Choir Boy by Unknown Author Page A

and greater detail, until the boys accused him of making it up. Luckily, Berry had pocketed a strip club matchbox.
    Berry sat at the cool boys’ table at dinner. Teddy and Randy kept stroking the curves of the matchbox stripper picture. After dinner, the full choir rehearsed in the cathedral for acoustics. Berry saw Canon Moosehead staring at him from the balcony at the cathedral’s far end. After rehearsal, Berry passed the Canon in the hallway, but the Canon wouldn’t meet Berry’s eyes.
    On Saturday, Marco took Berry for a “nature walk” in the basement of their apartment building. “Look, a bug. And there’s some stuff growing under that leaky pipe. And I think I just saw something furry in the corner.”
    Sunday’s sermon, by Dean Jackson, was called “The Church is Your Gang.” Hoping to reach out to the inner city, the Dean compared different denominations to rival gangs. “We wear different colors, but we all run with the same crew in the end. We are all homies in Christ.”
    When Berry’s solo came, he reached down deep to fill every part of himself with breath. He sang not just from his diaphragm but from his hurt scrotal sac. Berry breathed so deep he could imagine his ball sac puffing like a balloon. He focused on the pain, then released the voice of him who cri-eth in the wilderness. Mr. Allen looked amazed.
    Teddy brought Berry a cookie after the service and said his solo had rocked the party. Berry took the napkin full of crumble and said thanks. Then he saw Wilson making his move on Lisa.
    Berry caught up to Wilson. Both of them still wore cassocks and surplices. Berry never wanted to take his robe off. In regular clothes, he saw the rust that would swallow him eventually. But every time he caught his reflection in robes, he felt permanently stainless like the knife he wasn’t thinking about.
    Lisa stood with her mom outside the cathedral steps. Lisa and her mom were a few inches taller than Wilson and Berry, but Lisa’s mom was way heavier. She wore a thick woolen jacket and skirt, even in the September heat. Mrs. Gartner kept talking to Lisa, even after Wilson approached. “Hello Lisa. Hello Mrs. Gartner.”
    “He should be here,” Mrs. Gartner said without acknowledging Wilson. “He’s rationalist about everything except being on time.”
    “That was some sermon, huh?” Wilson said. “I guess Confirmation is like a gang initiation.”
    “Don’t forget we need dill if we’re going to marinate those mushrooms. Remind me to tell your father.”
    “So Lisa, there’s this dance next week, and I was wondering if you’d like to, uh . . .”
    A black Lexus pulled in front of the church in a smooth arc. Mrs. Gartner stomped to the passenger side and got in front. She immediately started gesturing at the driver, who was probably Mr. Gartner. Lisa got in the back seat without saying goodbye to Wilson and Berry. The car pulled out and ran a yellow light escaping the cathedral.
    “I wonder why Lisa’s dad doesn’t come to church,” Berry said.
    “So Lisa’s mom and her friends all hate me,” Wilson said. “It’s obvious she should date me. It’s the most rebellious thing she could do.”
    Berry asked Dr. Tamarind about Canon Moosehead in their next session together. Dr. Tamarind merely sighed and changed the subject. Berry could tell it wouldn’t help to keep asking, so instead he went back to ignoring Dr. Tamarind’s questions and attempts at conversation. About halfway through the session, Dr. Tamarind seemed to run out of energy or ideas. The two of them sat in silence for twenty minutes or so. Berry watched the sunlight redden in the window and imagined it was the glow of stained glass.
    Berry’s mind wandered and he thought of Lisa mimicking her mom’s deaf act after church. “What do you know about Roland Montreux?” Berry asked Dr. Tamarind.
    The question jolted the drowsing therapist. “Why do you ask? No, of course. You ask the questions around here. He was a