It seemed to Foy like people treated him differently in the weeks after the wedding prank. It seemed like people were quieter around him now that they knew he used to be a priest. More respectful but also more distant.

It’s probably just me. I always think people are paying more attention to me than they are. I always think people are looking at me and they aren’t. People don’t care about you or think about you nearly as much as you think. It’s probably just me.

At least once a week a group from the office would go to a local bar after work. Mostly the single people. During happy hour they smoked and drank and got bawdy and laughed a lot. They cut loose. Happy hour was like a miniature weekend that surprised everyone when it appeared in the middle of the week. Foy had been on one of these outings. He was uncomfortable, not because he had a problem with the booze and cigarettes and loose talk, but he never learned to do any of that stuff. He noticed that he hadn’t been invited again.

Yeah, but I never got invited that much anyway. Only the once and I didn’t really like it. It’s just me.

But it still bothered him.

Chuck called him “Father Foy” now, which he hated. But he instinctively knew that if he reacted to this, it might become a general nickname that everyone used. So he just smiled and ignored it. Chuck caught him in the break room one afternoon.

“Father Foy! Just the guy. I got something I wanna ask you.”

“Okay.”

“If God is supposed to be good and loving and all that. And powerful, you know, he can do whatever. If he’s all love and everything - loves the little children of the world, red and black and yellow and white…”

Chuck paused, as if he felt that Foy might need a moment to digest these deep thoughts.

“If that’s the case, then why is there so much evil and suffering in the world? Why doesn’t God do anything about it?”

He looked at Foy, waiting for a response, looking like the captain of the debate team who had just dropped a bombshell and was waiting for a rebuttal.

How many times have I had this conversation? 1000 times?

Foy exhaled loudly. “Man, I don’t know. I’m not a minister anymore. I don’t…nobody knows the answer to that. If you can figure that out you can write a book and make millions.”

Chuck looked triumphant. “See, that’s what I’m saying. That’s why I don’t go to church. It just doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t figure. It’s just bullshit and people wanting money. Those preachers. That’s all they want.”

He paused. “Present company excluded of course.”

Foy was a master at manufacturing a smile, but his attempt to force a smile onto his face was an abysmal failure. There was no hiding his disgust.

“Yeah, I gotta go.”

He left the break room. He looked back in case Chuck was worried about whether or not his feelings were hurt, what with that smile and leaving quickly. But Chuck had already turned to someone else and was talking.

How can people not see how people feel? Why do I have to see it? Everything. I see every twitch on their faces. Every move that means anything.

One afternoon he got an email from someone named Paul. He couldn’t remember meeting him, but it came from within the office. It was in all caps, which made him wince.

MY COUSIN CLAUDE IS WONDERING ABOUT GETTING AN ANNULMENT. HE MARRIED THIS WOMAN THAT HE WAS GOING OUT WITH, BUT SHE’S TURNED OUT TO BE A TOTAL PSYCHO. THEY MADE THE MARRIAGE OFFICIAL, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING, BUT THEY WERE ALREADY SO IT’S NOT LIKE ANYTHING IS REALLY DIFFERENT. HE WANTS TO KNOW IF HE SHOULD JUST GO STRAIGHT TO HIS PRIEST AND ASK ABOUT IT, OR IS THERE SOME CHURCH OFFICIAL HE SHOULD TALK TO.

Foy punched the caps lock on his keyboard.

I DON’T KNOW. I’M NOT CATHOLIC AND I’M NOT A PRIEST. I HAVE NO IDEA.

The reply came back in seconds.

YEAH, BUT WHAT ARE THE GENERAL CHURCH RULES ON THIS? IS IT NOT HAVING SEX OR MORE A MATTER OF TIME. BECAUSE THEY WERE HARDLY MARRIED. JUST A COUPLE OF MONTHS.

Foy looked around. His cubicle was set away from the busiest part of the office, and no one was near. He put his head down near his keyboard. Rage filled him and he whispered with an angry hiss.

“I don’t fucking know, okay? If he married the bitch, then divorce her. Or go ask the mother-fucking pope.”

He straightened up and looked around, worried. No one heard him. He sighed and tapped out a response.

I DON’T KNOW. I DON’T HAVE ANY IDEA. TALK TO A PRIEST.

Foy wandered down the little hallway through the cubicles and felt emotion and desire drain out of him. When he first came to the office he was starting to feel like he might be close to becoming a regular person, someone who just goes to work and makes money and looks forward to the weekend and takes life as it comes. But now he felt like a non-person, somehow set apart from everyone. He felt emasculated. Sexless. Without desire. Sinless. Always nice. That Foy, what a nice man. So sensitive. So caring.

There were bursts of life all over the cubicle village. A woman was outraged by something. She walked quickly past Foy with short, angry steps. Her sharp complaints came popping out of her mouth. A friend walked next to her, trying to keep up, nodding in silent affirmation. A sharp laugh came from the other side of the office. Foy turned and looked in that direction, but he couldn’t tell where the laugh came from. He opened the break room door. There were several men by the coke machine. One of them was describing a fishing trip. He seemed so happy to be talking about it. The others were giving him their complete attention.

“So I said Roy, where the fuck are we? I can’t see land. And he says, You gotta trust the instruments. And I’m like BullSHIT, I don’t see land. We were drinking like motherfuckers, and all of a sudden it was like, I want to be in the ocean. I’ve never been in the ocean. So I took off my pants and jumped over the side.”

The men laughed while the one telling the story nodded, pleased with himself.

“The guys in the boat were laughing their asses off and screaming at Roy, Man overboard! And I’m like, holy shit I’m in the goddamn ocean. Then I got this horrible feeling cause who knows what’s down there and it felt like a shark or something was gonna come up and bite my balls off. So Roy starts coming in close with the boat and then zooming away. They’re all laughing, but that shark shit has really got me. Then I panic and start screaming like a little girl…”

Foy slowly closed the door and backed away.

How do they do it? How do they just let their emotions fly out in front of everyone?

A thought occurred to him. He was always going to be a minister. He had put on some kind of sterile, priestly personality, and now he couldn’t take it off. It didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing. He had lost the ability to let go and live and laugh and be with people.

And it’s me. It’s not them. They don’t care what I do. I can’t live, or at least I can’t live in front of anyone. Maybe I can’t even live with myself. I’m just floating around. Mr. nice guy. Father Foy.

He slipped into his cubicle. There was a file open on the screen, a report from marketing. He opened it and began reading it, whispering as he went. He made small changes here and there, smoothing it out. Then he froze.

Shit, even my job is making things look nice. Sound nice.

Panic and anger poured into his stomach. His skin got warm. He looked over at a coffee cup by his monitor. There were several pens in it and an X-acto knife, sitting blade upwards. The silver tip of the knife caught his eye. He looked back at the screen, typed for a few seconds, then his eyes went back to the knife.

Foy sat back in his chair, motionless for a moment. He stood up just enough for his head to rise above the top of the cubicles. He looked around, then lowered himself. He rolled up his left sleeve and looked at his forearm. The underside of his forearm, above his wrist, he didn’t like. It was too vulnerable and soft and white. But the top of his forearm, up from the back of his hand where the hair was. It was brown from the sun and tough. He took the Exacto knife and put the tip of the blade on his arm. He pulled it across his skin, leaving a little white line. He made several of these white lines in parallel rows. Then a rush of raw anger came. Anger at himself. His mouth tightened and he pushed harder. The last line turned red as the blade went along. The pain cleared his mind a bit.

He looked around and spoke in a soft voice. “I bleed like anyone.”

He reached over and jerked a tissue from a box on his desk. He wiped the blade and dropped it back into the cup. Then he pressed the tissue over the cut on his arm. After a moment he lifted it and looked under it. He folded it into a small square and fastened it to his arm with scotch tape. He pulled his sleeve back down and buttoned it neatly. He took several deep breaths and rolled his head around until his neck popped. Then he exhaled loudly and turned back to his computer screen. He worked for a few minutes more until he heard someone saying, “Foy.” It was Suzanne. She was standing in the doorway.

Foy smiled at her. “Hey, how are you doing?”

She shrugged. “I can’t complain. How about you?”

“Eh, same old same old.”

She nodded and looked around his cubicle. Foy recognized the look of someone who had something she needed to say. His general practice was to give people an immediate opening when he saw that.

“So what’s happening?”

“Well, I know it’s been awhile since we talked, but I wanted you to know I did the things you said. I got all of Jeremy’s stuff out of around my desk. Most of it I threw away, but there were a couple of things. And then, you know, a lot of his stuff at home. His blanket from when he was little and some things.

She paused, pulled her lips into her mouth where you couldn’t see them, and nodded deliberately.

“Uh, I got this cute kind of like a trunk at Pier One. It’s green, um, and it has this little key. And when I was putting some of the stuff into it, I could almost feel Jeremy saying, ‘It’s okay.’ And it was like, I own this. I can come here anytime I want and just see everything and cry or whatever. And, it just…feels so good. I wanted you to know.”

Foy stood up and walked over to the doorway. He put out his right arm as an invitation, but he didn’t square up and face her. He left a nice angle to avoid too much intimacy. Suzanne accepted and leaned into him briefly, giving him a respectful half hug. Her eyes were wet.

Foy’s smile was absolutely genuine. It came so naturally. It was real, and he felt real happiness.

“Hey, that is so great. Just, I know that was a huge step for you. I’m so glad.”

Suzanne smiled and walked down the hall. Foy watched her go. She was pretty. She had an interesting walk. It was like she might be wondering if he was watching her and had suddenly become a little self-conscious. The vulnerability of the moment was very endearing. He had quick image in his mind of the two of them eating dinner together. But now he had taken up a kind of priestly, counselor role with her. And it made everything feel wrong. He really couldn’t sort out what he felt. It was a kind of vague but impossible longing that evaporated pretty quickly. And then he was too tired even to think about how he would start thinking about how he might start something like that. Even the line of thought was too complex for him.

He sat back down and looked at the computer screen. His eyes drifted to the right, and he looked over the cup with the pens and X-acto knife to a spot on the padded wall of the cubicle. He stared at the spot with his mouth hanging open. His eyes jerked suddenly to the right and to the left and then up and back down. Like someone who is thinking. A small smile appeared on his face. He made a rumbling sound deep in his throat.

“Hmm.”

A good feeling came over him. It was the feeling of pushing everything away. It was the feeling of letting go of being a man and putting everything out of his mind. He slipped into this androgynous, oblivious state like a man closing the door to his home, dropping onto the couch, and turning on the television. It was too much. Everything was too much.

His eyes moved back to the knife in the cup for an instant, but he looked away quickly. He stopped himself from thinking about that even before he began thinking about it.

This is a good life, what I do and who I am. This is just the way things should be and are.

rlp

.

The second part of The Other Side" originally appeared here. Both parts are together now. This page has been left in place to preserve the comments.

rlp

I’ll tell you the hardest thing about that whole Pete McCullough situation is that I kept thinking, Why am I doing this? What do I have to do with this church or any church for that matter? I mean, it was surreal. Like suddenly I was a pastor again and I had this obligation. Someone comes to you with a problem or issue or something, and they expect that not only CAN you help them, but you WANT to help them. And you’re called by GOD to help them. I’d call that a pretty heavy obligation. And expectation by them.

I mean, that’s what I didn’t want anymore. That’s why I left. I just couldn’t handle the expectations.

Foy, can you tell me a little more about the obligations you felt and what led to your leaving the church?

Sure. Look, the whole church & minister thing is a mess, if you ask me. When you’re a pastor or a priest, everyone has an idea about the kind of person you are. First, you’re supposed to understand the Bible and God and theology and all that. That’s actually the easiest part. Well, not understanding God but I was just saying that’s the stuff you learn in seminary. And then if you’re committed to what you do - and I was - you read and learn all the time. So being the community Bible scholar and theologian isn’t that hard. That part was kind of fun, actually.

But then the expectation is that you’re this ultra-spiritual guru who lives this wonderful Godly life. People figure you probably pray a lot and are serene and happy. You’re supposed to be living life the way they imagine they could be living if they were as good a Christian as they think you are. So you just kind of walk around with this priestly air about you. You have to. After awhile you don’t even remember who you really are inside.

And Christ, I mean you really ARE trying. It isn’t the liars and cheaters and evil ministers who have this problem. I mean probably you ARE actually being that. You know, a serious and pious Christian. You probably are that. Maybe, I don’t know anymore. That’s the problem. I didn’t even know if I was trying to be a good Christian because I wanted to and it was something, I don’t know, that God was doing in my life, or was it because I was paid to be a good Christian?

It’s funny, sometimes I think people are like, I can’t be a good Christian myself, but I like knowing that my pastor is.

Huh. That’s messed up.

And of course you’re supposed to have answers to life’s problems. And if anyone needs to talk, you’re right there for them. You HAVE to be. It doesn’t matter how you feel, you know? Someone’s in the hospital, so you’re just tickled pink to get out of bed and go see them. Same thing on Sunday mornings. You’re on, like a performer. Happy happy. Smile smile. Jesus loves everyone. I mean, not overboard, like one of those goofball television guys. But just…yeah, I mean this is good, life is good, Christianity is good. Right? So what if you feel like shit on a Sunday morning? What do you do about that?

I’ll tell you what you do about that. You shut your mouth and you smile. And if you’re not a fake person? If you’re not the kind of person who can put on an act, well you better fuckin learn how. You have to learn to actually make yourself believe things and feel things. You HAVE to. It’s your job.

Ever watch ministers after church is over on Sundays?

I guess i haven’t.

Well, that’s probably because you can’t find them. Most of them go straight home and crash on the couch or maybe just go to bed. They don’t even want to talk to their own children. They disappear. The role takes it toll, man. The role can take everything from you if you’re not careful. After years, you can even become the role. I mean where your natural personality sublimates or goes under the surface or whatever. I mean, what is this? A religion run by zombies?

So how funny is this? I leave, right? I pack up and throw my collar on my desk and leave. And do you know what that meant for me? What a sacrifice it was? I mean, how am I going to make a living if I’m not a minister? Thank God I met Doug and he gave me a job. Anyway, so I have this HUGE turning point in my life where I say, “Fuck it,” I’m not going to do this anymore. And I start working at the office and then suddenly I’m right back in it.

Oh, some of it’s my fault. I could always say no, right? I didn’t have to shoot off my mouth and say, YES, I was a priest, and YES, I’ll do a fake wedding for a joke, and YES, I’ll talk to you about your wife and daughter. I mean I have to take responsibility for that. See, I thought I could just step out of the robe and go right to living a normal life. But somehow, I don’t know, it’s like the role follows me. Or maybe, secretly, I want it to. What do you think?

I don’t know. So what did this Peter McCullough want from you?

This is perfect because it’s exactly what I’m talking about. The minute he finds out I was a minister, then he’s got this problem that he thinks I can help him with. Jesus, the guy’s an atheist and he wants to talk to a minister. I mean, how funny is that? But seriously, it was a bad thing. One of those things you can’t possibly say no to someone about. I mean, how could I say no?

What did he want?

Well, the deal was he and his wife were not religious in any way. I think he was very intentionally an atheist. I don’t think she really cared. They were just regular people of our world, you know? Working, taking care of their daughter - they have a little girl - I don’t know, maybe like 8 years old. Good people. That’s something I learned when I left the church, by the way. Church people tend to think that everyone in the church is trying to do the right thing and people who don’t go to church make this intentional decision. “I’m not going to church.” What they don’t realize is, not going to church is the default position for people. It’s what most people do, or don’t do I guess I should say.

But anyway what happened is Pete’s wife became a Christian. I know how it happened but it’s complicated and I won’t go into it. She was with some women friends at a Bible study or something. Some church thing. And it probably took place over time, but she decided to become a Christian and she took it very seriously. So she started going to church every Sunday, and she took their daughter with her. So there’s Pete, sitting at the house alone. It was just heartbreaking to hear him talk about it.

Sundays used to be our day. Tia and I would sit in bed and read the New York Times and drink coffee and talk.

That was his wife. Tia. You know, they shared the paper and read stuff to each other. And their little girl would jump in bed with them and read the comics. And then the three of them would decide what to do that day. What’s really funny is, doesn’t that sound great? Doesn’t that sound like a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning? And you have all these church people and ministers busting their asses to get dressed and get their Sunday school lessons learned and their sermons ready and get to church on time. Church takes like half the damn day, and everyone is exhausted when its over. And here these people are having a real day of rest, a real Sabbath almost.

Heh. I find that to be very funny.

But now Tia and Tanya aren’t there anymore. Tanya - that’s the little girl. Sunday was their family day. So Pete feels like the church stole his family. Hell, they did steal his family.

Then it gets worse. Some teacher or preacher or someone hinted or maybe just told the little girl that her daddy was going to hell if he didn’t start coming to church and become a Christian himself. So she’s always saying Daddy, come to church with us. And this puts him in an awkward position. He doesn’t like what he sees happening to his daughter. But what’s he supposed to do? If he goes with them, it feels false. And he kind of feels like he needs to stick to their old life to balance out what Tia is doing.

I’ll never forget the way his voice sounded.

It breaks my heart because now there is this barrier between me and my little girl. And the worst thing is, I started thinking that I would never have married Tia if this was how she was. It was like they brainwashed her and took her away from me. And then they took my daughter too.

So then the guy says - can you believe this - What should I do?

“What should I do?” Like I have the answer to this. And I’ll tell you, I’m pretty much on his side by now. Which is weird because I remember talking with women whose husbands wouldn’t come to church and trying to counsel them. What should I do, Foy? He won’t come to church. And we’d sort of strategize together. And now I’m seeing it from the other side.

Oh Jesus, why am I doing this? Do you see? I’m doing the exact same thing from the other side. What am I, the anti-pastor now? It’s like I’m living in the bizarro church world.

So what did you tell Peter?

What did I tell him?

Yes.

I don’t know. I said some stuff. It’s hard…to even remember exactly…

You don’t remember what you said to him?

Yeah, I remember. It’s just kind of jumbled up. Give me a second. I said….Uh…

Take your time.

I - you know - just listened to him for awhile. He was more hurt than angry. Kind of helpless feeling. I could certainly sympathize. I got pretty angry, actually. The Church. Supposedly the Church of Jesus Christ. And who knows what that even means or if Jesus himself would admit to any relation. So we kind of stewed in our anger for awhile. I said some things about the Church that I kind of regret now.

What did you say?

Uh…

Some things that are probably uncalled for. I yelled a bit. Said the Church wasn’t anything and this showed it. That kind of stuff. There was some profanity.

Why do you say that was uncalled for?

Well, this guy isn’t a Christian and not a part of the Church. There is a part of me that feels like I shouldn’t speak badly about the Church like that. Maybe just not be so angry in front of this guy. I don’t know. It just felt wrong.

Was he angry?

Actually, no. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t particularly interested in anything I had to say about the Church. He just wanted to know what he could do to somehow keep his little girl from being estranged over this. He’d kind of written his wife off, I’m afraid. And it occurred to me that I had gotten off the subject and was grinding my own axe, so to speak. So we ended up talking about him and his family and this church his wife goes to.

What did you talk about? What did you tell him?

You know, I told him about First Corinthians seven, that Paul - and I explained that Paul was an early church leader - had written about exactly this situation. What to do when someone becomes a Christian and their spouse doesn’t. I mean, Paul seemed very concerned that the marriage be kept sacred and that the Church not be a part of breaking it up. It seems to me that Paul was calling for something rather extraordinary. He said that if a woman became a Christian and her husband didn’t, he was made holy through her. No one has ever figured out what he meant by that, but there is CERTAINLY scriptural precedent for this church respecting this man and his beliefs and being careful not to drive a wedge between him and his family.

I told him to call the pastor and talk about that scripture and make a simple request. That no one in the church scare his daughter or make her think he was going to hell. And that they encourage the little girl to honor both her father and mother, as the Bible calls for. And then I said if things didn’t get better to give me a call and I’d go see the pastor myself. Not like angry but just maybe the pastor might hear it from me.

Did you hear back from Peter?

Not about that. But we see each other all the time at work. He’s become a friend. We play chess sometimes at lunch. He thoroughly kicks my ass every time, but hey, I’m getting better.

Foy I want to ask you something. And I ask it only to better understand you, not because I have any investment in the specifics of your answer.

Shoot.

Are you a Christian?

Wow.

——-

——-

I don’t know. Yes. I’m not sure, but probably. I would think, you know, I hadn’t lost… Actually I don’t know what being a Christian means anymore. Some might say I’m not. I kind of feel…still…

You sound pretty uncertain.

I know. Look, I’ve been away from the Church now, but yeah I still think of myself as a Christian in my way of thinking of it.

And what would that way be?

Short answer. I still buy into the Jesus stuff. All of it. His words, his work, his ways, and yes, even the cross and all that. That story is…it doesn’t matter what…anyone…I just don’t like the Church at all right now. I find that when I go to church I feel bad inside. I actually start having spiritual problems when I even see a church. I get depressed and angry. But I still have my own code of…following Jesus. And I worship - pay homage you might say - quietly. In my way.

There are so many fascinating parallels between your life and this recent encounter with this Mr. McCullough. It’s very intriguing.

I know. I’ve seen that. I was in the church counseling women and trying to get their husbands to come, and now I’m out of the church working with a husband. In both instances living out some kind of pastoral role, albeit grudgingly now. It is fascinating stuff.

I was thinking of something else.

What?

I was thinking of Jenny.

Oh shit. Ouch. Damn it, do you know how much that name hurts? I swear I can’t even see it in print without feeling like I took a baseball bat to my gut. Oh fuck. I don’t want to talk about that. See, I don’t want to talk about “that.” Even the word “her” hurts. Do you know that I can hardly look at the letter J without choking up.

Damn. I know you’re supposed to do that, but…dammit.

——-

——-

——-

Go ahead.

——-

The things I’m about to ask and say are going to be hard. I know that. Are you ready?

No. But I’m here. And I know why I’m here. So go.

Why did Jenny leave you?

I’ve told you this story before.

I know. But let’s look at it again. Why did Jenny leave you?

I starved her. I starved her emotionally and physically. I just let myself get so wrapped up in other people’s problems so that it was like she didn’t exist. I was depressed during that time too. There was just…nothing in me. I didn’t feel anything. Everything went to the people at church or to any FUCKING person who came up to me on the FUCKING street and said, “help me.” I mean, JESUS!

By the time I saw it, it was too late. I saw it and I started looking at her and remembering, you know, why I fell in love with her. No one will ever be to me what she…and it was like I came alive again. I wrote her like 50 love letters. One every day. Serious love letters. I mean my flesh and soul on paper. No holding back. No shame. Everything. What a fucking idiot. I kept giving them to her but the words couldn’t reach her. There’s a limit to words, you know? Nothing could bring her back by then. She was done.

And then it was like worse that I had done that because I was in love with her again. I could see it, but I was too late. It was like standing on the dock and watching your ship disappear over the horizon. No getting it back. No second chances.

——-

——-

She took the love letters with her, you know? I used to think that meant there was a chance. I don’t know what it means. Maybe nothing.

What I find interesting is looking at this from Jenny’s point of view. She’s very much like Peter McCullough, isn’t she? The church took her husband. The church took you away and never gave you back. And there you were with your love letters, desperately trying to save things. Just like now with Mr. McCullough.

——-

It’s okay. It’s okay.

——-

——-

We’ve got all the time you need.

——-

——-

You know, the Church is - at the heart of her story - about forgiveness and grace. The most radical kind of grace imaginable. And at great cost to the Creator. But with the Church, where is the grace? With Jenny, where is the grace?

Where is the grace for poor sinners?

You know, Foy, I’m not a Christian myself, though I have immense respect for the tradition. The stories and archetypes are perhaps the most powerful formative expressions in the Western world. Only a fool would deny their power. I suspect for those who are within that tradition, the language of grace is exactly right. I think that’s why you’re here. To find grace again.

Your journey might begin with forgiving the Church, but healing might not come from the Church. Or maybe the Church should be defined in much larger ways. As a fellow human traveler, I believe that God’s grace - if you want to use those words - is available for everyone.

And it is often found in the most unexpected places.

Perhaps we’ll keep our eyes open, you and I, and see if we can spot the moment when grace appears.

 

rlp

 

 

This story originally appeared in two parts. They are combined here. The comments originally left at part two can be seen here.

This piece was originally in two parts. They have been combined into one story. I left this one in place to preserve the comments.

Underneath the plastic, carpeted veneer of the office, a subterranean level of fleshy humanity was always threatening to break through. Middle managers caulked over the cracks in the veneer with dress codes, pages of rules, policies, and carefully timed schedules. Every night maids came in after hours to clear away all biological signs of life. Cookie crumbs beneath the desks, spilled coffee on the counters, used kleenex in the trash bins, fingerprints on the glass. Everything was wiped, mopped, or vacuumed away. All human smell was sanitized from the restrooms, which were fresh and clean each morning.

And yet, neither suits, nor ties, nor rules, nor career pressure, not powers, not management, not any policies present or policies to come could eliminate the earthy, warm, disordered humanity from the office. People worked there. Human beings. They spoke to one another. They began to care for each other or feel animosity and even hatred. Some flirted, some manipulated, some fell in love. They met after hours for drinks. They told jokes in the break room. And sometimes, elaborate office pranks took place. Management frowned on this, but there was no stopping it. Occasionally someone would be out of town, and people would stay after work and cover their cubicle with tinfoil or fill it with balloons. Smaller jokes and pranks took place on a weekly basis. Word of them spread through the cubicle village. After a good prank, people rehashed the story for weeks, laughing by the coffee pots in the break room. Alan Fisher, a young man in his 30s from marketing, was especially creative in this regard. A few years back he had stolen the key to the soft drink machine and put cans of Budweiser in the Diet Mountain Dew rack. Word of this spread quickly and there was a rush to the machine. The beers were gone by mid-afternoon. People still talked about that one.

Foy was too reserved to participate openly in these jokes. And he didn’t feel he had been at the office long enough to understand the unspoken limitations involved. But he was delighted by them, and he liked Alan. A few months after Foy’s arrival, he and Alan were sitting at the same table for lunch. They talked informally for awhile, and then Alan asked the question that Foy always tried to avoid.

“So, what did you do before this?”

“I was a writer. I did some writing here and there. Not much, really.”

“What else did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did you make a living? I don’t want to say ‘what was your real job,’ but, you know.”

Foy hesitated. It wasn’t like he had made a serious decision not to discuss his previous life as a minister. He felt an instinctive need to avoid the subject and had successfully done so in several conversations with people at work. But it wasn’t something he was ashamed of. And now, feeling a bit cornered by Alan, he had no desire to lie about it.

“Well, before that I was a minister.”

“Really? Were you at a real church or was it one of those Universal Life Affirmation Church things on the internet. You know, send in twenty bucks and you too can be a minister.”

Foy laughed.

“I was a Episcopal priest. The rector of a small church in San Antonio. I left about a year ago I guess.”

“Episcopalian? Wow, hard core.”

Foy leaned forward. “Hard core?”

“No I just mean, you know, ordination, seminary, robes, all that shit. You guys wear those collars, right? Or is that just the Catholics?”

“Clerical collars. Yeah, I wore one.”

“Cool,” Alan said. He looked at the table for a second, then briefly at Foy, then his eyes moved around like he was thinking. Foy took a bite of his sandwich and chewed it.

“No offense but were you like defrocked or disrobed or excommunicated or something?”

Foy laughed loudly. “No, nothing like that. Nothing bad happened.”

“So you just left? Just quit? What happened?” Alan furrowed his brow. “Can you just quit being a priest? Are you allowed to just walk away from that? Or does it…I don’t know. For some reason it seems strange that you could be a priest and all, and then just say, ‘eh, that’s enough of that.’”

Foy made a rumbling noise in his throat. “Hmmm. I think I was just finished with that part of my life. My wife and I got a divorce. I mean, that wasn’t the thing, but I lost interest about that same time. You sort of need to feel called to be a minister. You don’t just do it as your job. Well, I guess some probably do, but I…it was just time to move on. The church I was serving kind of felt the same way.”

Alan seemed fascinated by the whole thing.

“So do you go to church now just as a parishioner or whatever? Is it weird being out there in the pews instead of up front?”

“Not so much. Actually, I haven’t been back to church. I don’t go anymore.”

“Oh,” Alan said, sensing he had stumbled upon something sensitive. “Sorry if I got into something personal. I don’t do church. I don’t really understand it. I mean, I got no problem with it or with God or with any of that.”

“I don’t mind,” said Foy lightly, popping a potato chip into his mouth. “It’s not a sore subject. You know, it’s funny, I haven’t told anyone here that I used to be a minister. I don’t know why though. Maybe for years that was so much of my identity that I just need to leave it behind. I think I just need to be Foy and nothing else.”

“Yeah, I could see that.”

They ate silently for a moment or two. Then Alan said, “Okay, this is my last question. I swear. But can you still marry people and do funerals and all that stuff?” Alan snapped his fingers a few times. “Uh…whatuhyacallit...baptisms?”

“Not being in a church, I won’t be doing any baptisms. Anyone can do a funeral.” He chuckled. “I mean, no one would want to except a minister but there’s no magic to it. I could still perform weddings I guess.”

“Really? So you still have the authority to do that? You can say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife’ and people would be married?”

“Husband.”

“What?”

“Husband and wife is how we’d say it, but yeah. My ordination hasn’t been revoked. Technically I’m supposed to get the permission of a bishop, but I don’t give a shit about that. Yeah, I could still do weddings.”

Alan stared at him for a second. A huge grin broke out on his face.

“That is so cool. It’s like you have these secret powers or something.”

“What are you talking about?”

“No seriously. Look, you’re at a wedding and you can say, “I now pronounce you man and wife…”

“Husband and wife.”

“Whatever. But the point is, if you say that, they’re married. And now, they can’t stop being married. Not even if they want to. They have to like pay a bunch of lawyers and have a judge make it, you know, an official divorce and everything. You said this little phrase over them, and now they’re freakin married. It’s done and it can’t be undone. I mean, not without the divorce. I’ve been married before. That divorce shit is a bitch. You know. You been through it.”

Foy held his sandwich and stared at Alan. He turned is head and looked down and to the side. When he turned back to Alan he was smiling.

“Huh, I never thought about it like that.”

“Yeah man, I can’t say those words and make it happen. No one else can do that. Hell, I’ve never even known anyone who can pronounce people married. You’re the first actual minister I ever knew. You know, actually talked to and all.”

Alan put his chin in his hand. “You can marry people. You have that power. That is weird.”

Suddenly he jerked his head back and looked at Foy.

“You’re like a super hero. Wedding Man or something.”

Foy rolled his eyes. “Shut up!”

“No, why not? Have you seen comics these days? They got a super hero for fuckin everything.”

Allan’s sat up straight, and his mouth fell open.

“Holy shit, they even have a preacher super hero. Ever seen that comic series, “Preacher?”

“Nooo,” said Foy, dragging it out.

“Oh, that guy was bad ass too. He was from Texas, like you. ‘Preacher: Gone to Texas.’ That was the name of it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep. 75 issues. I read every one of them.”

“Well, I haven’t read comics since Archie and Batman and all that.”

Alan smiled. “Well, Batman’s cool but yeah, you’ve missed a lot.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, now you got me going, so I have to ask just one last thing, okay?”

“All right.”

“Say you got some man and some woman. And you could somehow get them to say ‘I do.’ Do they have to say that for it to be official?”

“Well, technically no, I mean…”

“Good. Even better. So you go up to this man and this woman who just happened to be like standing next to each other. Maybe they don’t even know each other. Then you say, ‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’ Would that stick? I mean, would they be legally married? It would be like ‘oops, you’re married to someone you don’t even know. Sucks to be you.’ Could you do that? I know you wouldn’t, but technically could you?”

Foy threw back his head and laughed.

“No. They would have to give their consent. I mean, it’s not like we can just walk around zapping people. Boom, you’re married.”

Alan looked disappointed.

“Still, that would be cool if you could, right?”

Foy shrugged.

Alan drank the last of a Dr. Pepper and crushed the can. He leaned back, balancing his chair on its back legs, and tossed the can in the trash by the wall. His let the chair flop back, put his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “It’s weird. Nobody knows the rules on this wedding stuff. Except for you minister guys. No one else knows what the hell is going on. We just get a minister and figure he’ll know the rules and…”

He froze.

“What?” said Foy.

“Oh, oh, oh. Oh, this is too perfect. Oh my God, this is….”

Alan’s eyes were darting back and forth.

Foy watched him intently. “What?” he asked, more urgently.

Alan looked around the break room, then leaned closer to Foy. He motioned for Foy to lean in. Then he whispered, “This is gonna be great. Let me tell you what we’re gonna do.”

A couple of days after their conversation, Alan and Foy met again in the break room. Alan unfolded a large piece of paper with words and sketches on it. He brought in his buddy Steve, also from marketing, to help out. Others would be told when the time was right.

“Several problems,” said Alan. “First of all, they’re going to have to believe, or be convinced very quickly that…”

A woman walked into the break room and over to the coffee machine. She looked over a plate of pastries and started making a new pot of coffee. The three leaned in closer and their voices faded to whispers. Foy gestured and spoke for some time, occasionally writing on the paper. Alan and Steve began nodding and smiling. At one point they gave each other a high five.

The woman finally left the break room with her coffee. Steve looked over his shoulder and watched until the door closed.

“Holy shit, Foy,” said Alan. “That’s brilliant. Are you sure Doug will do it?”

“He will definitely do this. I guarantee it. You tell them, then Doug shows up with the book. Bingo. Now they’re not going to believe it because it’s so obviously a joke. That’s when you say this.” Foy wrote some words on the paper with Alan and Steve leaning over, watching closely.

Steve nodded and stood up. “I’ve gotta go.” He tossed a careless wave and left the room. Alan and Foy spoke for a few moments longer, then got up and walked to the door.

“You know, you’re a pretty good liar for a man who used to be a priest.”

“Yeah well, it goes with the job."

Alan started laughing. Foy did not. Alan’s laugh slowly died out.

“I’m serious,” said Foy. “You don’t even want to know.”

*****

Two days later Foy arrived at the office wearing a light jacket that was zipped all the way up. He was carrying a black book with a thick ribbon hanging out of it. He nodded at Doug who was by the receptionist’s desk with a cup of coffee and his briefcase. He looked down the row of cubicles and found Alan, who also nodded at him.

Foy walked directly to a large cubicle near the center of the office. Chuck and Veronica’s desks were in it, facing opposite walls. Veronica was bubbly and outgoing. She dressed very fashionably, hummed a lot, and had a screensaver that played music. Her desk area was covered with several M&M dispensers, colorful notes, stuffed animals, and inspirational posters. Chuck was a slightly overweight man with an engineer’s mind. He was well-liked and could be very funny, but when it came to work he liked everything to go by the book. His computer terminal was clear of any attachments and his desk was perfectly tidy. Nearby was a row of software manuals and a brown coffee mug with eight or ten pens and pencils in it. That Chuck and Veronica were temporarily sharing a cubicle was a joke in itself. They had never gotten along. They would only be sharing the cubicle for a short time, but they had already had several passionate arguments.

Foy tapped lightly on the wall of the cubicle and walked in. Alan was standing nearby pretending to be reading something in a manilla folder.

“Chuck, Veronica, can I speak with you guys for a moment?”

They both turned their office chairs around to face Foy.

“This will be very fast and will take care of everything you need. So just give me your attention, and I’ll fix you right up.”

Both of them frowned and looked puzzled. Chuck said, “What? What are you talking about?”

Foy looked around as if he didn’t want to be heard. He leaned slightly down and said, “Alan told me about the little problem you guys are having. Don’t worry about it. I can fix everything for you. No big deal. I’m happy to do it.”

Now Veronica and Chuck looked at each other suspiciously. Each wondered if the other had made some kind of public complaint about their previous disagreements.

Chuck said, “Foy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Foy ignored him. He unzipped his jacket and took it off. Underneath he was wearing a black shirt with a minister’s clerical collar. This was so unexpected that both Veronica and Chuck were speechless and stared at him in amazement.

Foy opened what looked to be some sort of prayer book. He solemnly looked at each of them, smiled, and said, “I understand your situation, and I assure you the brevity of this ceremony in no way lessens its validity.”

He looked down and turned a couple of pages in the book. Chuck and Veronica continued to stare at him, completely dumbfounded. Chuck didn’t say anything, but he silently mouthed, “What the fuck?”

Foy lifted his right hand and held it in the air in front of him. His index finger and middle finger were raised. HIs other two fingers were curled downward.

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no one put asunder.”

Foy smiled at them both. Then he clapped his book shut, snatched up his coat, and walked off down the hall between the cubicles. Chuck stood up and watched Foy until he turned the corner at the end of the row. He looked at Veronica and held up both hands in a quizzical gesture. He turned to find Alan beside them.

Chuck said, “What the hell was that all about?”

Alan said, “Did you know that Foy is a priest?”

“Bullshit,” said Chuck. Veronica said nothing. She hadn’t moved since Foy had left. She sat there looking back and forth between Alan and Chuck.

“No, he really is." He glanced at Doug who was walking by with his coffee and briefcase. “Ask Doug.”

“Hey Doug,” said Alan. “Foy’s a real priest, right?”

“Yeah, he was a minister at a church in San Antonio before he came here. He wrote a book back then. That’s how I first got to know him. You know what? I think I have a copy of his book in my briefcase.”

Doug opened the case, ruffled through it, and pulled out a book. He handed it to Alan who handed it to Chuck. Chuck glanced at the title and turned the book over. On the back of the book jacket was a picture of Foy in a clerical collar. The caption read, “Foy Davis is the rector of St. Albans Episcopal Church in San Antonio. He and his wife Jenny have three daughters.”

Chuck and Veronica glanced down the hallway where Foy had disappeared. Doug motioned for his book and Chuck gave it back to him. He glanced at his watch and walked away.

Chuck looked irritated. “I still don’t know what the hell is going on.”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Alan calmly. “I told Foy that you guys were going to get married by a justice of the peace next week, but there was a family emergency and you REALLY needed to get married quickly. He said he’d be glad to help. I told him you just wanted a quick ceremony and be done with it because you have a plane to catch.”

“So congratulations! You guys are married. I mean, really married. Foy just married you.”

At that moment people came from everywhere and crowded around the cubicle, throwing rice at Chuck and Veronica. They were both startled and flinched away from the rice. A woman stepped up with a cake with white icing and a plastic wedding couple in the middle.”

Chuck backed up until he hit the edge of his desk. “This is bullshit, and you know it, Alan. You’re the biggest prankster in the place. You should have gotten someone else to do this because I know it’s bullshit.”

Alan looked unconcerned. He repeated what Foy had written on the paper.

“Oh, it’s a joke all right. I know that. You know that. Everyone here knows that. But Foy doesn’t. He’s new. He doesn’t know you guys very well. He thinks he was doing you both a big favor.”

Alan held up a marriage license. It unfolded and fell open, dangling from his fingers.

“I’m a witness. I signed the license. Foy is a real priest. We checked into it. There’s a provision in our state for people who don’t speak the language. Silent affirmation in front of the priest is as good as saying “I do.” You guys are married. It’s all completely legal.”

At that everyone burst into laughter. Veronica, who had not said a word, put both of her hands in front of her open mouth. Doris from accounting started cutting the cake and handing pieces around. Chuck jumped to his feet and ran down the aisle after Foy. He found Foy around the corner in another cubicle.

“Foy, it was a complete lie. They lied to you. I don’t want to be married to her. I hate that bitch.”

Foy looked shocked. “Chuck, that’s no way to speak about your wife.”

Chuck pleaded, “There’s no way that was legal, right? TELL ME that wasn’t legal.

Foy smiled. “No Chuck. It’s not legal. It was all a joke. You have to get a marriage license yourself and actually give your consent before you can get married. Pretty good joke though, right? You have to admit.”

Chuck sank into a chair, relief visible on his face. After a moment he laughed.

“Alan. That bastard. I should have known. Well, I mean I knew something was up, but then I thought, ‘Shit, what if he DID marry us and we have to get an annulment or a divorce or something. Damn it. Ever since I faked that radio call-in show and he thought he won World Series tickets. Jesus Christ!”

Suddenly he looked at Foy who was still wearing his collar.

“Oh, shit! Sorry father, uh Foy. Or do I call you father if you’re wearing that? Anyway, I apologize for my language.”

A gush of anxiety and panic dropped into Foy’s stomach. He felt queasy. This was all very familiar. The suddenly over-polite attitude. The apologizing for bad language.

Holy shit. What have I done?

Foy swallowed hard and forced a smile onto his face - another familiar move that only increased his raging anxiety. “Don’t worry about it, man. I told Alan we weren’t going to take this very far. The minute you asked, I was going to tell you the truth.”

He clapped Chuck on the shoulder. “Let’s go have some cake.”

When they got back to the cubicle, Veronica had learned the truth. She was laughing and eating wedding cake. Chuck walked over proudly, put his arm around her, and pretended he was trying to kiss her, which made everyone laugh harder. She leaned away and slapped at him with both hands, but she was smiling.

After a few moments everyone got the feeling that they had pushed this about as far as they should. It was time to get to work. A vacuum cleaner appeared and someone sucked up the rice. Someone else took the cake to the break room. The cubicle village dissolved back into work mode. Several people shook Foy’s hand and told him how great it was. A few said, “So you’re really a priest?” This fact seemed to amaze them, as though he were another species.

Foy’s anxiety made a soft downshift into sadness. His smile drooped. He exhaled loudly and started walking back to his cubicle. He felt like he had lost something precious. Something he could never regain. He gave himself a silent pep talk.

What the hell. People would have found out anyway. It’s not going to make a difference unless you start acting different. It will be fine. Forget about it.

He pulled the white tab out of the collar of his shirt and looked at it. It was one of the cheap, plastic tabs that come in the package with clerical shirts. He had left his nicer collar on his desk back at St. Albans in San Antonio. It was so strange to be wearing one again. He didn’t like it. Foy slipped the collar into his pocket and loosened the top button on the shirt.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was a man he had seen around the office but had not met.

“Hi,” the man said, offering his hand. As Foy shook it the man said, “Peter McCullough.”

“Foy Davis. Nice to meet you.”

“That was hilarious. Is it true you’re a priest?”

“No. Well, yes, but not now. I left the church and I work here. This is my job. This is who I am. I’m just a guy in the office.” He tried to laugh lightly, but it came out rather awkwardly.

Peter was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, but you’re a priest. You took the vows, right?”

“Vows? Well, yeah. Sure. In a manner of speaking.”

“Because I really need to talk to a minister.”

Foy felt a shot of adrenaline in his stomach. His heart raced.

This is like it used to be. Just like this. People asking. You can’t say no.

“Look, I’m not a minister anymore, okay? I quit. I left the church. So if you really need a minister you should go to your church or any church. Just pick one. You’d be better off talking with someone who’s, you know, a pastor right now.”

“I don’t know any churches or pastors, okay? I’m an atheist. Hell, you’re the closest I’ve come to a priest since I was in Catholic school. I don’t need you to bless me or pray over me or any of that hocus-pocus stuff. But I do need to talk to someone.”

He looked uncomfortable, like he was admitting something that embarrassed him.

“And it needs to be a priest or a minister. Look, it’s about my wife and daughter, okay? I don’t want to impose, but I have no one else to talk to. Can’t you just listen to what’s happened and maybe give me some advice or something?”

Foy stared at the man. He was poised, it seemed to him, on a razor-thin edge between two worlds. The world he wanted to leave and the world he was trying to understand and be a part of.

I just want to be a man. No one else gets asked this kind of thing. No one else has to care. Other people can just go about their lives and deal only with the people they know and love. I can’t fucking love everyone.

But there are requests in this life that cannot be refused. Certain things people ask. No one can say no to them and retain their own humanity. If someone asks one of those questions, there is no way out. Foy took a slow, trembling, deep breath. He held it a moment, then released it just as slowly.

“Is this some kind of immediate emergency, or could we meet for lunch tomorrow and talk about it?”

Peter exhaled and smiled. “Thanks man. There’s no rush. Tomorrow is fine. This thing has been developing for a year now. No hurry. Listen, I really appreciate it. I know I haven’t, uh, been on the same side as the Church, but I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Why don’t you pick a place,” said Foy. “Pick one that fits the privacy you need. We could sit in the break room or go upstairs to the conference room. Or we could walk down the street to a restaurant. You pick the place and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” the man said. He left.

Foy walked into his cubicle and sat at his desk. He leaned forward on his elbows. There was a stack of material he needed to go over. He picked up the top sheet, looked at it, then tossed it back on the pile. He leaned his face down and stared at the keyboard. He raised his right hand and let it dangle over the keyboard. He relaxed and the hand moved back and forth over the letters. He lowered his index finger and hit the L key. His hand hovered again. He punched the i, then the f, then the e.

Using his middle finger he quickly punched four more letters. i-s and s-o.

He pulled his hand up. His mind was a complete blank. He had no idea what was coming next. He paused looking at all the letters, wondering which one he should push. His eyes kept moving back to the s key. He punched it and waited for a word to come to mind. Nothing.

He hit the t key and went right to the r. o-n-g followed in quick order.

“So strong” he whispered to himself.

For a moment he wondered what Jung would say about what that meant. He was tempted to make a guess at it, but he was too tired.

“Fuck it.” He said. “It’s five o’clock. I’m going home.”

rlp