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Gift from God

Nathaniel Sverlow

    Eli was quiet on the ride home from school. His mother tried to start up a conversation, complaining about poor weather and the slow moving cars in front of her, but he ignored her and turned away to watch the rain outside his window.
    One block away, Eli could make out his father’s CRV in the driveway. It looked scary in the rain, bloated and grey, like a dead body. His mother pulled up alongside it.
    Eli followed her inside. She helped him shimmy out of his jacket and placed it on a hangar by the door. Then she knelt down and kissed him on the top of his head.
    “My boy. My beautiful boy. What a gift from God you are.”
    She put a hand through his hair. It was still wet.
    “Why don’t you run to your room real quick and dry your hair. I don’t want you catching a cold.” She kissed him again. “When you’re done, come meet your father and I in the living room. I’m sure he’ll want to know what happened today.”
    Eli frowned.
    “You’re not in trouble.” she said.
    He looked at the floor.
    “Well then, get a move on. You don’t want to keep him waiting.”
    Eli followed the foyer into the living room. The hallway that led to his room was a quick left turn, but he could not get there without first noticing his father lying on the couch along the far wall. He had already changed from his work clothes into sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and there was an open bottle of wine and a full glass on the coffee table. The family bible, a thick leather-bound book with gold gilt-edged pages, was opened and propped up on his belly. Eli took the opportunity to slip into the hallway without saying hello.
    Eli set his pack by his desk. He dried his hair with a towel then sat at the edge of his bed. He thought about what had happened. He thought about the ball, the rain, the blood, the principal with his twisted, screaming face. He wondered how he would tell his father. It didn’t matter whether it was good news or bad news, his father’s sharp eyes and booming voice easily overpowered him, reducing him from a young man of fourteen to a sniveling, helpless child. Eli knew of only one person stronger than his father, and so he knelt beside his bed to pray.
    There was a knock on the door. It was his mother.
    “Oh, I’m sorry, sweety. I didn’t know you were praying. Just... well, hurry it along if you can. Your father’s getting impatient.”
    Eli nodded. She smiled and backed out of the doorway, closing the door behind her.
    The prayer that followed was quick and clumsy and lacked all conviction in the shadow of his father’s impatience. He wasn’t sure whether to ask for forgiveness – though his mother had said he did nothing wrong – or a silver tongue, armed with eloquent, melodic speech and impeccable enunciation. In broken stutters, he instead asked for presence, for divine companionship. He implored the creator of all things, the father of all fathers, to be with him as he said what needed to be said. It was all he could think of.
    The living room was darker than before. There was a small lamp lit in the corner where his father had been reading, but most of the light came from the window on the far wall. And, the light had a dead, grey color that made his parents appear as backlit statues looking down upon him. His father stood by the far couch with his mother. He was handing her a glass of wine that looked thick and oily in the low light.
    “There you are.” his father said. “Your mother tells me you had a rough day in school.”
    Eli stood on the other side of the coffee table. He looked up at his father, such a scary statue with large shadows for eyes and bright, shining teeth.
    “I got in a fight.” he said.
    “With who?”
    “With Devon.”
    “Who? Speak up.”
    “Devon.”
    “Who’s Devon?”
    “A boy in my class.”
    “It’s Ms. Morehead’s boy.” his mother said.
    “Ms. Morehead?”
    “You know,” she said, “the skinny blond at the last PTA meeting. The one with all those tattoos.”
    “Ah, that’s right.”
    They sat down together.
    “So you had it out with Ms. Morehead’s kid?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    His father sat back with his glass of wine. Eli could see his eyes as they fixated on him. They were more terrifying than ever.
    “Well, boy, start at the beginning. And, don’t you lie to me. I’ll know if you’re lying.”
    “Well, you see...” Eli’s legs began to shake. His words felt as though they had stuck to the roof of his mouth. He thought of the presence he had asked for, the creator of all things, the father of fathers to stand with him. In that moment, he felt nothing of the sort, only loneliness, horrible, inescapable loneliness.
    “OUT WITH IT!” his father said.
    Eli clenched his stomach to force the words out.
    “Y-You see, we were playing basketball, my friends and I, and it started to rain. Not enough to go inside, but enough to make the ball wet and slippery. And, I was doing real good up until then, but I couldn’t get a firm grip, and Andy blocked my shot, and the ball bounced over to the picnic tables where Devon was sitting. We asked him to throw it back, but he got up and kicked it over the fence.”
    “And so, you jumped him?” his father sighed.
    “No, sir. Andy got real close though and called him a son of an H.”
    “What’s an H?”
    Eli looked at his mother. Her legs had been pulled up underneath her, and her wine was held at arm’s length along the back of the couch.
    “YOU LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU!”
    “Well, sir, you see, an H, well, an H is a... it’s a whore, sir.”
    His father turned to his mother.
    “Can you believe the mouth on that boy? I don’t know why we let Eli hang out with that little hellion.”
    She shrugged. “He was always so polite to me.” she said.
     “Go on then,” he said to Eli, “what trouble did Andy get you into this time?”
    “I tried to get him to stop, I swear. But he kept going. Said Devon’s mother was so skinny she’d have to run around in the rain to get wet. Then Devon jumped up and said Andy was the stupidest, most ugly person that ever walked the earth, and that he wished there really was a hell for him to go to.”
    His father shook his head.
    “I keep trying to tell you, but you don’t listen, you never listen. You keep putting yourself in these positions... You can’t think but one step in front of you...”
    “That’s when I saw it, sir.”
    “Saw what?”
    “The earring, sir.”
    “What earring? What are you talking about?”
    “Devon. He was wearing an earring on his right ear.”
    “An earring?”
    “That’s when I asked if he was queer.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Well, sir, he- he actually blew me a kiss. Then he says, he says, ‘I always thought your dad looked cute in blue jeans.’”
    “He said that?”
    “Yes, sir. And, he grabbed himself after that. Between the legs.”
    “I always knew that boy was queer.” his mother said.
     “Enough. Let him finish.” his father said. “Then what happened, boy?”
    “Then I ran at him and he took off. The other guys followed us. I chased him behind the gym. Some of the guys had gone around the other way, and, with the fence right there, we had him cornered. But, I... I didn’t know what to do. The guys kept cheering, ‘Do it! Do it!’ They’d say it over and over again. Someone even pushed me into the circle. But I was nervous and shaky and didn’t know what to do. Then it starts coming down really hard, and we’re all getting wet, and Devon says to me, he says ‘We’d better go inside before we get in trouble.’ That’s when I clocked him. I got him right in the face.”
    His father slid to the edge of his seat. The darkness covered his eyes once again, but his teeth were as bright as ever. He set his wine glass on the coffee table. Some spilled.
    “What kind of punch was it? Like this?” he said, throwing a jab.
    “No. Like this.”
    “Ah. That’s called a hook, son. A right hook. It’s one hell of a stinger.”
    “It knocked him down anyway.”
    “Where’d you tap him? The jaw?”
    “The nose.”
    “The nose? Holy hell! What a shot!”
    “I jumped on top of him after that. I kept swinging. There was blood. There was so much blood. And, it filled the little rain puddles and the cracks on the sidewalk. He had his hands up the whole time. He begged me to stop, but I didn’t stop. When Mrs. Dotemore found us, she pulled me off by the wrist and took me to the principal’s office. She said I was an animal who needed to be locked up. She said I should be expelled.”
    “Don’t you worry, honey. They can’t expel you for that.” his mother said.
    “But Mrs. Dotemore... she said...”
    “Your mother’s right.” his father said. “We have laws against that kind of discrimination.”
    Eli turned away. He looked at the window with the dead grey light coming through. He could hear the rain in the distance, but only slightly over the sound of his heartbeat.
    “Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, you know? Maybe I am an animal.” he said.
    “You did the right thing, honey.” his mother said.
    “It doesn’t feel like the right thing.” he said.
    “It’s not easy standing up for what you believe in.” she said.
    “What do I believe in?”
    Eli’s father leaned over the coffee table and found the family Bible. He opened it and flipped the bookmark ribbon back over the binding.
    “Come here, son.”
    When Eli sat beside him, he pointed to a verse.
    “You want to know what you believe in? Go ahead and read it. Right there.”
    He handed the Bible to Eli. The way it sat in his lap, the passage caught the light from the window. The passage was Leviticus 20:13. Eli read it aloud.
    “If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman, both of them have done what is detestable. They are to be put to death; their blood will be on their own heads.”
    Eli looked up at his father. He was smiling.
    “I’m proud of you, son.” he said. “God’s proud of you.”
    “It says to put him to death. I didn’t...”
    “It’s a spiritual death. You killed his spirit. Understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And, the spirit’s more important than anything physical, isn’t it? To a fag. To anybody.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    When the bottle was empty, Eli’s mother made dinner, and they all sat at the table and ate together. The father made Eli say grace. He closed his eyes, again thinking of the presence he had asked for, the Creator of all things, the Father of all fathers by his side. But, as before, he felt nothing. There was only the loneliness, the horrible, inescapable loneliness. He said the prayer anyway, and it was a good prayer, giving thanks for the food and for family, blessing friends and extended relatives, praying for the safety of others, and finally, asking for Devon to be forgiven his sin. At first, Eli had misspoken and asked to be forgiven himself, but he felt his father’s eyes upon him and quickly corrected what was said. Still, he spoke as if he was talking about himself, as if his name had been Devon all along, and it had been him left broken and bleeding in the rain. By the end of the prayer, Eli was crying. He didn’t know why. His mother put her arm around him, kissed him. His father waited for him to finish before taking the first bite.



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