back into bed.
The “kitchen” was just a strip of counter along one wall of the main room, a two-burner stove, and a fridge that groaned louder than I did when I woke up.I filled the dented percolator with water, set it on the stove, and dug into the cupboard for my favorite contraband: chocolate-flavored cereal shaped like cartoon animals.Technically aimed at eight-year-olds, but the sugar hit was better than any adult virtue I could manage before sunrise.
As I poured the cereal into a chipped bowl, my mind wandered uninvited to yesterday.
Noah.
It wasn’t just that he was the handsomest man I’d ever seen — though God help me, he was.Dark hair, broad shoulders, an easy kind of beauty that felt unstudied and therefore more dangerous.But there was something else, something under the skin of the moment, as if meeting him had tripped a wire I didn’t know I had.He unsettled me in a way that went beyond sex, though sex was certainly in the mix.
It was like some part of me recognized him.Not in the “we’ve met before” way, but in the “you’ve wandered into my unguarded territory” way.He provoked a response I didn’t have the language for yet.And that terrified me more than attraction ever could.
My thoughts darted backward to the seminary I’d left three months ago, to Paul.
I’d been certain then that the tightness in my chest around Paul was a crush, innocent enough in thought, harmless in deed.But the memory now felt like a pale watercolor compared to the way Noah’s presence lit me up.
Paul was a kind of gentle yearning I could tuck away behind cassock folds and half-smiles.Noah was something else entirely.Not a flickering candle, but a flare gun fired into the night.
Which was exactly why I needed to steer clear of him.
I dumped the milk over my cereal with a little too much force, splashing some onto the counter, and muttered to myself, “Dangerous.”That was Noah in a word.
When I got to campus today, I’d corner Dr.Scheinbaum and politely ask for a different study partner.If I could get Noah at least ten feet away from me at all times, maybe I could think straight again.
Or at least straighter than this.
* * *
The city bus reeked.
Not just a faint, stale smell, but a wall-to-wall stench that clung to the inside of your nostrils and refused to let go.
The man wedged into the seat beside me hadn’t shaved in… I couldn’t even guess how long.His clothes were matted and crusted in places I didn’t want to identify.His hair was a greasy halo around his head, and his breath—God forgive me—could’ve stripped the varnish off a church pew.
I tried to breathe through my mouth, which only made me feel like I was panting in panic.I kept telling myself: compassion, Henry.This is what compassion looks like.This is a child of God.You are better than your reflex to shrink away.
Except apparently, I wasn’t.
Because every time the bus lurched and his shoulder brushed mine, my stomach pitched, and my brain started composing prayers I didn’t mean.I wanted to tell myself he was a metaphor for Christ in disguise, something we’d discussed endlessly at seminary.Love the least among us, see the face of God in everyone.But right now, the only thing I wanted to see was daylight and ten feet of fresh air between us.
My stop finally came into view like a personal salvation.I pressed the strip to alert the driver, the bell dinging in that tinny way that promised deliverance.I stood, but the man didn’t move, didn’t even glance my way.Just sat there, a human blockade between me and freedom.
The bus wheezed to a halt.I murmured, “Excuse me,” but my voice came out strangled.I squeezed past him, holding my breath so hard I felt lightheaded, and the moment my feet hit the sidewalk, I sucked in a lungful of smoggy Los Angeles air like it was a perfume sample from heaven.
And then the guilt hit.
Because that’s what I did.Guilt was my native language.It didn’t matter if it was about sex, faith, or hygiene-related prejudice.If there were a way to feel bad about it, my brain would find the script.By the time I’d walked halfway up the block toward Claremont’s campus, I’d already drafted a mental essay about my lack of Christian charity.I promised myself I’d do better next time, even though I knew I’d probably fail again.
I pushed open the glass doors to the main building, telling myself to focus—today was about taking control.About boundaries.About getting Noah Miller out of my academic orbit before I embarrassed myself.
