Adam’s eyes never stayed on them long enough. His gaze would move through the church. Slender marble Corinthian pillars supported the cross-ribbed vaulted ceiling rising ninety-five feet above the nave. Streams of colorful light poured from the stained glass scenes pressed into the walls. Ahead of him, where Grandma, Mom, Lilly, and Pastor Carter stood, a grand organ raised upwards made of white pipes molded with bronze fixtures. Behind it, however, was what Adam had hated the most. A Rose window made of red, black, and silver panes depicted the Crucifixion. The glass Jesus poured in blood, bound to the cross, eyes like two pieces of obsidian, large and staring right at Adam. And then there was that small door tucked away in the shadows, all the way in the corner of the church. Made of dark oak with a corroded iron knob, Adam had seen it open once, and only once. And though it was hard to see, he could just make it out in the darkness shrouding it. He stared at the shadows in that corner, haunted by the dim lights, watching, wondering if it would open and if Gabriel would walk through. Guilt rose in him like a tide, a wave rushing over him. 

A voice came to him, “Adam, please…” Small and sweet. Scared. 

His eyes began to prick with tears. His chest began to slowly squeeze the breath from him. 

“Please, Adam…” 

He didn't notice the hand on his shoulder, “Adam.”

“I’m sorry…” He whispered, tears rolling down his face, the darkness, the door, it all came rushing at him. “Gabe, I’m sorry…” The door opened. “Please,” Darkness spilled from inside, “I’m,” a broken, withered hand, missing skin at the edges of its fingertips reached through-- “Adam!”

“I’m sorry!” 

And nothing. The lights of the church rose and the darkness spilling was never there. He looked over, eyes red, puffy; cheeks wet; lips quivering. It was Lilly. 

“Everything okay?” she slid in next to him, scooting him over.

His throat was tight and hot. He forced himself to nod, wiping his face quickly. 

He sniffled, “Yeah,” another sniffle, “I’m fine. Tired.” 

Lilly scrunched her face, suspiciously, “Okay, well, can you clean yourself up so we can go?” 

He got to his feet and followed Lilly towards the entrance of the church. Something cold swept at his feet. Something small gripped his thumb. “Adam. Please.” He looked back. The door was still shut and shadowed. 

Adam pressed forward. Out of the church, away from the dark door, and into the light of the afternoon.

He never told anyone about that night. When he was eight years ld, Dad had taken him fishing. Thy left Lilly behind; she hadn’t wanted to go, despite Dad’s urgings, his pressure. That early morning, he woke them both.

The light of their shared bedroom flicking on and off, “Up! Up! Up!” Dad stomped into the rom, shaking them each, firm and with an iron grip on their shoulders. He lifted them one by one upright, patted their chests. “Let it out,” he said, as if the firmness of his palms could spring a yawn from their mouths. Adam hated when he did that. He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t rough, but somehow, he always knocked the exhaustion from him, the yawn bubbling out his mouth. Lilly was a little less convinced by Dad’s actions. 

He would lift her, “up, pal.” She fell back down. 

His hand came down onto her chest, “Hey, bud, we’re going fishing.” He’d whisper. She would not budge. After several minutes, and the first slip of sunlight gleaning over the3 horizon, he’d get rough. “I said up.” But, still, she wouldn’t move. She rolled over and grumbled, “I don’t wanna.” 

“We gotta,” said Dad.

“John, let it go.” Mom would slink around the corner, her robe wrapped around her, sleep hanging low on her eyelids. “Take Adam. He’ll love it. Both of you will.” She smiled at the two of them. Adam rubbed his eyes, smacking his lips as he looked onto his father. Dad peered down at his son. His hands were still on Lilly, he was shaking her but she never stirred. Then he sighed and gave up. Then Adam was strapped in the car, the fishing rods lain in the backseat and Dad quiet. 

Out on the water, the morning sun flashed over the crests of ripples and waves, sparkling the surface. The sky was peachy and creamy. The lap of the lake on the side of the boat was peaceful, nearly calming, coaxing enough to put Adam back to sleep. 

“When I was little,” Dad began, “your grandad took me out on this lake every weekend. We didn’t fish though.” His eyes were attached far out in the distance towards the forest, peering just so at the rooftop peaking over the trees. It was sharp, like a spire. “We sat in his boat and listened to the water,” he was quiet for a moment. His face softened, the darkness that had filled his eyes or Adam’s entire life almost faded, replaced with the shine of a memory. 

“He made me sit for hours in silence, and anytime I said a word it was another hour. Eventually, at some point, I’m not sure when, maybe a month or two, he brought a pole with him,” as he spoke, he reached for the fishing pole. “Say nothing to me, just grab it and then--” he flung the line out in one swift movement. It hit the water, too far to hear it plunk. 

“And then we’d sit some more. Wait, and wait, and wait, and wait until we got a bite.”

Adam stared out at the line, the bobbing marker dipping up and down with the lake’s wade.

“I ain’t gonna make us sit quiet for a month, Adam.” He turned to Adam, smiling. 

“But he was teaching me patience. Not just for fishing,” he turned, shifting his position to face Adam. “Patience goes a long way.” The light in his eyes, the warmth of that memory that Adam could see lingered over Dad’s face for a very, very long moment. 

It was as if the air had tightened around Adam’s body and began to squeeze him. As if gravity had concentrated itself on him, only him, pulling him inwards, the pressure building and building. He saw it coming, the way the world spun, snapped in half and inverted itself on this small boat. He saw it as the darkness returned over his father’s face and he realized what had happened. 

“You and Gabriel cannot see each other.” There was nothing to Dad’s voice. Nothing at all that Adam could make out, nothing he understood, nothing that he could reason with. THere was an emptiness to his words. He meant it, severely. “I’ve seen you with that boy, Adam. He may be Father Carter’s son, but he cannot be your friend, for now.” 

Adam’s small eight-year-old mouth opened, but he had no words. He knew what he had done and thought was wrong of him. That beyond curiosity that wrongness had been an idea, a wisp of something planted in him that he could never escape. It bound him to Gabriel, but that same bind would choke him, he would realize. It would suffer him to death unless…

“I need you to have patience as well, Adam.” Adam wanted to look away. That too had consequences.

“Tell me, son,” Dad reached for Adam’s face. The boy fought a flinch, clenching his entire body still. “Tell me what you did and I can help you, I promise.” And the light returned in his father’s eyes. A kindness, a love. Maybe a desperation, a grievance. 

Ever so lightly, Adam spoke. He recounted the days before. This day on the lake was a Saturday, the day Dad searched for, a Wednesday.

At school, in the middle of recess, Adam and Gabriel had run off. It was Wednesday—Four Square Day. Everyone would be lined up on the asphalt, while Miss Presely drew boxes and lines. But this Wednesday, Adam and Gabriel had waltzed off to the back of the schoolyard, hidden away around a corner. It was these moments, even so small, so young, that they had somehow indulged each other’s curiosities

“Have you ever held a girl’s hand?” Gabriel asked. Adam threw a tennis ball at the brick, catching it when it came back. 

Adam shook his head. “No.”

Gabriel nodded his small head. The sun shined between the light brown curls of his hair. It had grown long since the start of the school year. Always falling in his eyes. Like now. His head down, eyes to the concrete between his feet, there were tufts of curl in his face. 

Gabriel was quiet for a moment. Adam threw the ball toward the ground. It bounced up, hitting the wall and curving back towards him. He caught it.

“Do you want to?” Gabriel looked up, eyes meeting Adam’s as the ball came flying back. Gabriel had always been the softer one of them. His hair was always neat. He never looked anyone in the eye. He spoke so gently, so carefully. He was a bunched-up ball of nerves and tension. 

Adam shrugged, picking the ball up from behind him in the grass. “Never thought about it.” Gabriel kept his big-eyed gaze on him. “Do you?”

Gabriel looked away. “No,” he pursed his lips. “I don’t know. I’ve never held someone’s hand.” 

“Oh,” said Adam. Then he walked over, clueless. “Here--” He sat down next to Gabriel. The other boy pulled his knees to his chest. Adam grabbed his left hand and then intertwined their fingers. “It’s like that, but smaller.” He cocked his head.

“Your hands are smaller than mine,” he snorted, “so I guess you’re the girl and I’m the guy.” Adam turned, looking at Gabriel--his cheeks had flushed pink. He was chewing his lip. “Oh, do you not want to be the girl?” Gabriel didn’t say a word for a long time. “I mean, I could be the girl but my hands are bigger, but I guess girls can have big hands. Oh! Like Molly!” he pointed off at a blonde girl grabbing a basketball, but Gabriel didn’t look. He did not move his head, he stayed on their hands. Their small fingers. And then, at once, Gabriel was crying and he couldn’t let go. Tears rolled down his little face in streams, constant and overwhelming. He was crying. Then sobbing. And the next thing he knew, he was in Adam’s arms, snot and tears absorbing into the other boy’s shirt. 

A teacher would round the corner and see them. Miss Presley came over and rubbed his back, “Gabe, is everything alright?” He would say nothing. She’d look at Adam, his eyes blown wide, full of guilt and fear, but most of all, he was confused. 

Miss Presley was able to pull Gabriel from Adam, whom she told to go back to class. 

Miss Presley would return to the classroom. Adam would make her way to her desk, “is Gabe okay?” Miss Presley would smile, “he is. He’s going home for the rest of the day.”

“Is he sick? He was fine at recess.”

“No, he’s…He’s not sick, but Father Carter thought it best to take him home.” Adam nodded, though he felt responsible. 

“If it was the hand-holding, I’m sorry. I dind’t know he would start crying. AM I in trouble?”

Miss Presely stared at him. She blinked once, then twice. “What do you mean, Adam?” She rolled her chair from behind the desk and took the little boy’s hands.

He swallowed, “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

She smiled, “Adam, you won’t.” Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, then back at him, too quick for him to realize let alone distract him. 

Adam stammered, “W-well, we were playing and he had asked if I hold hands with girls. I told him I never did and then I showed him how to hold hands and then I said his hands were small like a girl’s. I didn't think he would cry. I told him I could be the girl, but he..he started crying and then he- he- he-”

“Adam, Adam,” Miss Presley ran her thumbs over the soft skin on the back of his hands. “It’s okay.” There was a tremendous amount fo guilt in his little body. Insufferable, yes. But unbearable? No. He would deal with it. The guilt he would feel later, that would eat him alive. 

“Thank you for telling me. It’s very helpful.” She looked right into his eyes. “If you want to go to the bathroom, get a drink, go ahead, take the pass. Otherwise, we’re going to read for the rest of the day, alright?” He nodded.

“Okay.” Her smile brightened. She rubbed his arms. “Now go find yourself a book and a beanbag, hm?” He nodded and turned, only to walk straight into someone. 

“Woah there, bud,” said the looming man. “Careful.” A large hand came onto his shoulder. Adam looked up to see Father Carter. The man knelt, their eyes coming to level. “Thank you for sharing. It means a lot for me and Gabriel.” 

“Will he be back tomorrow?” asked Adam. 

Father Carter looked at Miss Presley. “We will see how he is feeling tomorrow. Now, go read bud.” He patted Adam on the back. 

The boy walked away to the reading corner where other students splayed out on their backs, bellies, on bean bags were flipping through their own books. He grabbed one from the shelf, not paying attention to what it was. But his eyes drifted back to the Father and Miss Presley. They talked in hushed tones, now and then, Miss Presley’s eyes darted to the reading corner, to Adam and he’d avert her gaze. He spent the rest of the day without Gabriel. He spent Thursday without Gabriel. He spent Friday without Gabriel. 

Then Saturday came and he was in a boat telling his father all of this.

“Is Gabe gonna be okay?” He said, holding back tears. “I didn’t mean to make him feel bad. I was just trying to show him--”

“Shh,” Dad pressed a finger to his lips. “Gabriel is fine. He’ll be well soon after tonight.”

Adam blinked, “what’s tonight?”

Dad turned away and looked off at the fishing rod. The bobber still afloat atop the water. “Patience, Adam.”