Playing God

Michael’s eight years old.
The Way clan is having dinner at his home for the father’s birthday; there aren’t many people around the dinner table, just the birthday father, and the mother, and the grandmothers by the grandfathers’ side, and the two brothers. Not a huge family, but it’s enough for a happy and enjoyable reunion. Michael is the youngest and his hungry eyes of a child swallow everyone in the room with devour, either sitting around the table with him, or walking around it, getting everything prepared for dinner.

He starts with his father, sitting at the end of the table, not only because it’s his birthday, but also because he always sits there. It’s a way to show his paternity and strength in the family; no one has ever doubted of his capacities to rule as a good father, and Michael loves him very much.

Then, there’s his mother, constantly coming from the kitchen to the dining room with soup or shallow plates, and glasses, and serving dishes of all kinds. Her long, dark hair dances around her made-up face because of the frantic rhythm she’s showing everyone. When she finally sits by the father’s right side, she sighs and announces to everyone that she feels weirdly sick, probably from all the diverse smells and sensations of cooking.

By her side, sitting between her and Michael, the mother’s parents sit peacefully. They look funny with their wrinkles and silly smiles of happiness, and they’re happy because they see the whole family together in peace and they love it, or so they claim. Michael likes them because they’ve always been fun to have around and they always answered his most difficult questions, like where babies come from, as soon as he asked them at the age of five. Michael remembers that day, and he still thinks it is a miracle that there are seeds inside his mother’s body.

In front of them, there are the father’s parents, the other grandparents. Michael has always had a different respect towards them, because they’re older and stricter in their minds, but they’re still alright. Michael once loved to look through that grandfather’s stamp collection, because he saw all kinds of stamps; old or new, black-and-white or colorful, with sceneries or with faces, national or from abroad. That collection was the world within two covers of a very large book, and it amazed him in his young years.

Finally, there’s his brother. He’s different, that’s the image Michael has always had about Gerard. He’s six years older than Michael and the latter looks at his brother from a lower position; it’s like Gerard has a power over him. Gerard’s different; he’s what Michael wants to be in a few years. Gerard is also his chubby brother, not that Michael would point that out to strangers, but Gerard just said that about himself and Michael would obey if Gerard wanted to be called that; Michael will always respect his older brother, and he likes to watch him as he eats because he’s never shy of his meals.

Yes, the meal is already moving on, with only one conversation absorbing the oldest members of the family in an amusing atmosphere of pleasant sounds. Michael’s just eating and observing, trying to get any more details about his family and their routines. Soon, Gerard catches his gaze and they smile at each other. They have a strong and close relationship, especially since Michael went to school and started being interested in whatever his older brother had to show him. They liked the same things and Michael learned how to behave as a proper boy, especially because that was the only way Gerard let Michael get himself loose amongst his bedroom items, comics, magazines, toys and everything else.

There are no games between them while everyone randomly talks and they stare at each other as they eat; Michael just doesn’t exactly understand what the eldest members are saying about the world, and children, and dangers, and Gerard seems to be enjoying his food just because he can. So they eat and stare, but then both of them hear someone gagging and they look up.

It’s their mother, choking, and the immediate family members by her side, the father and the grandmother, are trying to help her out. No one seems to panic as his mother is already being assisted, but Michael does, because he thinks they’re not doing enough to help his mother. He looks at Gerard and his fork is stopped in the air, mid-way to his open mouth, as he watches. He looks hesitant, thoughtful and focused on a mind theory that seems to bother him, because his hand shakes visibly, but that image can’t stop Michael from thinking that nothing human can be enough to help his mother. Therefore, he prays.

Our Father, Who art in heaven; hallowed be Thy name; Thy kingdom come…
And so on.

In the middle of his second Our Father, his mother spits the piece of food out of her throat and calms down, sitting on her chair again. Those who were helping her sigh in relief and ask her if she’s okay. Michael never stops praying, but he’s smiling softly now and he looks at his brother to see him eating again, yet so slowly, looking concerned, with one eye still on their mother. Michael says the prayer for the third time; he’s satisfied.

**

Michael’s thirteen years old.
There’s a sound of thunder invading his room and Michael wakes up and jumps on his bed, taking a deep breath in and a long whimper out of his lungs. His hair is all sticky up in the air when he runs his right hand along his head, fingers treading on the locks and pulling out a few hairs because dead proteins are like that. His eyes burn from the sleep that was just interrupted and he rubs them with two pairs of occasional knuckles, just to push away the smoggy vision he still has. Oh, wait, he can’t do that; Michael wears glasses.

Closing his eyes, Michael keeps that sitting position, an awkward pain attacking the bottom of his back, and listens. There’s no sound of a thunder, so maybe it was something in his dream. He was used to them, but this one was awkwardly restless, a weird nightmare about his grandmother dying, because that’s one of the things he’d loathe the most, so maybe there was thunder or just strong noises in there. Michael doesn’t remember, and he’s glad about that.

He thinks. Michael wonders what time it is and he sighs at the silence in his bedroom, before opening his eyes and looking at the clock on his nightstand. The glasses are just by its side, but Michael doesn’t feel like moving, so he narrows his eyes; he squeezes them against the skin of his face and identifies the numbers three and four and five. He doesn’t know what their order is.

So, he sighs again and finally shuffles on the bed to get closer to the nightstand, and he picks up his glasses to slide them on both sides of his face. He’s still not seeing perfectly, so he closes his eyes again and rubs them underneath the thick lens, as the glasses slide slightly down his nose. If he looks at himself in the mirror, Michael knows he’ll find himself looking like old Geography teachers; yeah, he’s done that.

There’s a very strange feeling in his stomach, the one he usually gets when he’s nervous, or if he’s awaiting something impatiently, or if something bad is gonna happen, which doesn’t seem to be the occasion. There’s no reason for him to be nervous and he doesn’t feel like something bad can happen after he leaves his bedroom – trust him, he would smell it from afar, and how he does it, no one knows, not even Michael – and therefore that feeling has no explanation or reason. Michael thinks it may be because it’s early in the morning, 5.43am he finally checks, and because his body is living on practically no food from dinner, because his mother knows he doesn’t eat meat. Sometimes, though, she still tries to make him think the opposite.

Aware of that strange feeling and shaking his head at his mother’s stubbornness, Michael gets up from the bed and realizes that there is sweat under his warm pajamas. The night is still cold, because it’s January, and he sleeps in pajamas because it’s the way he feels comfortable, or maybe the way he was always used to sleep in. He doesn’t care, but there’s that layer of sweat covering the top line of his forehead, on all his body concavities and under his waistband. He looks down at his body, for no reason actually, and decides he better go to the bathroom.

The routine is always the same; open his bedroom door, take two steps forward, turn right and head to the end of the corridor. The door on the right, that’s where the bathroom is, but when he gets there, something makes him stop. The door is open. In their house, no one ever occupies the bathroom and leaves the door like that, and when no one is in there, the door must be left open ajar; it’s house rules. He still knocks.

Instead of a “What?” or an “I’m busy!”, whoever’s in there gives Michael some sobbing and other noises, weird and sickening if Michael has to define them. Those sound young, or maybe female, so Michael starts pushing the door further open. He sees his brother getting up from his whatever previous position by the toilet, and there are tears in his eyes, Michael sees them perfectly. And he has to silently gasp because he’s not used to see his brother like that, especially the vomit in his hands, which is very gross. That’s when Michael forgets about everything he wanted to do there as he just stays and watches Gerard while he cleans himself up.

When it’s all done, Gerard looks at himself in the mirror and finds Michael’s eyes through the reflection, giving him a little smile, and Michael responds. Such an action works as though Michael hasn’t seen anything. That’s the power, and that’s Gerard. If he smiles, the world is all right again, especially because the older brother doesn’t smile that often since Michael turned ten. The reason, only God knows it; oh, and Gerard.

Then, Gerard walks away, and he’s incredulously shirtless, with his hipbones poking out of his sleeping boxers; there isn’t chub anymore, and Michael knows his brother doesn’t like to recall that anymore, so he just smiles. His reason is that Michael feels proud of his relationship with the brother because now there’s something else in common between them; he finally has something physical in common with his older brother. They’re now both slender figures walking around the house and no one will ever think that they’re not brothers anymore; he’s happy.

**

Michael’s nineteen years old.
He just came home from Mass with his mother, and she does look better. Earlier that morning, she tried to refuse going, because her mother was in the hospital, victim of a heart attack and her argument was that she should be by her side and not with other people’s family. Michael, though, didn’t let her do that; his mother has taken days off work and spent them all by Nan’s hospital bedside. It’s a very respectful act, and Michael respects his mother because she can be as loving as her mother once taught her to be, and actually still is, but a Sunday is a Sunday and Mass is Mass. They had to go. And now they’re coming back.

Gerard is in the living room with his boyfriend, Frank. Their parents disapprove of that relationship, but his mother’s learned to keep silent about her opinion, because Michael spoke to her once. They are both very Catholic and love to be that way, serene and true believers to reach the uniqueness of a soul not everyone can understand, but Michael made his mother see that Gerard’s choice shouldn’t be wrong. In Michael’s young, but definitely not progressive, way of being Catholic, God sees all as equals, but humans tend to misinterpret His words; as long as the souls are pure and their spirits honest, he thinks God will never disapprove of Gerard being with Frank.

As every other Sunday, Michael helps his mother with lunch and when it’s all going okay, he asks for a break and goes to the living room. Gerard and Frank are still there, sitting, cuddling and sometimes kissing on the couch. They always do that, as though they’re afraid of the world imploding and they’d miss out on each other for a second. Michael stops in his tracks and observes, not really worrying about the kisses, because he’s actually very amazed with how much Frank changed his brother. Gerard doesn’t act tough anymore; he’s gentle and caring, and he seems to love to be cuddled, and Michael thinks it all comes from the fact that the previous years have been seriously wrong and unfair to Gerard. He has always tried to be happy, but something would make him stop before he got there; it wasn’t pretty.

Now, Gerard has Frank and he seems happy; he even smiles more often, small smiles at first and serious grins when something really good happens, like the only time Frank asked him to be boyfriend-and-boyfriend instead of just friends. Those and many other memories come to Michael’s mind and he tries to smile silently and go to his room only, but the guys on the couch heard him coming and look at him over the backboard of the couch; Michael acts respectfully and greets them.

“Hello, boys,” he says playfully, sounding like his grandmother, and making Gerard roll his eyes because he always expects some gossiping about his relationship with Frank every time that tone of voice floats around when the couple is together. Michael knows that, and that’s why he used that voice. He knows his brother all too well after nineteen years of dealing with him.

“Hey,” Frank only says, with an obvious smile because he can be tough yet huggable like that.

“How’s Mom?” is Gerard’s immediate question.

“She looks better now,” Michael answers truthfully. “We just came from Mass and it grew her faith back. We talked to Father Doyen afterwards and, hmm, you know how he is; this huge well of information and knowledge. He was talking to Mom about Nan, faith and recovery, and I practically drooled with joy; I love when he talks, seriously. He’s wise, and picky with his words to not use anything too fancy so that we can understand everything he says. And he’s gentle, a true Father,” Michael smiles.

Frank giggles. He went to Catholic School, but Michael knows he isn’t a believer; his mother is, though, and she especially insists in believing that Frank will stop wanting Gerard and will start wanting a family.

“He’s old,” Gerard muses jokingly. And then he asks, “So, I take it Mass was good?”

“Yes, soothing as usual.”

Gerard always asks for Mass rituals, smiling, not exactly because he is interested in going there some day, because he did, one long, forgotten day in the past, and decided that it was too calm for his troubled mind; his own words. Michael has often wondered if Gerard secretly wants to find out why the family believes in God so much, for the reasons only Gerard can know about, and maybe Frank knows why he questions Michael’s love for God. It doesn’t bother Michael and he always answers the questions with a smile, because he deeply believes he can change people by talking to them through all their problems and troubles of any kind, always choosing his words as wisely as he can to explain everything to Gerard. He learned that with Father Doyen. Michael wants his brother to believe, he wants Gerard to go to Heaven led by his hand, to the same place, so that they can be best brothers and best friends forever.

“What did you learn today?” is the last and obvious question Gerard asks and the one Michael always expects the most. He looks down at his lap, reliving Mass once more that Sunday, even if only in his mind, in his search for the lesson he wants to tell Gerard about.

Michael smiles when Frank kisses Gerard’s cheek, just filling the blank Michael’s thoughts caused between them and waiting for Gerard to respond in any way. When he does, Michael answers:

“The sermon was about sacrifices.”