Compassion (to Suffer With)

I got into his car this morning and did not notice Greg in the backseat until Gordon mentioned that both Greg and I were wearing green. I turned then, and saw him sitting there. Great, I thought. Great. I had wanted to see this as some intimate thing with Gordon, and clearly, that wasn't to be. Once inside the cathedral I made the decision not to make this too big a deal. I felt the old temptation to close myself inward, but when the priest's sonorous voice began to intone the gospel message of compassion, meaning to suffer with, and presented the idea of suffering with another as the greatest expression of love, and the greatest means we have for entering into fellowship with Christ, I felt my spirit responding. He took it further. He talked about the temptation to be closed off in order to protect one's self as the ultimate path to constant falsifying. He was clear; this was no call to foolishness, but it was a call to be brokenhearted.

Afterward, we stopped off at Gordon's place so he could get the watercolor I purchased from him. Greg and I waited in the car, and while we waited, he let me know that he felt himself in need of a romance, and asked me, at least somewhat seriously, if I would point any viable options in his direction. I told him I would. When Gordon returned to the car, Greg said "of course if you know of any Catholic girls, you can give Gordon dibs..."

Some of my old scars throbbed, but dully. I said to my heart Be teflon. Be courageous. Still, I felt myself feeling like I didn't belong in that moment, that I should just go home and let them have a boy's day together (when we sat outside the grocery store drinking coffee after church, I saw them both looking at the women that walked by, though Gordon much more subtly than his friend). I don't know what Gordon has told Greg about me in the past, but I know in Greg's mind I'm not even an option where Gordon is concerned. If I were, he never would have made such a comment.

But I did not ask to go home; that didn't seem brave to me. Why should I hide and be ashamed? Why should I let all of my moments with Gordon be undermined?

We went to Greg's house for lunch which he cooked for us to the backdrop of the velvety Chet Baker's My Funny Valentine, and later love dirges by a young, clear-voiced Willie Nelson. At some point, before the Chet Baker, Gordon played piano while I sat on the couch in the family room and listened to him clown around a bit on the ivories. The mood was mostly lunchtime lethargy, and I felt that my time with him was ill-fated...destined to leave me wanting something I wasn't going to get.

But things turned when I remembered that I did not have to be a victim of passivity. When Gordon and I left Greg at his house, I suggested that we go buy Gordon some clothes, which he had mentioned that he might do that afternoon. I told him he should, and that he should let me help him pick stuff out. He bought several items at the mall that I encouraged him to purchase, and then I convinced him to go to Columbia to Old Navy, which he was hesitant to do after our stint at the Towson Town Center, but reason won out, and off we went. He bought more things, which he really did need, including the boxer briefs I urged him to consider last month. They were "buy 1 get 1 free."

Before we parted ways, I took some bills he wanted me to drop in the mailbox for him. But there was also a mailaway in the stack to a "Win a free trip to Paris Sweepstakes." I told him I really wanted to go there someday. He said "Well, it is a trip for two."