Pride In The Pews Novels & Stories

Their hearty laughter and confidence really made it look like the world was really a bed of roses; devoid of problems. St. Pirans Anglican Church was known throughout the city for the calibre of men and women who worshipped there. Most of the highly-placed inhabitants of the coal city worshipped there. The Academia, the Army Generals, the Business Moguls, Captains of Industries, Politicians and Entertainment Stars. It was more of a star-studded church in the entire city.

Although she would always, ALWAYS stand out. “Angeles” Cole coughed behind me, indicating that it was time to go inside. “Coming” I grumbled, sinking my hands into my pockets. Hide them shaking. Hide the pain. The church is full. Fuller than I would have imagined. Every pew is filled with people holding tissues, people clutching each other in order to not drown in their own tears. I ignore their stares as I make my way to my own seat. I know it’s my fault.

All those times, holding her hand as they sang the Lord’s Prayer. It irked the two to no end. Now, on the third time that Keenan joined the Salcedo family, Giancarlo and Claire dragged their other friends to sit right behind the Salcedo family’s pew. They came especially early so the usual church goers who would sit behind the Salcedo family would be forced to scoot to the side. These people may have been annoyed by these teenagers who suddenly snatched their usual pew, but they didn’t dare to make a scene inside the Church.

A podium had been wheeled up against the back wall. It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.—e.e. Cummings, read one poster behind the podium. We need, in every community, a group of angelic troublemakers.—Bayard Rustin, read another. No pride for some of us without liberation for all of us.—Marsha P. Johnson, read a third. “Judy!” a well-dressed she-wolf said with pleasure as she sat down on Judy’s other side. “It’s so good to see you. How is the campaign going?”

She didnt have much to give, but it felt like the only power she still possessed- the power to choose kindness, even when the world offered none. The church loomed ahead, it was a Gray stone building with an iron cross on its roof, surrounded by frost- Covered trees that rattled like bones in the wind. Inside, the air wasn't warmer, but the sermons always carried a fire of their own, a fire kindled by Mr. Peter's voice,which thundered from the Pulpit about discipline, sacrifice, and obedience. But this particular Sunday was different, As the girls lined up outside the school gates after their return, a polished black car pulled into the compound. Its wheels rolled with the arrogance

s pronounced ticks. “Even if we skip me hanging by my knickers like a Wonderlight ornament over a motel pool. Your oh so fantastic selection process has landed me at a steakhouse with a vegan stripper trying to recruit me, a married priest with turrets trying to seduce me in a confessional, and who can forget the clown with an X-rated non con honking habit chasing me through a pride parade!”

I see him close his eyes during prayer with a concentration that looks less like devotion and more like a man holding something down. I wear a white dress on the fifth Sunday. Fitted. Not bridal – but close enough that the symbolism lands. I sit in the front pew and when he looks out at the congregation his eyes find me instantly and his voice falters – one word, mid-sentence, a syllable that stumbles before he recovers. Nobody else notices. But I do. I notice the man who speaks with God’s authority tripped on a word because a woman in white crossed her legs in the front row.

He still had no idea what was happening and came over, making snide remarks. "Oh my, Mr. Shaw, I'm so sorry! I had no idea your hick mother was allergic to lobster! People from the countryside are usually tough, and I have never seen them be allergic to anything, so she must be an exception. You really can't blame me for that! Dying during the holidays; Well, at least she did not die at the Prescott residence, that would have been really unfortunate!" He laughed arrogantly as he spoke, but the moment he saw Jaclyn kneeling on the floor, he suddenly fell silent.

he purred sexily. " Does it turn you on when you tease me? Shawn?" I stressed his name trying to piss him off by saying so. " If you keep doing this kind of stuff, I would think that you really like me. Wouldn't I?" I added stepping on his pride. " You are being too old-fashioned using the words like and love. I guess it's true that poor people's only redemption in life is falling in love." He stated calmly while smirking. " That's not what I meant..."

As if we were discussing parish schedules instead of the fact that I had just confessed wanting him in ways I could barely say out loud. “If you suddenly change pews, stop volunteering, and leave the moment I walk into a room, people will notice,” he continued. “This parish thrives on observation.” He was right. “And I will not have you carrying visible shame because of something you felt,” he added. The words softened something inside me. “I am ashamed,” I admitted. “You should not be,” he said firmly. “Attraction is not a crime.” “To a priest?” “To a man who happens to be a priest,” he corrected.