Date: Thu, 4 Mar 2010 08:34:07 -0500
From: perti@live.com
Subject: Dermot II.11

This story is fiction.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.  These stories have as their main character a sexually
active gay teenager.  If this is offensive to you, or if it is illegal in
your area, or if you are under age, please leave now.

There is a religious element in these stories.  If you don't like that,
maybe now is a good time to leave.

Thanks to Colin for editing.

Constructive criticism is welcome on my e-mail at perti@live.com.

____________________________________________________________________


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."