Page 22 of Broken Halos
“No, it’s not,” Ollie said. “I’ve learned over the years there are many levels of hurt, and they’re not the same. Our initial reactions to the plateaus of hurt are similar, but after time, emotional distance, and introspection, we can see the differences. It changes the way we process others’ actions and allows us to see things more objectively.”
“Give me an example, Golden Boy,” I said, completely enthralled by his line of thinking.
“For example, someone saying something off the cuff that upsets you versus someone deliberately being hurtful.”
“How are those types of hurt any different?” I questioned. “Someone telling me my ass looks big in my jeans is going to hurt my feelings whether it’s done deliberately or not.”
“It’s in the delivery,” Ollie said. “In the first scenario, someone might not come out and say your ass looks big in the jeans. They might’ve remarked about the cut or the fit which you assumed was meant to say you looked bad. The second scenario is a person coming out and saying your ass looks big in those jeans. Do you see the difference?”
I had to think about what he was saying, and I could see he had a point. The initial reaction to the comments would be similar because both hurt my feelings, but after time and contemplation, I could point out that the first person didn’t intend to cause hurt feelings. Unless they like to engage in passive-aggressive behavior, but that’s not what we were talking about here. The second person intended to be mean and hurt my feelings.
“I’ve never really thought about it until you broke it down for me, but yeah, I do.”
“It took some time, but I eventually recognized the reasons you ran from me were also responsible for the wall you built between us. I also hoped after some time passed you’d see there was no reason for you to fear me.”
I scoffed a little at that one. “I wasn’t afraid of you, Ollie.”
“Perhaps not physically.”Touché.“That’s why I kept coming back until you asked me not to.”Ouch.
“Okay, it wasn’t my finest hour,” I admitted. “I’m ashamed for the way I acted that night on the stage and later in the prop room.”
Ollie set down whatever he’d had in his hands and turned to face me fully. “Why were you ashamed? Was it because of the way you wanted me or the way you reacted to my attention?”
“Both,” I said softly. “I didn’t want the attraction I felt toward you, and I hated the crass way I treated you.”
“Interesting,” Ollie said then turned back to assembling sandwiches.
“Which part?”
“Both.”
“Are you going to expand on that?” I asked.
“Are you?”
“I already did, Ollie.”
I saw his shoulders shake with laughter before I heard the giggle bubbling from him. “This is some date we’re on.”
“Date?”
Ollie turned away from the counter and opened the drawer at the bottom of the stove. He held up an ancient-looking cast iron skillet. “If I’m busting out my good cookware then it’s a date.” He set the heavy skillet on the stove and turned on a burner. “I just find it interesting, amazing really, that we’re talking this way in my kitchen while I cook us food.” Ollie dropped butter in the skillet and pushed it around with the spatula until it melted. “I like it.”
“Are you ready to tell me why you chose to become a pastor?”
“Are you ready to tell me why it turned you off so much?” Ollie countered.
“It wasn’t your vocation alone which sent me running; it was the reservations I assumed you’d have about me.”
“Because of my faith?” Ollie asked while putting the assembled sandwiches in the hot skillet. “You thought I’d disapprove that you were a former drag queen?”
“And how I like to wear makeup on occasion,” I said, pointing to my face. “Even if you were as open-minded as your lusty gaze indicated, I assumed you would only be interested in clandestine fucks to get your jollies off. I never expected you’d want to be seen with me in public.”
I almost regretted the words because I didn’t want Ollie to look at me with pity. He said nothing while he emptied the can of tomato soup into the saucepan and added milk and a dollop of butter. Ollie whisked the ingredients together in the pan while turning on the burner beneath it. He still didn’t say anything until he checked the bottom of the sandwiches to make sure they weren’t burned. When he finally looked at me, I didn’t see the dreaded pity; I saw anger.
“Those cowards weren’t worthy of your time, Arch.”
“Golden Boy, you don’t have to say that. I won’t lie and say it’s water under the bridge, because I obviously still carry a chip on my shoulder, but these are my issues to work through.”