Page 8 of Vespertine
“You’re making it harder than it usually is.”
“You’re right, though. I’m not going to kill myself.” He wasgoing to stay sober and find some way to live in a world where all he couldhave was this: Jazz’s voice, his existence, but never his touch. Never again.
He’d been denying that horrible truth with all his heart andsoul for too long, writing songs about it, waiting for the boy who’d saved himfrom spiders as a child and from himself as a teen to realize that he wantedNicky more than he wanted God, and the truth was this pixelated image of Jazzthrough the lattice of confessed sins was as close as they’d ever be.
“I’m going to make a fresh start.” Nicky said again, andwhy? He wasn’t here for Jazz’s approval, damn it. He’d angled for that enoughas a kid. “I’m here for a new beginning.”
“You sincerely seek God’s forgiveness for yourtransgressions?”
Jazz seemed eager to come to the culmination of theconfession. Nicky considered dragging it out, confessing to specific horrorsjust to see if he could make Jazz break, but instead he simply said, “Yes.”
“God, the Father of mercies, through the death andresurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the HolySpirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of theChurch, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins inthe name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
Nicky waited for something to happen, some sense ofabsolution. “What about my penance?”
Jazz laughed and it sounded so real, Nicky had to close hiseyes. “If I tell you to say five Hail Marys will you do it?”
He shook his head and tried to suppress a grin. “Probablynot.”
“Then why don’t you open a Bible some time?”
Nicky could barely contain his laughter, choking it out ashe let his head fall back against the dark wood of the booth. As if that couldever wash away the stains of his life on the road, the filth of every one ofhis years after he’d let the owner of an L.A. bar fuck him for an introductionto the band that became Vespertine. “Sure. Why not? Any recommendations onwhere to start?”
“How about Jeremiah 29:11.”
“Why, what does it say?”
“Look it up, Nicky. That’s the whole point.”
“Fine.” He pressed his forehead against the divide. “So am Iforgiven?”
“May the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the intercessionof the Blessed Virgin Mary and of all the saints, whatever good you do andsuffering you endure heal your sins, help you to grow in holiness, and rewardyou with eternal life. Go in peace.”
“I wasn’t asking God, but yeah. Peace. Right. I’ll get onthat.” Nicky was silent a moment and then said, “I guess I’ll see you around. I’mgoing to be staying in Little Heights for a while. And, for the record, I don’tthink I can forgive you.”
Nicky shoved aside the curtain and stepped out into thenave. As he walked away, he wanted to hear the sound of Jazz pushing back thecurtain and rushing after him. But in the silence of the church, a swollen,pregnant pause that would give birth to everything to follow, Nicky recognizedthe wish as the same denial he’d been living in for years, and he discarded it.It hurt like leaving his arm on the ground behind him, and he went weak-kneedwith a craving for heroin to numb out the pain.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. He walked on.
Breathe in: misguided, broken sighs
Spit out: crucifixes and stigmata lies
Lyrics and music slid into his mind and he consideredpulling his phone from his pocket to sing it into the voice recorder, but whatwas the point? Until he could fix himself, the music was as sick as he was. Ifit was a song that wanted to be sung, it’d be around when he wasn’t sickanymore. When he wasn’t broken.
The hot sun washed over him. A fresh start.
Chapter Three
THE NOISEOF A DOZEN KIDSrunning wild in the schoolyard reached him before heturned the corner, and Jasper was glad. If they were outside already, chanceswere good he could slip in and out without having to make too muchconversation. Everything felt unreal—the sun too bright, traffic too loud, andthe birdsong echoing strangely off the buildings. Like he’d stepped out of theconfessional and into a different world, one that grated on him like an exposednerve.
When he pushed against the gate, he spotted Mrs. Wells andAndrew setting up the picnic tables in the shade under the large oak tree. Theblack steel barbecue wafted smoke as a bunch of kids played a casual game offootball while others sunbathed and read on the steps. He gave Mrs. Wells—aretired school teacher who had her own apartment within the school—and Andrew abrief wave, stopped to greet some of the kids on the stairs, and then made hisway into his small office. He shut the door behind him, briefly pressing hishot forehead against the cool wood and letting out a long breath.
Lucas’s number was stored in the old computer, and while hewaited for it to boot up, he sank into the leather chair and sighed. With hishands carefully folded in his lap, he waited to feel anything at all.Gradually, the numbness retreated and he examined his heart. He felt…strangemostly. Even after so many years, he always felt naked right after he’d takenoff all the priest garb, and that vulnerability extended to his mind. Thatmight explain the way he’d reacted to Nicky’s presence.
Oh my word.
Nicky was back. Jasper looked at his hands.
