The therapist looked at him with a pad in front of him. He asked him the usual questions, and took neat, crisp notes. “Who referred you”, he asked. He looked young, and sported a neat haircut. His office window which had a panoramic , sweeping. View of the San Fernando valley, was very preemptive of his high level expectation of easing his concerns and sense of guilt. He told him he was an ex-priest from Ireland. After the session, which ended badly, because he just couldn’t talk about it, he told him he will come back in a week, and perhaps be able to release what he saw at the time as an insurmountable difficult subject. Needless to say, on the bus, having lost his license to drive,he was also aware of his train of thought going into different directions, always coming back to the same knot-what went wrong. He went over in his mind the things that were off with him, and perhaps he wasn’t there for him when he really needed him. In his short story , which he left behind, he referred to himself by his father’s name “billy” and at times confused the two, as though he wanted to make a deliberate attempt to mix characters. Henry Miller in his Big Sur and the Oranges of. …bosch, anecdotes a scene in his life, where he took up painting late in his life, and started to paint a scene, which he kept re-touching. It before it dried, and it ended up a smudge. Billy was such a mix, and he searched frantically to try to see himself apart from his son,so that clearly he could think where his responsibility failed. The fact that he was in Catholic boarding school up until college and then went on to the Catholic University, didn’t help clarify things between them either, as a consequence, their separation anxiety remained, they were unable to work out the issues between them except in absentia, and the few times they did get together on special occasions, was taken up by social and family events. This was true for both, him and his father, because both had absentee fathers, one because of the seminary, and the other simply took the easy way out, left and remarried. For both, their children remained babies in a sense , and this vacuum was wrongly interpreted and never really dissolved into their manhood. There were fore warnings: the time in Vegas when he found him barely 2 years old, somehow the toilet leaked, and somehow he crawled off the bed, and the water was almost up to his little face, which he tried hard to keep above water, he felt something and rightly so, getting there just in time to save his little life, ----even though they made sure he was secured by pillows all around him.he stopped thinking about him for a moment. Preparations were under way for Istarra and her finance to have a party at their new apartment, and even though their wedding plans were all set, there was doubts about the whole thing. Marco, Istarras’’ fiancé had begun to live together 6 months ago, and the first time they fought was about money. They were supposed to have a get together in their new apartment in a few days, but he thought Marco and his family were a blank,b and Marco took advantage by the horns, and he felt, ingratiated himself not too subtly , looking out for evidence of power struggle, and areas where Achilles heels were evident to take advantage of. Wanting to give him the benefit of doubt, he pout that down to his youth, he was 25, just like Istarra, and working in a mediocre job for his father. At any rate , all was in a very delicate balance, and he was going to see to it that things will work out. His PSA test rose 2ng’s and his doctor told him to go to a urologist. He said nothing to worry about, but the chance of cancer, was around 25 percent. He’ll do a biopsy, and then we ca tell more what’s going on, the doctor said trying to give the impression of assurance. The bus ride was exceedingly long. He dreamed of being in a train last night and the train was traveling very fast, and the car was overcrowded. Some got off at the stop. Well, someone impatiently yelled–move this train along. Were stifling from the heat. The bus finally came to a stop. He got off. He wanted to do something different this summer. The social worker he called said he will have to make decisions . Things are coming to a head. One thing he really wanted to do, since he retired, was to go back to the old country. His return, was always to be, but never materialized" the last time, landing in Budapest, his own father waiting at the airport, was comforting, it reassured him of a sense of timelessness, of getting in touch with change less things such as the place where he grew up: 5 th district, right by the danube, with a view of the mountains. He remembered the very earliest beginnings, and somehow going back, he felt as if though he never left: sights, sounds, smells of the old neighborhood were unchanged, only he couldn’t see anyone he knew , except his father.----things were very paternalistic and this was a time forgotten except by him. He missed the sense of security he got from his father* but looking back it was wrong, because he realized, it gave him a false sense of security down the line. …his father was minor aristocracy, a baronet with a small land grant given to his great grandfather. He always used that title, only a short time did he hide it, when the new communist regime started deportations and relocations of the major aristocracy; but it was to be gathered that he had a tendency to overvalued the degree of the danger of his position. The neighbors were important and they were never seen again. Then came the revolution, and they left crossing the border illegally…he always wanted to go back after his father died. Just to see his remains which were entombed in a church sepulcher. He knew that if his test for cancer came back positive, he will have to go… to keep the promise that he made for himself. But it was not time yet. There was always something to do.his wife started a new business. The last one having turned out to be a dismal failure, he was determined not to do the same mistakes. But the mistakes were many. One was getting Marco involved. Marco supposedly “loved” Istarra, but what part of that was opportunism? Nobody could tell at this point.again, a wait and see attitude was taken, not to rush things, is the best way to go…istarra herself, having lived in the Philippines the last 5 years, riding a wave of hope in her attempts at breaking into TV there, came home after her chances were crushed by an agent who raped her then stole her money. Istarra made headlines all through Asia when being a member of PETA she clothed herself in nothing but lettuce paraded with three other girls in front of the Manila cathedral. Now she is with Armin, her hopes dashed, and trying to visualize herself with him as her life’s partner. But dear reader, I’m getting away from Chris, chris, who --broke our hearts, and our souls found him. Yes. The ex-priest looked at me. There was no sign of anything showing in his eyes.---- I told him about the fear in his eyes, when night fell, he heard the footsteps of the priests, and then the forced acts upon him, the suicide of his best friend and confessor, who was his surfing body—and Father, Istarra made me promise her–that - would publish his short story, “but my son who would be interested…” A promise is a promise, I cut him off, its sort of therapy for me, I have no allusions anymore. Let me tell You father, yes one time I did have aspirations. I even wondered about what kind of a father I would make. After Hungary and. Degree in philosophy I drifted. Drifted with my bohemian mom, to california. Trying to put my identity together , the bits and pieces,…too many bits and pieces, drifting, trying various things…what are you getting at? Just trying to make sense that’s all. —well you hit. It on the head, making sense is primary. Your going about this in reverse. Yes father I’m trying to make sense exactly. That’s why I’m here , talking with you…its killing me…He could have been anybody’s little boy. he…Your not trying to shift all responsibility unto the church, my son, are You? —well no, father, its just that , I too, want to go to heaven and be at the right hand of the father…I want to see my son again. I want others to see my loneliness, my misery, and feel belong. —Father, once that happens, I will not be alone. Besides everything is coming to a head. The doc says I may have cancer,I am not afraid to die if I knew I went to heaven instead of the other place. I need reassurance and guidance. The priest looked through his horned rimmed glasses with his steel blue eyes. Do you want to confess my son? —the room veered round and round, and he had to catch himself from falling down. He gripped the in a desperate attempt to keep from falling down. Tell me about chris: well, he wrote a short story. you tell me about it? I thought it was late in the day and asked him if I collect my thoughts told him I felt it was not right, I’d have to take a look at his story and try to make sense of it, as I’m still trying to make sense of mine. I will come back next week redemption through your help.