Dermot II - Chapter 11 - In the Home Stretch

As Dermot and Lando stood kissing, they suddenly heard a giggle from the doorway.

“About time you two got in some quality time,” Emily said between giggles. “But, if you want some privacy, you should close your door completely.”

Scarlet with embarrassment, Lando asked, “What do you want, Little One?”

“Not you. I already checked out your room. I’m out of printer ink, and was hoping Dermot had an extra black cartridge. I’ve got this really gruesome essay due in English, and my printer is telling me it needs immediate sustenance.”

“I keep telling you to keep a couple ahead,” Lando admonished.

“Yeah, yeah. But that doesn’t help me now. How about it, Dermot?”

“As a matter of fact, since you Lyles were so generous as to provide me with my own computer and to stock my desk, and as I haven’t been here long enough to exhaust your generosity as yet, I do have an extra,” Dermot said, as he reached for the supply drawer in his desk. He handed Emily the ink cartridge, and she departed, still giggling.

Dermot and Lando stood there, feeling self-conscious. Somehow it did not seem right to pick up where they left off. That mood had passed, but that kiss had cleared away some hurdles. Maybe. Dermot sat on the side of his bed, and patted the area next to him. Lando, with an embarrassed grin, sat next to him.

“Some days I want to strangle Emily. The problem is, she’s usually right,” Lando admitted. “We do need to get in some quality time. Sorry I’ve been kind of avoiding you lately.”

“So, you want to tell me again how I know so much more than you? I really like the sound of that, but I would never have thought it in a thousand years.”

“Look, Dermot, I’ve only kind of experimented with two-three guys. You’ve had all that experience. I’m kind of afraid I won’t be able to give you what you want.”

“You mean all my experience getting raped, and getting the shit beat out of me, and going hungry, and making out with really disgusting partners?” Dermot asked, getting a little angry as he recited his litany.

“Whoa, man! Don’t go getting all hostile on me. All I meant is that you know one hell of a lot more about all this than I do,” Lando backed off some. “I kind of feel like I’m a rookie and you’re the pro.”

No sooner had he said that, than Dermot’s hackles went up again. “I’m the pro, huh! Won’t you ever let me forget that? Are you going to be throwing that in my face every time we talk about sex?” He was obviously angry now.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry. Bad choice of analogy. Dermot, I did not mean it that way, honestly. I’m sorry,” Lando repeated. “I swear, I never ....”

“Just forget it. I think you’d better go for now. Maybe tomorrow we can start over and see where this goes.”

“Dermot, please. I didn’t mean it that way,” Lando begged.

“Okay. Maybe I’m too sensitive. But no more this evening, okay?”

Sadly, Lando extricated himself from the bed, and made his way back to his own room. He had not quite realized how sensitive Dermot was about the time he spent on the streets, but he sure realized it now. He would have to try again, and be careful of his boyfriend’s feelings. And the kiss was nice.

Before they could attempt new conversations, though, at breakfast Sandy Lyle gave her son a new task. “Lando, I think you should explain to Dermot about our schedule around here for the next few days. You know what to expect, but Dermot probably does not, unless you’ve already filled him in.”

“No, Mom, I haven’t, and you’re right, I need to,” Lando agreed.

Over the remaining portions of breakfast and on the way to school, with numerous interruptions and emendations from Emily, Lando explained the Lyle family practice for observing Easter.

“You probably know from Religion class that Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil are collectively known as the Triduum,” he noted.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that word a lot lately, and I know it refers to those three days, but I’m not real sure what the word itself means.”

“Our poor West End boy has been deprived of a proper education,” Emily teased. “Triduum is just Latin for ‘three days.’”

Lando huffed, but Dermot felt sufficiently comfortable that he attacked Emily and began tickling her. “Poor West End boy, am I?” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Educationally deprived am I? You take that back, or I’ll tickle you to death, you effete spoiled brat.”

Emily howled with laughter, falling off her chair in an effort to escape Dermot’s fingers. But he pursued her even onto the breakfast room floor.

“Kids! Get up from there! You’ll be late for school!” Sandy admonished them.

Only mildly embarrassed, Dermot and Emily disentangled themselves and stood up, panting heavily.

“Emily was casting aspersions on my origins,” Dermot defended himself with a grin.

“I was merely commenting on Dermot’s deprived condition. Small Latin and less Geek,” Emily quipped.

“That’s ‘small Latin and less Greek,’ Pea Brain,” Lando defended his boyfriend.

“No, I’m right. Have you seen how Dermot handles his computer?” Emily insisted, as she skipped out of reach of both boys.

A couple of minutes later, as they were on their way to the car, Lando chuckled. “That was interesting. I never expected to see my boyfriend come up panting after rolling on the floor with my sister.”

Dermot and Emily both chased him into the garage, and pounded him soundly.

On the way to school, Lando continued his explanation of Lyle family practice for the next few days. “Today is called Spy Wednesday. That’s not a part of the Church celebration, but it is an old tradition. It was believed that it was on a Wednesday that Judas went to the High Priest and offered to spy on Jesus for the authorities. We always have Father Schiller over for dinner. He and Dad went to grade school and high school together, so they’ve been friends like forever. It’s not much of a dinner, since on Wednesdays Aunt Carrie is off. Mom and Emily try to poison us each year, but so far they haven’t succeeded.”

Lando ducked as Emily screeched her objections, adding, “I’m telling Mom.”

“Then, tomorrow evening we have the Maundy Thursday celebration. We’ll be going to Mass at 7:00. This Mass commemorates Jesus’ Last Supper with his apostles, focusing on the Eucharist and the sacramental priesthood. It’s pretty long, so we won’t be back until about nine or so. You have several hours in which to wreck the house,” Lando teased Dermot. This time it was he who threatened Lando, but as his boyfriend was driving he promised revenge when they arrived at school.

“On Friday we also will be going about seven. This is what my family still calls the Mass of the Presanctified, but the teachers at school say that’s an old fashioned way to refer to the Good Friday service, and not very accurate. Seems accurate to me. Anyway, it’s not a real Mass. It’s a commemoration of the Crucifixion of Our Lord. Communion is distributed, but the hosts were consecrated the day before. It’s the only day in the year when there is no actual Mass. That will last nearly two hours, too. And Good Friday is a fast day, like Ash Wednesday. Except you missed that. Anyway, we observe the old fashioned fast, not the wimpy substitute most people do now-a-days. Nothing except water, with the exception of hot cross buns for breakfast. You, as a heathen, are exempted, of course.”

As they arrived in the parking lot at school, Dermot took advantage of the interruption in Lando’s narrative to grab his boyfriend with Emily’s help, and give him a Dutch rub in retribution for the barbs he had been getting in at their expense. That really distracted Lando for a while, as it mussed up his hair completely. Before continuing his explanation, he insisted on stopping in a restroom and making repairs.

When they were more or less settled, waiting for their American History class to begin, Lando continued. “Saturday we go really late. I think of it as Saturday, but it’s called the Easter Vigil. The service begins at eleven, but by the time we get to the actual Mass, it’s midnight or later, so it really is Easter morning, I guess. This is the biggie, with new people coming into the Church, and a great celebration of the Resurrection of Our Lord.” Looking kind of askance at Dermot, Lando asked, “Do you remember any of this from when you were little?”

“Some. My mom was really devout. We always went on Easter morning, though. When I was in school at St. Pius, our classes went to something on Thursday and Friday, but I don’t remember much about that,” Dermot replied. “After Mom died, we never went. Uncle Steve’s church had what they called an Easter Sunrise service, early in the morning. Even then, though, the preacher always talked about those who would not make it. He was great on how he was among the elect and everyone else was going to hell.”

“Sad,” Lando said. “Kind of compensation for failing in everything else, I guess.”

“I never thought of that!” Dermot exclaimed. But it was time for class to begin, and Mr. Carlyle definitely did not like students carrying on private conversations during class. Despite the approach of Easter, the American History class kept to its own schedule, so the hour was spent on some of the protests against the Vietnam War during the late 1960s and early 1970s. This did not seem very relevant to Dermot’s personal affairs until Mr. Carlyle ended the class with the statement, “These protests were part of the greatest change in public attitudes in American history, spilling over one into another with all the other protest movements, so we will be talking about blacks, gays, women, and Hispanics in the next few classes.” Maybe those things way before he was born did affect him after all, Dermot considered. He had always liked history as a kind of escape or romance, but now it seemed relevant to his own condition as well.

Religion class was taken up with showing a portion of The Passion of the Christ, followed by a reminder of the essay due when they reassembled after Easter. By lunch time, Dermot was again thankful that no one in Current Events seemed to care about his previous comments. On the other hand, it was humbling to realize how little his classmates cared about what he had to say. At lunch, the usual suspects gathered at one table – besides Lando and Dermot, there were Diane, Jason, and Mike. Jason asked whether Lando’s parents would object if he took in the Triduum services with the Lyle family.

“Why would you want to do that?” Diane asked. “They attend this really old fashioned church downtown.”

“Because of Emily,” Lando wisely proclaimed. “Jason does not care a thing for our beautiful traditional ceremonies. He wants to be in a position to romance my sister.”

Jason blushed, but replied, “Well, I was going anyway, so I figured I might as well get in a little quality time with Emily while I’m getting in quality time with Jesus.”

“Oh boy! Wait until I tell Emily she ranks right up there with Jesus,” Lando continued to tease. Then he added, “But I’m sure no one will toss you out if you come to St. George’s tomorrow around seven. And we might even let you sit with us.”

“Maybe I’ll come too,” Mike said. “We don’t plan to take in Thursday or Friday at my house. They won’t object to a gay guy will they?”

Lando laughed. “Mike, remember me? I’m the guy who outted himself to the whole school, even if I did it in the midst of an emotional argument.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mike said, embarrassed at his gaff.

Lando punched him on the shoulder. “Hey, no sweat. We all say stupid things from time to time.”

“Except me,” Diane stated.

“See what I mean,” Lando quipped. Diane harrumphed, but Lando continued, “Oh, yeah. If you stick with us, Mike, we have something that’s just for kids like you. On Easter morning after the eleven o’clock Mass we have an Easter Egg Hunt for all the little kids.”

Mike sat stunned for a moment, then simply attacked Lando, causing him to miss his mouth with a fork full of his lunch. Lando picked up some pasta he had spilled, and was about to attack Mike with it, when there was a clearing of throat behind him.

“Uh, hello, Coach Duvall,” Dermot managed, although he was barely able to speak past his efforts to stifle his laughter.

“Any problem here?” Coach Duvall asked.

“No, sir,” the table chorused.

“Not going to make a mess, are you, Lando?” Duvall persisted.

“No, sir. Just cleaning up a spill.”

The monkey business past, Lando asked Mike, “How are you for transportation? Can you get to St. George from your place on Thursday? And Friday, too, if you decide to stick it out?”

“Er, no. I guess I could catch a bus,” Mike responded tentatively.

“Hey, I live not too far from you,” Jason volunteered. “I can pick you up on Thursday, and we’ll see how it goes from there, okay?”

“Great!” Mike enthused. “Thanks, Jase.”

In American Lit they were discussing Walker Percy, whose themes seemed to resonate with Dermot, almost making his struggles to understand seem to be copied from the novelist. In last period, Dermot took another make-up exam. He was almost completely caught up in History and English, and was pulling down A’s in both. Then, it was time to go home, and prepare to welcome Father Schiller. Dermot had not seen him since before leaving the hospital nearly a month before.

After school, it seemed there was no time for Lando and Dermot to talk. Sandy Lyle had them doing homework, just in case Father Schiller stayed late, and then there were some preparations for the priest’s visit. Besides, after the fiasco yesterday, each boy was waiting for the other to take the lead. About 5:30 Father Schiller arrived, with Walt Lyle, his sons, and Dermot expected to gather with him in the front parlor, and spend the time before dinner in social intercourse. Sandy and Emily were busy in the kitchen, “preparing their poison” according to Lando.

“Now, Lando. I’ve eaten Spy Wednesday with your family for years, and I’ve never had the least adverse reaction,” the priest chided the boy.

“That’s because they can’t get the formula right,” Lando joked.

“Don’t pay any attention to Lando, Hank. The boy has been acting peculiarly lately,” Walt Lyle advised his guest.

“Really? I thought that was his normal behavior,” Henry Schiller replied.

Lando threw up his hands, “I surrender! You guys are too much for me.”

“And how about you, Dermot? How have you been getting along?” Father Schiller asked.

“Pretty well,” Dermot unhelpfully responded.

Lando decided to expand on that. “He’s doing a lot better than ‘pretty well,’ Father. He’s almost completely made up History and English, and is doing almost as well in Current Events and Religion.”

“That’s great! I’m glad things are working out for you at Baltimore. No harassment problems?”

“Nothing to really worry about,” Dermot said.

Again Lando expanded on the terse statement. “We had a few days with some idiotic comments from the Neanderthals on the football team, and Dermot got tripped in the lunch room, but Coach Duvall came to the rescue.”

“I’m sorry for that, but glad it turned out all right. Speaking of football, how’s Gary doing?”

“He was great!” Dermot said. Evidently deciding to do his own commentary this time, he added, “When one of those goons tripped me, he grabbed the guy and made him buy me another lunch and clean up the mess.”

“I’m glad to learn that not all the football squad are problems, seeing as I love following the team,” Father Schiller commented.

In similar small talk, they passed the time during dinner as well. Dinner was also quite good, despite Lando’s continual teasing of the females of the house. After dinner the whole family retired to the parlor again, leaving clean up for later. Only then did the conversation turn serious for a while.

“Dermot and I have been discussing the logical bases for morality,” Lando said, launching the topic.

“And what have you decided?” the priest asked.

“Not much,” Dermot said. “Seems like there is no objective basis for morality. Each person has to decide on his or her own criteria. I don’t particularly like that, but every time I think I have something objective, Lando shoots me down.”

“That’s not quite what I say,” Lando objected. “We were also talking about another guy at school, who’s an extreme skeptic. Sometimes when I’m trying to describe his position, Dermot thinks I’m talking about my own ideas.”

“No, I know the difference,” Dermot stated. “But what I said still applies. It’s just that you think you’re being objective because you bring in God. But belief in God is a subjective thing, just like all the other standards we talked about, like human nature and science.”

“It sounds like you boys had a pretty deep discussion,” Father Schiller commented.

“Well, what do you say? Is there any objective standard for morality, or is it all just a matter of personal judgment, combined with the strong imposing their ideas on the weak?” Lando challenged the others.

“Of course we in the Church believe our concepts of morality are objectively true, but that belief is based on our faith, and faith is not susceptible of scientific verification,” Father Schiller said.

“What about that human nature thing Dermot mentioned?” Sandy asked. “I seem to remember something from my college classes about a rational system of ethics. Didn’t Aristotle have something to say about that?”

“Indeed he did, and at great length. The problem is, Aristotle was working within a system based on several assumptions, and some later thinkers rejected his assumptions. You see, logic, or reason, is not really something definite. It’s a way of dealing with reality, and it works very well. However, you have to begin somewhere. In geometry, the beginning concepts are called axioms. They are things which seem so obviously true they do not need to be proven. The same is true with morality. But, when someone does question those assumptions, logic cannot resolve the conflict. It only works within a given system. Given different assumptions, you can logically arrive at very different results.”

“Like what?” Emily asked.

“Well, a good example is the current debate about abortion,” the priest said. “We in the Church begin with the assumption that a human is a combination of a material body, derived from the parents, and an immortal soul, individually created by God. This, in our view, is what gives each person his or her basic dignity and worth. And the obvious moment at which the two combine is when life begins, or at conception. Therefore, there is a human present, in however undeveloped a state, from conception on, and killing that innocent human is never justified. But, if you reject this theology, and begin with the secular notion that humans are purely biological phenomena, not essentially different from other animals, then there can be no real reason for asserting that there is a real person present until some more or less artificial point later in the development of the fetus, whether at three months, or at birth, or some time in between. This is not an issue susceptible of logical settlement, because we begin from different assumptions about reality.”

“So, what’s the solution?” Sandy asked.

“So far, we don’t have one. It’s a matter of convincing a sufficient number of people of your position. In other words, it’s a matter of conversion, not scientific proof.”

“So, there’s no basis for deciding for one system of morality over another?” Dermot said, returning to the original theme.

“I did suggest some practical ways of getting along for most people,” Lando reminded him.

“True, but that seems more or less the same as the humanism, or relying on human nature, that I’ve read about on the web,” Dermot said.

“Oh, I’ve run across several types of people who call themselves humanists,” Walt contributed. “Just saying that doesn’t settle anything, there are so many different versions. Most of them are simply people with no religious conviction, but who accept the basic standards of our society inherited from the Christian past. But I have had some real problems with a few who are as bad as the worst religious fundamentalists. They keep pushing their agenda, insisting they have the only reasonable view of things.”

“Yeah. I run across that on campus a lot,” Mark said. “There are a lot of guys who claim science has solved all our problems, or at least that it can. When I try to point out that science can only tell us what is, and not what anything means in moral terms, they call me obscurantist and imply that I’m not very intelligent. I really resent that.”

“Maybe for those of us without your faith, there is no real solution, just questions,” Dermot said.

“True enough,” Father Schiller said. “That’s what’s called agnosticism. The word is of Greek origin. The ‘a’ prefix at the beginning is a negative, like ‘in’ or ‘non’ in Latin. The root is the word ‘gnosis,’ which we sometimes translate simply as ‘knowledge,’ but a better translation would be ‘inspiration.’ We’re talking about a particular kind of knowledge here. Not the practical knowledge that comes from learning a skill, for example. That’s ‘techne.’ And not the knowledge that results from rational enquiry. That’s ‘sophia.’ But the knowledge that just comes to you. In our context, we can call it faith. So, an agnostic is someone without the knowledge that comes by faith,” Father Schiller informed his hearers.

“Or what you males dismiss as feminine intuition,” Sandy insisted.

“Alexandra Cartwright Lyle, you win the philosophical sweepstakes for the evening,” Father Schiller conceded.

After some kidding about and some repetition, Dermot quietly asked the priest, “Is there nothing that indicates that your set of assumptions is better than any other?”

“No proof in any scientific sense,” Father Schiller admitted. “But, there are a couple of things which I might call hints. These things need to be thought about when making a commitment, Dermot. First of all, there is fairly widespread evidence that human beings crave certainty. It’s kind of built into us to want definite answers. But, as we discussed earlier, when it comes to moral issues, there is no purely rational basis for certainty. Also, humans want to be satisfied – really, fully satisfied. It’s a very strong craving. But nothing in this life fully satisfies. Sooner or later, even the greatest pleasure pales, becomes stale, or fades away. The perfection we crave does not exist in this life. Like I said, these are not logical proofs, but I think it would be a mistake to dismiss them when considering the ultimate meaning of life.”

“Thanks, Father. Something to think about,” Dermot admitted.

“Keep questioning, Dermot. As long as you keep searching, there is hope.”

On the practical level, Sandy Lyle had the last word after Father Schiller left. “Okay, guys. Emily and I prepared dinner. Now it’s up to you three to clean up. That’s reality here at the Lyle house.”

On Thursday, the last day of school before Easter, everything seemed to simply slide by. There were no confrontations, no outbursts, no soul searing revelations. That evening, Dermot remained at home, doing school work, but also surfing the net, and looking up such topics as ‘Humanism’ and ‘Agnosticism.’ Lots of questions, no answers. He did decide that Father Schiller’s two ‘hints’ were actually two aspects of the same thing. Whether called certainty or satisfaction, or perfection, they were aspects of completion, maybe even of the fulfillment he and Lando had discussed.

As there was no school on Friday for Baltimore, but the University was in full session, the three younger kids teased Mark mercilessly on Thursday evening, then slept late on Friday. When Dermot came down to the breakfast room, it was nearly ten o’clock. He found Emily there, but Lando had evidently eaten his buns earlier. Aunt Carrie fixed Dermot a full breakfast, but, he noted, one without meat of any kind. He decided not to say anything about bacon, and he ate hot cross buns instead. Retreating to his room, Dermot gave some serious thought to his damaged relationship with Lando. He really was too harsh with him the other night. But he could not quite get past his feeling that his past was spoiling everything.

Dermot appeared below only a few hours later, but it was past noon now, and he felt hungry. In the breakfast room, he encountered Aunt Carrie’s nephew Gary, who seemed to be downing a sizeable lunch. He helped himself to vegetable soup and grilled cheese, which were available on the sideboard, and sat.

“I thought you Catholics were supposed to be fasting,” he said to Gary.

“Exemption because I’m on the team,” Gary replied.

“I didn’t realize football season lasted this long,” Dermot teased.

The big black boy looked him over. “No matter what the Lyles do, the Church says I don’t have to start fasting until I’m 18, so can it.”

“Oh. Okay,” Dermot backed off.

“Was it you who tripped Jack back then?” Gary asked.

“No.”

“Good. Jack’s an ass, but I wouldn’t want to be too hard on my teammate.”

“Appreciated the help, Gary. Thanks.”

“No sweat. I’m supposed to take you somewhere in a few,” Gary volunteered.

“You are? Where’s Lando?” Dermot asked.

“He and Emily are spending all afternoon at the children’s ward at University Hospital. Been doing it for years on Good Friday.”

“He didn’t mention that when he was telling me about what went down.”

Gary shrugged. “You ready? We’re going to these offices over on Chestnut Street, right?”

“Yeah. Dr. Lanier. Every Friday,” Dermot confirmed. “Early today because of no school.”

The two boys made the drive with little conversation. Dermot was struggling with what he would or would not tell his counselor. He was beginning to feel really bad about the way he had treated Lando the past few days. Sure enough, Dr. Lanier caught on right away, and honed in on his relations with his boyfriend. She would not let up, but pounded him with question after question about why he acted the way he did, why he felt the way he did. By the end of the hour, Dermot was totally wrung out. As they wrapped up the session, Dr. Lanier told him, “Dermot, you feel inadequate because of things over which you had no control. You need to come to grips with that fact, and get over it. If I understand what you told me, Lando also feels inadequate because of his inexperience. Unless you two talk, there is no future for you. Get with the program!”

When they got home, Lando and Emily were still out, so Dermot again retreated to his room and his computer. It was nearly five o’clock when there was a tap on his door. Hoping it was Lando, he eagerly called, “Come in!”

Emily entered.

“I am really pissed with you,” she announced without preamble, in her direct manner. “All day, and all day yesterday, you and Lando have been acting like five year olds.”

“But .... I mean, Lando ....”

“I already reamed out Lando. He says you kicked him out. Now get down there and do something.”

Dermot looked at Emily for a good two minutes as his brain worked like mad. Then he stood. “You ought to be a psychologist. You and Dr. Lanier make a good pair.”

He walked past Emily, down the corridor, and tapped on Lando’s door.

“Come in,” a hesitant voice called.

Dermot pushed open the door.

“I’m sorry.”