Out Through the in Door by Ed Hilow

terrifying. From then on we were nearly inseparable.
              It was now the end of July – half the summer had gone by. Brian invited me to go to Washington, DC for a weekend. I was excited to meet his friends most of whom were from his days in the seminary. I was  nervous at the prospect of being in a room full of priests. I was afraid I would feel compelled to confess my sins and beg them for penance. He assured me they didn't bite and that they even took off their cleric collars. We left early on a Friday morning and arrived at his friend's house by late afternoon.
              When a nun answered the door, I thought for sure this was some kind of Catholic straight intervention or perhaps the Holy Roman Holiday Inn. Brian had failed to mention we were staying in a rectory – talk about walking into the wolves' den.
              After we settled in we went to another rectory for dinner. Who would have  guessed I would be rectory hopping. There another nun served us dinner. I have nothing against nuns mind you – they do the work of God. But I swear they take lessons in facial manipulation. No one can look that serious or dour without practice. And there's something preternatural when they smile – like it hurts.
              Everyone was in cleric garb except for Brian and me. It was as though we were guest speakers at the Council of Nicea except they talked about boyfriends, sex and the new dance club that just opened. These were men of the cloth?
              I tried to follow any number of conversations as they caught up and reminisced. When one of them asked me how long Brian and I had been dating, it got quiet and all eyes turned to me. I looked at Brian. You know the the word “inquiry” comes from the word “inquisition.”  Funny how the brain does that.
              After dinner we retired to an adjacent room. It was supposed to be a living room but was more like a reliquary. It was large, square, poorly lit, and smelled of incense, and cigarettes. Along three walls were large couches. On the fourth an old console TV stood alone. Over it hung a large crucifix. I scanned the room trying to count the number of crucifixes on the wall but got distracted by all the portraits of Jesus, dead saints and popes watching me. The heavy brown curtains were drawn and matched the dark brown carpet. I sat in relative silence as the priests bantered about. I was only too happy to leave when the time came.
              When the nun showed us to our room, it was then I realized Brian and I were sharing a room with one bed. Our relationship, friendship, whatever it was, suddenly seemed awkward. That night we laid next to each other in the dark in silence. I couldn't sleep and I'm sure Brian didn't either. For all the intimate conversations we'd shared and with everything we knew about one another, we were strangers. After the weekend, an uneasiness came back to us.
              As the days shortened, the air cooled and the leaves changed to hues of red, orange and yellow – everything was changing. It was early November and our relationship had cooled as well.  Brian was now working at a part-time job at a store for Christmas in addition to his full-time job so I saw very little of him.
              Two weeks went by. He didn't return my calls. Finally I went to the store. It was busy and full of Christmas shoppers. When he saw me, he quickly finished with his customer and pulled me aside. He seemed nervous and surprised to see me. He promised to call. That was last time I would ever talk to him.
              The letter arrived a  few days later. I knew what it was before I even opened it. I was furious that he chose end our relationship with a “Dear John” letter. What cowardice to hide behind words. I read it, over and over, trying to find any clues as to how this