Chains of Faith

Milo struggled with his family and his understanding of self

Barbara adjusted Milo’s tie and combed his hair to the side. She licked her finger and pushed down a few stray hairs. Milo promptly pushed her hands away. “Milo Adam Nikolaou, you are to look nice when we are attending the house of god.” She said sternly, earning an eye roll. “God Mom-” Her sharp words cut into Milo’s sentence. “We don’t use the lord's name in vain,” she snapped.

Milo didn’t respond this time, keeping his peace and watching as his father emerged from his bedroom. “Why are you standing around, son?” Atticus asked, pulling his tie tight, heels clicking against the floor as he walked by. “If we are late again, you and I are going to have some words when we get home,” he sniffed, never turning to look at Milo.

Barbara plopped Bennett, her toddler, and newest addition to the family down in Milos's arms before she grabbed a few glass bottles. Milo was often seen as the miracle child until Bennett came around. It wasn’t that Milo disliked the kid for being born, but rather felt that all he did was play single mother in a house full of adults. Atticus opened the door for the pair, stepping out and holding the door open long enough for Baraba before letting it swing closed. Taking a deep breath, Milo followed behind, pushing the door open as it swung back. The car ride was silent except for the painfully quiet gospel music that played in the background of the road noise and the soft babbling of Benny.

Lately, he and his parents hadn’t really seen eye to eye, whether it was about his grades, after-school curriculars, what sport he wanted to play, or who was to take care of Bennett. They just couldn’t seem to agree. He and his parents honestly didn’t have much in common other than looks, so connecting on a deeper level wasn’t even manageable.

Sometimes, he felt envious that the only thing they shared was blood, unlike his friends, whose parents shared likeness and hobbies, or TV shows, maybe even a favorite game or place, just something at all.

He wasn’t sure when this detachment had occurred or if the disdain they seemed to have for him was always there, but there was nothing like feeling your family shun you.

Sure, on the outside, they seemed like the American dream. Dad came from Greece with but a euro in his pocket and now a dollar to his name. Courted a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed woman who had ambitions to become a mother and wife. He worked hard for what he owned and became wealthy with time and growth. White picket fence with a baby in the stroller and a happy outlook on life!

So you can imagine the disappointment when a legally blind, asthmatic, non-masculine, scrawny kid came out, especially after several years of trying. I think what added insult to injury was that sophomore year, another version of Milo came along, some 15 years later. While unexpected, it ended up carrying its own baggage with it. Baggage that at 15 he wasn’t ready to carry.

They hauled to a stop in the church parking lot, the sun casting light from behind the cross. Milo swore up and down he could see a tear in his mother's eyes. “See my little mantis! This is a sign..” Grabbing her empty bottles, she stepped out of the car. He side-eyed her as she made her way around the car and towards the church. He could think of a million reasons it wasn’t a sign, the leading factor being that it was the rising sun in the early morning. Along with the fact that the position of the church allowed it to be like this, every morning.

Atticus came around and opened Milo’s door, grabbing the hood and leaning in, startling him as he fiddled with Bennett's car seat. “I know you are in a bad mood today, and I’m here to tell you, I want no part of it. If I hear so much as a peep from you once we get inside, I swear, Milo.” He got up close in his space. “I didn’t even say anything on the way over!” He retaliated, making Atticus’s brows fur.

“This is the kind of bad mood and bad attitude I’m talking about.” “But I’m not in a bad mood..” Milo spoke softly. Grumbling, Atticus leaned in further until he was uncomfortably close. “I let you get away with not going to church, but I see I’ve let the devil dance around inside you for too long.”

“What are you on about?” Milo raised an eyebrow, backing up slightly before a rough hand grabbed his chin tightly. “Don’t speak to me that way.” Atticus held Milo’s chin hard enough to pull him closer. “You are going to cut the attitude, you’re going to go inside, put on a smile, and act like you want to be there because this is the house of the lord.” Milo scrunched up his face, making Atticus tilt Milo’s head up more so they were at eye level with each other.

“Is that understood?” “Yes, sir,” Milo mumbled. “Don’t test me. I’m not the one.” He shoved his head back with his hand, finally letting go of Milo’s chin. “Get Bennett when you get out.” He sneered, flicking his wrist towards the child who had sat next to him the whole ride. Benny's glasses were fogged up with tears, assuming he didn’t like the display of anger from his father and pathetic recoiling from his brother. When Atticus was finally far enough away from Milo, he sighed and furrowed his brows before getting out of the car and working his way around to Benny.

Milo hung back a bit, trying to process when he even had an attitude. He thought back on what his father said, something about the devil. This was a regular thing his father would repeat, and a lot of the time, if not all the time, it ran loops in his mind.

At the ripe age of five, he learned from his father and mother that the world was a scary, satanic place. In part, he felt a lot of it was fear-mongering, especially since he had gotten older, but that didn’t take away from the inner child in him that was still shaking in his boots. His father, while a good head on his shoulders, would endlessly talk about how the world was going to end soon and that he better be ready or else when the rapture happens, he’ll be left on earth alone to take the “mark of the beast” and die.

This messed him up. How was he, at the age of 5, supposed to endure this kind of idea? As he drew closer to the church, he repeated the words, “Honor your mother and father. Honor your mother and father.” Today marks the first day Milo has been back to church since being out due to health.

Which, ironically enough, he had to beg his parents to pay attention to. Neither his mother nor father believe in modern medicine, hence why it was such a big deal when he was finally diagnosed with asthma when he was damn near death.

Since it was in late spring, his allergies were kicking up. It started out as a head cold, but the constant vitamins, herbs, and random essential oils his mother bought at some holistic doctor's office only aided in making him feel crappier and ended up messing with his stomach. No matter how much he tried to keep his pain under wraps, it didn’t help that his mother thought he was manifesting being sick. Or that he was getting sick on purpose to miss church. It wasn’t worth arguing about because he knew, in the end, it would kick start the same old lectures and complaints about how he was always falling as a kid or was always sick when he was younger.

“You know, little boys who pretend to be sick are going to hell, is that what you want? Do you??” She snapped. “Would Jesus like it if he knew you were not doing what he wanted? Skipping church because you have the devil festering inside of you?” She pestered. “You need to go to church, Milo. It is the only way to rid this possession from your body!” She’d shriek. Nag nag nag, and you know what? He didn’t heal any faster. Even now he was still mid stomach ache but had to suck it up and blast it out of him at church or whatever.

When he walked into the church, the long-standing rant inside his head left, the baby bag slipping from his shoulder, and Bennett bucking around. He took Bennett to the children's church and dropped him off with the caretaker, who, pleasantly enough, was fond of Bennett. After doing his motherly duties, he walked off to the youth section to find Sophia before the service was to start. He spots her from across the sea of young, well-dressed people. Amidst them all, she was talking with a couple of girls before her eyes landed on him, and she rushed over.

“Hey..? Didn’t expect to see you today, are you feeling better?” She asked, giving him a once-over. Milo raised an eyebrow as if to see if she wanted the truth or the short answer. “Are you? You sounded in pain last night.” Sophia reiterated. “No, not really, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to show up today, but since I’m out of the hospital, it's free grounds for pushing me out of the house.” Milo shrugged

“I don’t know how your mom does that.. though I wouldn’t be wrong in assuming it’s only Barbara at work. It’s probably Atticus too.” She says, crossing her arms. “I can’t fucking stand Atticus. One day I’m going to wrap my hands around his weirdly muscular neck and-“ Milo places his hands on Sophia’s and pushes them down as some of the elderly folks walk over.

“Milo, so glad to see you are back!! Everyone has been so worried.” Said Suey. The one thing about SueyLynn is she only ever cared about what was happening because it gave her and the small crowd she ran with something to talk about rather than Mobidick.

“I just heard from your parents that you are back to perfect health, I just know the lord has your side.” Chimed in Margret, who Milo happened to quite like. Soon like bees to flowers, both he and Sophia were surrounded by their community. They all asked questions and gently touched his shoulder. Whipping up conversations which brewed a toxic mix of concern and drama.

Milo never liked being the center of attention, and it was times like these that reminded him why. Instead of feeling fulfilled that the talk of the town was about him, he felt trapped in a never ending conversation about his poor health. All of the commotion and talking lit fire to an explosion he could feel deep within his chest.

He smiled brightly and answered questions as best he could but no one could wait their turn for the life of them. It wore thin on him as he tried to control his breathing. It was like the world was caving in. The once dim room became extremely bright and it was as if the gates of heaven were opening up to him.

Maybe his mother was right. Sweat stuck to his forehead as he grappled with this overwhelming fear that he might pass out. It wasn’t until Sophia had pulled on his arm that he excused himself and shuffled out of the crowd that engulfed him.

Once around the corner and out of view from others, he panted hard and dropped his smile. His heart was racing and the fear that others would come up and rush him with more questions led him down the path towards the bathroom.

As he pulled open the door, he let out a soft breath, marching towards the sink. Placing both his palms on the cold granite, he leaned forward. The silence rang in his ears offering a momentary sense of peace.

He turned on the sink, splashing the cool water onto his rosy cheeks, oblivious to the stall door creaking open. “Milo?” Startled, he snapped his head around to find a familiar set of moss green eyes. Texas Waylon. He looked straight out of the south. Sharp cowboy hat, though missing from his head. Long sleeved dress shirt tucked into his pants with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Worn blue jeans with a big flashy belt buckle and a pair of nice leather cowboy boots. Texas had beautiful sandy hair and a southern farm boy charm about him. His body built like a brick house, always straining the buttons of his dress shirts.

Milo sucked in his lips at the sight of him. He hadn’t seen him for a while. Not since last summer, which to his credit, he was technically trying to avoid him. “Texas.” Milo replied, raising his gaze to the top of his head. His name reminded him of a story Tex had told him one summer. How his parents fell in love in Texas, hence his name sprouting from love, just like him.

There was always something so warm about him. Whether it was his family or his pearly smile, Milo was drawn to it. “Where’s the hat?” Milo asked, turning his body completely to face him.

Texas brought his hand up and pointed with his thumb. “Oh I left it by the front.” There was an awkward moment of silence before Tex spoke again in that sweet southern accent. Milo could tell he was nervous. “I heard you were in the hospital, everyone was really worried.” Acid rose in his stomach, his mouth filling with spit. He turned around to the sink and spit out saliva, hiding his actions with another splash of water to his face. “Yea I don’t know, I’ve kinda been sick.” He said turning off the faucet. “I can see.. you look kind of pale right now.. want me to get your parents?” Texas asked, inching closer and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Milo shot him a look. “Right.. I take it they pulled you out early?” He smiled, it not quite reaching his eyes. “Hey, um I know this isn’t really the time, but at some point can we talk about last summer? I just have a lot of stuff I want to lay out on the table and I don’t think I can do that if you are avoiding me.” He blurted out. “I’m not avoiding you,” Milo retorted. “I see you at school and you never wave back.” Milo chewed on his cheek.

He looked into his eyes and felt the warmth drawing him in. That same warmth that had been there since the day they met at camp all those years ago. “I’m sorry.” Milo said, his lips drooping into a frown. “It’s not like you did anything wrong, I just..”

“Don’t feel the same?” Texas interrupted. Milo leaned back onto the counter. “No, no. Well, not entirely that. I just don’t know how I feel at the moment. There is someone, but I’m about 100 percent positive he’s straight. And I don’t think I ever really got over being in the friend stage.” He looked away. “Ouch, friendzoned..” Tex placed a hand over his heart. “Oh god- no, I still- I didn’t mean to-“ Milo felt as the words left his brain on a train to nowhere when Texas smiled. “I’m joking, I kind of figured I pushed you too far when we kissed.”

“Well actually-“ the door creaked open and an older gentleman walked in. Milo looked over at Texas before watching his head tip to the side. They both walked out of the bathroom and into an empty common room just down the hall. “So, I didn’t make you uncomfortable?” Texas asked, breaking the silence. “No, not at all. Just kind of ironic that we were at a bible study camp smooching.” Milo tried to crack a joke to break the tension but only felt it weigh heavier, so he changed his tune.

“I like you Texas. I like everything about you. Your personality, your smile. But I’m not ready. I know I’m not ready because I still feel something for someone else. And that’s not fair.” He bit at the skin on his lip. “Ok,” Tex responded. “This is.. I don’t know Milo. I can’t just.. wait, you know?” Milo locked eyes with Texas’s green orbits, but to his dismay, Texas looked away and towards his watch. “I’ll wait because what I feel for you is something I haven’t felt before. But I won’t be around forever Milo. Sooner or later I’ll move on. Service is going to start. We should start movin’.”

Milo’s chest felt like it was going to explode. He was right though. He couldn’t expect Texas to wait, he knew that wasn’t fair and yet he was letting him.

He wanted to hang back but watched as Texas turned around to look at him. “You know, I do appreciate you Milo. I hope we can start over as friends.” That perfect smile shot right through his chest, letting the flow of words travel straight to his heart. Texas was a good person, a good man. Despite everything, the ignoring, the friendzoning, he still found it within himself to be kind.

But he wished he could find the right words that Texas deserved