From Kevin’s Story…

In an ambulance on the way to Dayton Children's Hospital

“We’re losing him…come on, kid…don’t give up….”

“Clear….” The sound of the defibrillator drowned out the siren for only a moment.

“Shit, that was close….” The woman sighed deeply “What makes a kid do something like this? He’s barely fourteen.”

“I’m just glad he’s stable…let it go at that, Tina, unless you plan on taking up social work on top of everything else.”

Dayton Children's Hospital...the following morning...

Kevin had his head turned to face the wall. His mother sat on the side next to the curtain, holding a plastic bowl of soup.

“Come on, honey…you’ve got to eat something. I know it’s uncomfortable, but Dr. Singh is going to be in this afternoon.” She looked at Kevin’s wrists and smiled, as if her comment would make the pain go away. The gauze chafed against the wounds beneath the dressing, but the real pain lay, not beneath the gauze, but beneath the surface of his soul.

“Well, you gave us quite a scare, Kevin,” the tall man at the door said. Kevin turned and faced him and forced, if not a smile, then at least no frown.

“You know you’re very important to me, son.” The word tore against his heart like a sharp piece of metal against concrete; both for the painfully real sincerity and its inevitable hopelessness. He closed his eyes, imagining the offensive blade had been restored to his hand; another final opportunity to do something right in his life.

“Now why the tears, son? You’ll be out of here soon enough.“ The words were sincere even if they were deluded and selfish beyond evil.

“See…I told you it will get better…Isn’t that right, Father Stephen?” Kevin’s mother was glad for help with her boy; he’d been troubled lately with sad twisted perverted thoughts, and it was good to have someone to turn to.

“Right enough, Mrs. Wilde. We’ll have the lad back home and back at the rectory helping out soon enough.

Wright State University Faculty Parking Lot, several years later…

“What do you mean….we can’t go out? You’re already my best friend, Kate.” Jimmy looked directly into her eyes; a calm if sad resolve seemed to reflect his gaze. She bit her lip and shook her head.

“I know. I just….I just can’t see you that way, Jim. I’m sorry.”

“We get along so well. And I can’t imagine anyone as…. You were there for me when my mom died. When I didn’t get into med school. I just don’t understand.” He put his head down, kicking the gravel in the parking lot with his sneakers like a little kid.

“You just have to accept it, Jim. I’m sorry.” It would have been almost comical had it not been entirely sad when she added, “It’s not you…it’s me.” His eyes blazed at the words.

“Come on, Kate. Tell me why. You at least owe me that much.” Kate owed him so much more, in a way; a debt that could never be paid since to do so would destroy them both, or so she thought. She looked away. He grabbed her arm but let it go immediately, feeling guilty over the least bit of physical contact that might push her away, or worse; pull her toward him against her will.

“I’m so sorry.” He put his hands up in surrender. Jimmy was a strong, brave man. A tour of duty in a place far away against all odds proved that to everyone he knew. But he was also gentle and kind and passionate. Tears began to fall; no need for pride since the one opinion he ever cared about came from the woman before him. He covered his face, nonetheless, feeling small for being so forceful and demanding.

“Jim…please….I can’t…you just have to accept that….and move on.”

“How can I move on when all I’ve ever wanted lives right in front of my eyes….please, Kate. What is it …what did I do to hurt you?” it was a reasonable if completely erroneous assumption. Kate almost stomped at the words.

“Damn it, Jimmy! You didn’t hurt me. I just don’t want to hurt you!” She shook her head and her own eyes filled with tears. Turning away, she placed her hand over her face; a remnant from a too painful and misplaced shame-filled past. She began to sob; a shower of hopelessness cascaded over her like a storm. But there are calms in the eyes of life’s hurricanes; she felt a hand touch her shoulder softly. Turning around, she found herself staring into the most welcoming eyes.

“Tell me. Whatever it is, you can….we can face this together. Don’t shut me out, Kate. Please.”

“I…I can never…we…” She stammered; words fitting in between sobs.

“What? We can do whatever we want, Kate? Nothing to stop us but us. Never is such a final word.” He stroked her cheek slowly with the back of his hand; she felt a start from the tickle of soft hair of his knuckles against her face.

“You don’t understand, Jim…. I…I can’t….Oh god….” She wanted to push him away; every part of her being wanted to spare him the pain of her shame….all of her shame. He cupped her chin; his lips were close enough to kiss her, but even that would be coercion. He backed away slightly and spoke.

“I don’t know if I’ll understand, but dammit, Kate, I sure as hell am gonna try. And what I don’t understand I will accept anyway, okay?” The frustration and anger in his voice was completely tempered by the empathy in his eyes and the same tears that mirrored her sadness. She let out a gasp before inhaling; the great big breath before diving into the waters of her past.

“I’ve known you almost….actually all my life, Jim.” She bit her lip and cast her vision downward; once again feeling ashamed over something bad that happened…that was forced upon her. And feeling horribly ashamed at something good that was never understood; even by her. He shook his head; not to deny her but to affirm her that the shame her face reflected had no place between them.

“You used to sit in the fourth row… you and your mom and your sis and your dad.” She smiled weakly at the memory.

“Sit where?” He had an idea, but he let her explain since the rest of it didn’t make sense.

“St. Anthony’s… You were so cute.” She blushed a dark crimson and choked back a tearful gasp; even thinking about the past seemed so wrong; as if her feelings were somehow invalidated by the present.

“I don’t remember anybody named Kate. I know you’re my age, but that you still could have been in a different school than me. Did you go to parochial school?”

“No…I was in your class.” She put her head down and began to sob. The truth, however innocent and even blessed, can often be painful if framed in the wrong context. She saw herself through the accusing eyes of strangers and the eyes of familiar evil. Once again she felt his hand touch her cheek.

“I don’t remember anyone named Kate. Did you go by another name. Nickname maybe? But your last name sounds so familiar now that you tell me you knew me.

“Yes…Wilde.” She put her head down once more; a routine that was getting old for the fact that Jimmy felt completely helpless in raising her spirits as well. He leaned down and looked up at her from below. What he thought might produce a smile had the opposite effect as she pulled away.

“Dammit, Jimmy…this is hard enough as it is. Don’t you see? There was only one Wilde kid in Mrs. McCartney’s class in fifth grade. Do I have to shout it out? Kevin….Kevin Wilde.” She began to shake; her fists balled up and she began to cry without sound. It felt as if nothing would ever be right ever again. She began to pace back and forth by her car; her arms wrapped around herself as if no one else ever would hug her. Jimmy stood; his mouth agape and his tears subsiding, he reached out and grabbed her.

“I don’t care, Kate! Don’t you understand? Like you said… we’ve known each other practically all our lives. I didn’t know you as Kate then, but you knew me enough? And since we ‘met’ each other during college? It’s like I was drawn to you. Do you think what you used to be…” He put his head down and began to weep; not for himself, but for her and the whole idea of having to be sorry for being herself.

“You….you’re the kindest…most loving….most beautiful woman I’ve ever known… Oh god, Kate! I love you. I’ve loved you from the first time we sat together in Art History. Oh dear sweet Jesus… I don’t know what else I can say, but that I love you, and I’m not going to go anywhere! Ever!” He reached over and pulled her into a safe if tentative embrace; as if she was a fragile porcelain doll rather than the very strong woman he had come to love. But safe if tentative was what she needed; that mantle of acceptance and unconditional love that Kate needed. She looked into his eyes and felt a chill go down her spine; an empowering shock that surprised her as she pulled him closer and kissed him.

“I…I love you, Jimmy…Oh dear god, I love you!”

In the hallway outside the Grand Jury Courtroom, Montgomery County Common Pleas Court, Dayton, Ohio...two years later…

“Hello, Father Pat…I’m glad you’re here.” She shrugged a small shrug and began to cry ever so softly.

“I love you, Katy…we’ll all be in there with you, okay? You’ll do just fine.” He kissed her once as the bailiff opened the door and waved her in.

Dayton Municipal Court….Christmas Week…

“Your witness…” The woman sat down and nodded to the attorney across the aisle.

“Ms. Wilde?”

“Actually it’s Mrs. Seraphino.” Kate pointed to the pair of rings on her left hand.

“Mrs. Seraphino. Is it to be our understanding that you are testifying today after nearly what amounts to nearly thirteen years of silence? May I ask you what took you so long?” The defense attorney’s face was all smiles, as they say, but his tone was patronizing; almost dismissive.

“I…” Kate hesitated before she even began. She took a deep breath and began again.

“I had decided a long time ago to forgive my offender; freedom, I believe.”

“If you wanted to provide freedom to my client, if what you say was even true, why then come forward now? Why make such a baseless claim against my client?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. My own freedom. I had harbored a great deal of bitterness in my heart, and only by letting it go could I move on.”

“Well, that I suppose is a personal matter. But as to the question of now? Surely you understand that even if your claims were true, the law has already moved on for any accusation you’ve made. What motivates you to speak on behalf of the prosecution? Are you in this for the publicity? To make a name for yourself?” He turned and looked at the jury as he continued, without waiting for an answer.

“You say you were harmed while serving as an acolyte for the parish, is that correct? At the time, didn’t the church only have boys serving in that capacity? Altar boys, they used to call them?”

“Yes, I did serve.” She put her head down, more to avoid the mean gaze cast in her direction, but she was still struggling with shame for too many reasons that were totally unfair and completely invalid.

“Which is it, Mrs. Seraphino? Surely you’re not telling us you were a boy?” A very soft, almost imperceptible snicker escaped his lips; magnified, however, by the smile on his face. The old adage that a lawyer should never ask a question for which he does not already have the answer. He smirked. In private life the man might have entirely different ideas about her past, but he was determined, obviously, to discredit her testimony. She took a breath.

“I was a boy.”

“Please explain, Mrs. Seraphino.” His stress of the title, Mrs. might have hit the mark with the courtroom gallery, as evidenced by a few murmurs, but Kate remained almost placid.

“I am what is commonly referred to as a male to female transsexual.” She looked across the courtroom to the back seat where Jimmy and Father Pat were sitting. Both smiled and Pat nodded as if to say, ‘You’re doing fine.”

“Oh yes…that’s where a boy thinks he’s a girl.” He paused, giving her an in.

“That’s not quite correct, Mister Danelli. It’s where a child; often a boy, but also with children born as girls….where they have come to discover very early on that their psyche doesn’t match their form. Really an issue of how the brain is formed in utero…”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but in the time frame of the alleged contact, you were a boy, is that not so?” He paused only long enough for effect but cut her off.

“And that somehow someone as confused as a boy like yourself now expects us to believe that you’re telling the truth?” He looked away at the jury once again, arching his eyebrow. It was almost like a court or crime program on cable.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything, sir. I’m only answering your question. And please. Not only am I not a boy, I never was a boy in the truest sense of the word. But to answer your question? When I was eleven years old, your client molested me.”

“Move to strike, your honor. Unresponsive!”

“Denied, counselor. You asked her and she answered. Move on.” The judge turned to fake a cough, gaining the bailiff’s attention. The woman nodded and smiled an ‘insider’s’ smile at his grin.

“Can you tell the court just exactly where this supposedly took place?”

“Well, it wasn’t an event that just happened. He molested me…..” She paused, but this time she only allowed him the opportunity to turn back to her from his posing to the jury.

“In the rectory…on the days when the cleaning lady was off. In his bedroom. He made me perform oral sex on him.”

“Move to strike, your honor; assumes facts not in evidence!”

“You asked the question. Move on.”

“So you expect us to believe that after all these years you’ve come forward to see this poor old man to answer for some offense you have yet to prove? Please, Mrs. Seraphino.

“I’m not trying to prove anything sir. I’m merely testifying to what I remember in response to your question. I don’t know how else I can answer it other than that while I served as an acolyte as a child he molested me in the rectory. I’m sorry if that doesn’t answer your question, but it’s the best I can do.”

The man turned his back to her and took in a deep breath. Looking at the old man sitting at the defense table, he took note of the expression that revealed resignation. Hoping to salvage whatever he could, he turned once again to Kate. She wore a smile that simply reflected a calm courage. No matter what the outcome of the trial, she had withstood more than mere questions, but also the barrage of shame that had buffeted her heart from childhood. No verdict could ever take away nor add to the victory she had already enjoyed. That smile completely disarmed the man and he spoke weakly one last time,

“No further questions.”

The verdict came back after five days of deliberation. Guilty of most of the charges of sexual abuse. Of course, there would be no verdict on behalf of Mrs. Kathryn Seraphino; at least not in a court of law. After years of misplaced shame, Kate was able to come to grips with how things fit together and how she was unjustly accused by her own past. And at last? In her own eyes, which reflected the love and acceptance of her husband and her friends, Kate was finally free to judge herself not guilty.

Next: Antoinette's Appointment

O Holy Night
Words by J.S. Dwight
Music by Adolph C. Adam
Arranged by Tedd T. and Rebecca St. James
as performed by
Miss Rebecca St. James