“Ma’am, you don’t have to confess something that trivial.”
“Trivial? Trivial?” She repeats it like she didn’t hear what I said. That or she’s very, very mad. Crazy mad indeed.
“That sort of thing is disgusting!” she hisses. “I can’t believe you would say such a thing, Father.”
“Well, you came to me, not the other way around.”
“Oh!” She makes this squeaky sound that makes me wanna reach into her cubicle and slap the shit out of her just for coming in here with that ridiculous shit. Wasting my time.
“Are you for real?” she sputters.
“Realer than you,” I quip.
She grimaces. “You’re supposed to do your job.”
“I’m supposed to listen to real confessions here. Things that matter.”
“Are you saying my boy doing filthy things to himself doesn’t matter? That I should just leave it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She sighs out loud. “But you’re a preacher. You’re supposed to carry out God’s will.”
“So?” I shrug, trying not to let her get to me, even though I really wanna say something about that shitty comment about ‘God’s will.’ Fucking hell. “If you wanna know, I sent out the troops this morning too.”
“Troops?” She looks really confused now.
“Yeah, you know. Spank the monkey. Rope the pony. Milk the bull.”
She looks at me like I’ve got peanut butter stuck on my face.
“Rubbed one out.”
“Are you implying …”
I cock my head. “My dick was hard this morning.”
Another soft squeal leaves her throat.
“Don’t worry; it’s not anymore.” I roll my eyes. “Not by a long shot. Although I did have a very long shot this morning.” I grin to myself.
“I can’t believe this.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “A preacher, out of all people. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Ashamed? Far from it. Everyone has needs,” I reply. “My point is, if you want to stop feeling guilty, you gotta stop thinking everything is a sin.”
“The Bible says you can’t—”
“The Bible also says you can’t mark your body.” I pull down my sleeve and show her my tattoos. “See this? Think God hates me now?”
“Oh, my Lord …” She clutches her chest. “Why did I ever come to this church?” she mumbles to herself. “I should’ve stayed with my regular one.”
“They were tired of your whining there, weren’t they? That’s why you left.”
“What?” A scowl appears on her face. “How dare you? I’m leaving.” She gets up from her seat, clutching her dress like she’s afraid I’ll see something. As if I’d ever wanna see her cooch.
“Good, and stop complaining. Maybe your son will stop wanting to play whack-a-mole then.”
“It’s because people like you rot his mind and make him sin!” she yells, the curtain already opened. Everyone can hear us now.
“He’ll never stop being an ass because he’s living with you, and that’s the worst kind of hell anyone can have. But you know what? I’m going to forgive you because I’m a nice person. And nice people do that kind of shit for other people, you know?” I get up from my seat and wave her away. “Just go … And thank the Lord for His mercy because I know you ain’t getting it anywhere else.”
As her self-righteous, scorned ass turns around and struts away, I look out at the people staring at me and yell, “Next!”
Then I go back inside the confessional and slam the little door shut.
3
After I’ve listened to everyone’s sins, I go back to my room and grab one of the bigger bottles I hid in the bookcase and take a large gulp. It always lessens the severity of the headaches, strangely enough.
Suddenly, my door bursts open, and Mother comes waltzing in.
“Frank,” she barks.
“Oh, God …” I mutter, putting the bottle on the small kitchen cabinet in the corner. “Not now, please.”
She marches to me and snatches the bottle away. “You’re drinking again.”
“Yeah. No shit.” I shrug. “You would too if you had to listen to that nonsense.”
“Listening to people’s confessions is not shit, Frank.” She grabs my arm. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?” I scoff. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“You never used to act this way,” she says.
“Yeah, well … people change.” I clear my throat and sit down on my bed.
“You’ve got to stop drinking like this.” She shows me the bottle like I don’t know I’m a fucking drunk.
“You know why I do it,” I reply.
“That doesn’t make it okay. Don’t you think you should stop?”
“Nope.” I lean back and let out a breath.
“Frank …” She sighs again in the same way she always does when she’s disappointed with me. “It’s enough. You’ve suffered enough.”
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t go there.”
She slams the bottle down on my nightstand. “You know as well as I do that you’re wasting your potential.”
“Does it look like I give a fuck?”
“Frank!” She looks pissed and rightfully so. “Doesn’t this church mean anything to you?”
“Of course, it does.”
“Then how can you treat it this way? Your sermons have turned into doomsday predictions. Your presence is making people turn their cheek on their faith. You ruin their days by not giving them proper advice during confession.” She folds her arms. “You’re chasing people away.”
I turn to face the wall, so I don’t have to look her in the eyes. It’s humiliating.
“Look what you’re doing. Look what you’re doing to yourself. To us. The church. Shame on you.”
I take her mental beating because I must. Because I know I’m fucked up and that I’m doing everyone a disservice. I feel guilty … but at the same time, I know I can’t do shit about it. I’m stuck in my own torment.
The only solace I’ve found lately is in the alcohol.
And that girl who I saw.
“Think about your sins. We’ll talk later.” Mother turns around and leaves, the sound of her closing the door reminding me of myself when I closed off my heart.
I saunter across the pebble path, clutching my drink close to my heart. The sun shines brightly, but it doesn’t warm the coldness deep in my soul. Looking at all the headstones makes my body feel heavy and my head weary, but I still continue walking. I don’t stop until I finally see the little stone angel perched atop the stone. Each step I take feels heavier before I finally halt in front of the grave.
“Kaitlyn …” My breathing is shallow and ragged. Just whispering her name makes the tears well up in my eyes.
I quickly take a large gulp from the bottle. The burning sensation in my throat makes the pain even more real, and I want to feel it. Every last drop. It’s not enough.
Staring down at the ground, I wonder when it ever gets easier. If it’s supposed to.
From this place, I gather the strength I need to fight, but the effect is waning with every passing day. I don’t know how long I can continue.
Another big gulp down the gutter. The more time I spend here, the more I wanna get drunk in the middle of the day. I don’t care that I’m on public property. That I could be seen by anyone. I just don’t care anymore. Not about any of it.
“Hi.”
A squeaky voice makes me turn my head only to see a young boy standing on the pebble path. He’s clutching a few blades of grass, pulling them apart with his fingers as he looks up at me.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he muses.
Frowning, I put the bottle to my lips while he stares me down profusely.
“What are you drinking?” he asks.
“Something for grown-ups,” I r
eply, tucking it away into my secret pocket. I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. I know I’m a shitty-ass preacher, but I don’t wanna expose a kid to my fucked-up life. I don’t want them to think this is normal, so if I can prevent it, I will.
“Can I have a taste?” he asks.
“No,” I scoff, shaking my head.
He cocks his head. “Why not?”
“Stop asking so many questions.”
I fish my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and take one out, lighting it in my mouth.
“Are you a priest?” he asks.
“No,” I reply, taking a drag and blowing out smoke.
“But you have that thing …” He points at his neck, probably meaning my collar.
“Yeah.”
“What are you then?”
I chuckle. Kids ask so many strange questions. Like they’re oblivious to the world. Gotta commend them for it. I wish I was still that innocent and ignorant.
“Whatever you want me to be, but most people call me Preacher. Or Father. Whatever. I don’t care.” I take another drag.
“So you do belong in church.”
I tilt my head and fold my arms. Can’t believe that little shit just told me off like I’m not supposed to be here. “I can go wherever I want to, kid. I’m also a human being with a life outside the faith.”
“Okay … but why are you smoking?”
I look at the cig in my hand and then back at him, and I shrug. “It relaxes me.”
“I thought preachers weren’t allowed to do that.”
I snort. “Yeah, well, there’s a whole lot more we’re not supposed to do. Doesn’t mean we actually listen to the rules.”
He nods. “So you’re like my brother?”
“Your brother?” I raise a brow. “How so?”
“He doesn’t listen to anyone either.”
I don’t think I wanna know what this is about. However, the more I look at the kid, the more I have the feeling I know him from somewhere. And I do … because I suddenly remember his face. He was at the church the other day with that beautiful girl.
A smirk spreads on my lips. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Bruno,” he says with a big fat smile.
I take another long drag of my smoke and chuck it, blowing out the smoke into the air. “You have a sister, right? Or was that girl I saw at church your mother?”
“Sister, but she’s at work. We go to your church every Sunday.”
“That’s good, kid. Keep that up.” I smile when he grins. “But hey … You’re not alone here, right?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “My brother’s here too, but he told me to go for a walk, so I did.”
“Ah-ha.” No wonder he’s stalking me. “Where’s your brother now?”
“There.” The boy turns and points at a young guy, maybe ten years older than he is, sitting at a picnic table with his head bent over his arms to hide something, but when I see a tiny whiff of smoke, I know exactly what he’s doing.
“Wait here,” I tell the kid, and I pass him to go to his brother.
I approach him from behind and watch him heat a spoon filled with liquid.
When he finally notices my presence, I quickly snatch his spoon, chucking the liquids out onto the grass before grasping the syringe and snapping it in two.
“Hey!”
“Are you crazy?” I yell. “Doing that in front of your own little brother?”
“And who the fuck are you?” he growls, getting up from the picnic table, but before he has a chance to get up in my face, I push him back down.
“Sit down.”
“What the fuck, man?”
I grab his jacket and force him to look at me. “Are you stupid or something? Trying to get yourself killed?”
“Fuck off, man. I didn’t do nothing.”
“You were trying to shoot heroin. I know what the fuck that looks like,” I spit. “And you’re doing it in a fucking cemetery. With your little brother standing watch. How dare you.”
“Mind your own fucking business, all right?” He swats me away.
“You’re his brother. You’re supposed to take care of him.”
“So?”
“Does this look like taking care of someone to you?” I growl, and I point at the little kid whose standing far enough away he won’t hear us. “That kid looks up to you. He loves you. He needs you. And you’re sitting here trying to ruin your own goddamn life.”
He’s not responding, but from the look in his eyes, I can tell it’s beginning to sink in.
“Don’t you see it? That look in his eyes.” I grab his face and force him to look. “Look at him. Look at your own brother and tell me you don’t see it.”
He sniffs. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“If you do this, there’s no going back. He will lose you, and you will lose him. Either you end up in jail, or you’re dead by the end of the year.”
He swallows the lump in his throat as he looks at me with scared eyes. I can tell he’s a newbie.
“Is this your first time?” I ask.
He nods. “Some of the guys gave it to me.”
“What guys?”
“Friends. From the block. Said they’d help me get more money if I tried out their shit.”
I grind my teeth, trying not to boil over when I’m a raging volcano inside. I know exactly what this means. This neighborhood is notorious for its drug problems, and now the dealers are recruiting again by first getting them hooked and then forcing them to work.
“Don’t,” I say. “Even if they do give you money, it won’t ever be enough. And it’ll keep getting worse. Whatever they told you, it’s a lie. That money is not worth it, trust me.”
“How do you know?” He makes a face at me. “Aren’t you some kind of—”
“Preacher, not a priest.”
“Whatever. What do you even know about me?”
“Enough to tell you that your brother will die too if you continue with this.”
He looks at his little brother and then back at me like he’s waiting for an explanation.
I place my hand flat on the picnic table. “Once they get their hands on you, it’s only a matter of time before they try to persuade your little brother too. Do you want that to happen to him?”
“No, of course not.” He rubs his arms and lowers his sleeves, covering up the spot he was about to inject.
“What about your sister, huh?”
He raises a brow at me. “How do you know I have a sister?”
“I’ve seen her and your little brother in church. But that’s not the point. Do you or do you not want to see her turn into a druggie? Or worse, have to sell her body on the streets?”
“No, of course not.” He snarls in disgust. “Do you think they’d do that?”
“I’ve seen it happen so many times. I live and breathe this neighborhood. I see everything. I’ve seen girls wasted on drugs, sucking every dick they can just to pay for their next hit. And I’ve seen guys like you come and go like bodies at the morgue.”
He bites his lip and looks down at his trembling hands.
I place a hand on his shoulder. “Just promise you’ll find another way to make money. I know this seems like the easy way, but it isn’t. And do you wanna do that to your little brother? Who believes so much in you? Who trusts you to do the right thing?”
We both look in his direction now and watch him throw small stones into a pond up ahead.
“I love him; I swear, I do,” the guy says.
“Good.” I pat him on the back. “Leave all this junk behind.”
He nods and gets up from the picnic table.
“Go to him. Take him out for something to eat. Whatever. It’ll make you feel better,” I say. “And if you ever feel like shit, come to my church. Okay?”
“Okay.” The dude smiles, and I pull him in for a bro-hug. Everyone needs a little bit of support sometimes—even dudes like him who are at rock bottom and looking for a way out.
As he walks toward his brother, I ask, “So I’ll see you in church with your sister next Sunday?”
He glances over his shoulder and nods stiffly, which is good enough for me.
Besides, the mere thought of seeing her again heats me up.
But that was not the point of this conversation.
I needed to do this. For me. For him. For the boy. For the world to have one less criminal in it. Even if it means so little because it’s a blip in the entire scheme of things … every little thing can make a difference.
Fuck me.
Guess I’ve got some good in me after all.
4
With a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I traipse around the church, wistfully staring at the paintings on the wall. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stay in my room while I get drunk either. It feels so damn dark and damp in there. Besides, it’s not like anyone’s going to see me. It’s almost ten p.m. at night. Mother’s already fast asleep, and everyone else has gone home. And who the fuck would visit a church this late at night? Exactly.
Especially not this church. My notorious reputation is spreading like a disease, and soon, there won’t even be a soul left during the day. It wasn’t always this way. There was once a time I was actually a great preacher, but it all went to shit. It’s all my fucking fault.
Maybe I should’ve never become a preacher. It would’ve saved everyone a lot of trouble.
Sighing and wallowing in my own misery, I lean against the stone pillar in the corner as I take a swig from the bottle. It’s then that I notice a girl standing in front of the big cross hanging on the left side of the church.
My eyes widen, and I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not dreaming.
A girl in this place? This late at night?
The more I stare, the more I realize I’ve seen her before.
She’s that girl … the one I’ve been consumed by since I first saw her. The one consuming every inch of the little bit of positive space in my brain. The one girl who gives me that buzz I need to survive.
What is she doing here?
Her lips move, and she mutters some words under her breath. I’m too far away to hear, but I can see make the sign of the cross on her chest as she looks up at the statue of Jesus. I can’t stop looking at her elegant posture and the graceful way she moves.
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