The scent of pheromones followed James to bed, where for the first time in years, he dreamt of his childhood. His quickened palpitations and his unfamiliarity with these odd feelings surfaced a once long forgotten memory. When James was around nine years old, he’d experienced his first crush. There was a pretty African American boy named Donald Lewis who lived in a beautiful two-story home at the entrance of James’s street. James lived near the end of the street that turned into a cul-de-sac. In this little part of the road, all the neighborhood kids liked to gather around and play… that is, all of the kids except one. 

Don, as he was lovingly referred to, was years older than James and was often seen playing on the street with his older friends and two siblings. James, on the other hand, spent most of his time on the front lawn of his house, watching the kids from afar. He’d often be nose-deep in his copies of Encyclopedia Britannica or practicing his throws against the side of a wall. After watching Don carefully for months, James began trying to get closer to him by throwing his football near to Lewis’s house or purposefully crash his bike onto their part of the sidewalk. James’s parents caught on that their little alpha developed a crush on the older omega boy. They quickly stampeded any attempts and dragged James away every time they saw it happen. The Lewis' usually laughed it off, seeing his actions as little kid hijinks.

But James's mother, Lucille, remained quite stern. James spent months trying to court Don till one day Lucille ultimately had enough. In this final attempt, James purposefully threw the ball to the Lewis's front yard, hitting Don on the back of the head. James speedily walked over and almost introduced himself if it weren’t for the loud wailing of his mother. 

 "JAMES!" screeched Lucille at the top of her lungs. Her dress swung violently as she stomped towards the stunned James. Never having heard his mother yell before, James froze in place. Her apron was still on and her hair was in rollers underneath a thin net. She grabbed him violently, her usual darkened complexion red with fury. The Lewis family, including Don, stared as James cried loudly while being dragged away by his ear.  Once inside the house, Lucille slapped James squarely in the face. James was again stunned and immediately stopped crying. "Stop following that boy," Lucille growled sternly in a thick accent. With her sharpened, perfectly manicured fingernail, she roughly pocked her son and said, "It is unnatural!" 

Lucille's eyes  suddenly turned yellow and her manicured hand balled into a fist.  She placed her thumb between her two fingers and began making a shaking motion. James panicked as she remained in his mother's grip and she began to convulse. An unfamiliar dark tone escaped from Lucille's lips as she recited, "Nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo. Stay away from Claude and do not accept the Pro-."  

James jolted awake. Next to him, an orange alarm clock violently beeped and flashed 6AM. James rubbed his eyes slowly while adjusting to the darkness. He scratched his chest underneath his pajama shirt, sleeping in it after last night's embarrassment. Used to working himself to the point of exhaustion, James did not usually dream, much less dream of his mother. Relaxing his furrowed brow, he tried to shake off his unease. It was time for morning prayer. 

The day began like his usual routine. Morning prayer at 6:15, after brushing his teeth but before preparing a quick breakfast following his morning jog at 7:15. Then a quick bath and get himself ready. James liked to work in a pomade, running it through his dark curls and push his hair back. He’d then put on his glasses that resembled aviators (his students had recommended them) and put on his uniform of black trousers, a black shirt, and a white collar.

His arrival had developed into town gossip. When James opened up the church for morning mass, his old neighbors all attended alongside some unfamiliar faces. After the service, lots of older people stuck around to ask him dozens of questions about life up North, his priestly duties and of course, his father. Luckily, the townsfolks didn't come empty-handed. Every school teacher, nurse, and mailman that still lived there brought in freshly baked bread, jams, pies, and sweet tea. Many of the people stopping by weren't even members of the church but were just curious about how he was doing. They all chatted away, barely touching the food they have provided while James happily stuffed himself with goodies. The conversations were quite repetitive; the older folk complaining about politics, rising taxes, and the promiscuous young people living in downtown. James didn't mind too much, after all these were people he'd grown up with and he delighted in hearing how his former classmates were doing. However, all the gifts received came with caveats. Congregants came and asked James for help around their home or to assist with other ‘little’ things. James sighed, nodded, and agreed to all of it.

In  the back pew was Miss Sharon, who  waited for the crowd to die down before approaching James. The two walked back to the house and sat in the comfort of the shade and in rocking chairs. He quickly went into house to grab glasses for some of the sweet tea he’d received earlier.

"How was your first shift, Jimmy?" she asked jokingly and once more, using another sun hat as a fan. James laughed. He had collapsed onto the rocking chair on his porch, sweaty but sipping on the cool tea.

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be,” he replied, “But now I am booked with home repair jobs for the entire month." He rolled the sleeves of his black dress shirt revealing firm forearms. His sweat stuck the fabric to his body, demarking every muscle and movement he made. 

Miss Sharon, looked at him and with a raised brow asked "Giving this old lady a show? It won't work on me... may on Mr. Sanderson perhaps."

James turned to her with his mouth wide and too stunned to speak. Miss Sharon had never spoken like that—much less inferred homosexually laced commentary. 

"MISS SHARON?!" shrieked James. 

"Oh come on, I am an old lady not blind," she remarked, "We all know Mr. Sanderson swung that way. We don't mind." She laughed for a moment and then turned to James, "We didn't have a chance to catch up yesterday since you arrived late. How's Herbert?" 

James’s countenance changed quickly. "Not too good to be honest. Since mother passed, dad has been dedicating all his time to busy work. I encouraged him to possibly look for someone new, even a friend but..." James' words quietly died down. It was difficult to speak of his mother. Miss Sharon listened intently and nodded without remark. James had forgotten how much he enjoyed speaking to her, she always allowed for others to speak as long as they wanted before making her notoriously insightful remarks. "What can I do? He doesn’t want someone and is still angry about me becoming a priest. Since I am the only family left, he's had to reckon with it." 

Miss Sharon took a sip of her tea and asked, "Does he like living hear you up North?" 

"Hmm... I wouldn't say like. He misses Georgia but doesn't want to live too far from her grave." 

"Is he involved with the church?" 

"Not anymore. Mother was the real devotee... I mean before she ran off."

"I remember there was not a day she didn't stop by the church while he was away fighting the krauts. She prayed and prayed the war would end." Miss Sharon's eyes suddenly grew distant. "I remember the day she comforted me when I got news of my Jamie. I was screaming and crying but your ma she held me that night and cried with me." 

James looked at Miss Sharon puzzled. "Jamie?" he asked, never having heard of this person before. 

Miss Sharon's gaze became saddened yet her eyes twinkled lightly. "Back then, even more so than now, we weren't allowed our true loves, Jimmy." Miss Sharon continued drinking her tea and let her story die there. James found her words to be quite cryptic and carefully chosen. "I heard you're teaching at the university, how has that been going?" Miss Sharon stated, still with a distant gaze and ready to change the subject. 

James nodded, "Ah yes. It going very well. I am teaching theology and world religions. So far, most of my students are going into seminary studies but some are a couple of just regular kids." James finished his drink and smiled. "I didn't think I would enjoy this position so much. The kids, they have brilliant questions and challenged faith in such constructive ways now." 

Miss Sharon smiled "I understand. I felt that way teaching all y'all Sunday school. Even if some of you were sneaky little rats getting into my peach grove." She stared at James who laughed and turned away. She's never going to forgive me, he thought to himself. 

"How are you, Miss Sharon? I met your nephew last night." James stated, curious as to the origins of this new character as well. 

Miss Sharon grinned "Yes, Claude. His my—" She paused slightly clearing her throat before finishing her statement, "friend's son. We're very close and I see him as my nephew. I met his family back when I did ceramics and took care of him in the summer. Claude’s here for law school and is staying this summer for his internship." So he's here for the entire summer, James thought to himself, unsure as to why this was important information.

The two remained speaking for a while till Miss Sharon announced her departure. She stood up slowly, her bones crackling with every gesture. "Before you say it," she began, "no. I do not need a ride home, Jimmy" James kept his lips shut, knowing it was for the best. He walked with her down the steps and to the end of the road. "If you don't mind," Miss Sharon spoke, "I'd like you to keep Claude company while you're here. He keeps drinking himself silly."

James chuckled nervously and reminder her, "I'm not much younger myself, Miss Sharon. He’s in his twenties. I’m not in the know anymore. I don't know if the Beatles are still a thing or not!”

Miss Sharon rolled her eyes, "See, I don't even know what that is. Please, just look out for him. I think it will do you good too." James nodded and waved goodbye. Like the night before, he watched her slowly walk into the evening and out of his line of sight. James wondered if Claude would stop by that tonight as well. Even though the last thing on James' itinerary was entertaining Claude, James couldn't help but feel annoyed. He had wanted to iron out any misunderstandings they had between them despite there being no misunderstandings at all. Or maybe James had simply wanted to make sure he had not offended Claude in any way. He couldn't shake the awkwardness he had felt. By the time James had cleared his dishes and prepared for the next day, it had become nighttime. With one last glance out the window, James decided to head to bed but make sure to at least leave the porch light on. Just in case he stopped by. 

The following day, James began to make his rounds. He packed up his travel case with holy water, wine, and wafers, donned a collar, and hopped into his shabby car. He delivered communion in between the odd jobs he had promised his congregrants. He stopped by Mr. Sanderson where he helped move the fridge and of course, completed tasks previously unmentioned with steadily increasing difficulty. At Mrs. Tanner's, James pulled weeds. Mrs. Tanner's gaze was intensely felt during his manual labor and practically had to pry the woman away as James inched back into his car. Her scent reeked of deep amber tones interlaced with musky, older people's scent—even the brief time spent close with Mrs. Tanner was enough to give James a headache. He had begun to drive back to the clergy house when suddenly James decided to make a detour to his old home.

Once stylish two-story cookie-cutter lived vacantly on the street. James parked in the driveway and walked towards the house. The ground crunched underneath his feet. The once clear walkway had become invaded by weeds and wild flora. The lawn had grown unkempt, patches of earth erupted and the grass yellowed due to summer heat. James had shook the handle of the front door but alas, the home was locked. He peered into the windows—the home remained untouched with thick-white blankets covering furniture. 

It was strange to see his old home covered up. It was where his mother hosted numerous dinner parties and where his dad stubbornly tended to the record player. She would always were her hair in ringlets that behaved opposite her natural tight curl pattern. Her deeply tanned skin would be powdered to a lighter complexion and would often wear the latest East Coast fashions. In front of others, Lucille always softened her character. It felt strange to James how she pretended to be the charming, social butterfly that was expected of an alpha female to guests. James' father instead, never put on any airs. Herbert was a quiet Southern man who served in the Army and ran a carpeting business. He preferred nights in with a good book or gazing into the night sky through his telescope in the backyard but had a weakness for Lucille. Whatever she wanted, she got thus, monthly dinner parties it was.

"I'm guessing you're not breaking and entering," said a voice behind James. He quickly turned around to see Claude, in running gear complete with sweatbands and shorts. His hooded sweatshirt that read 'Em University School of Law' was doused in sweat. Both the sleeves and the bottom of the sweatshirt were cut off revealing Claude's pink but firm physique. James quickly tensed and blushed. He had been so busy peering into his former home to notice anyone around him or take in how suspicious he must look.