Page 2 of Forgive Me Father

In the grand expanse of the cathedral, a vast pool of holy water glistens under the soft, filtered light streaming through the stained-glass windows. The water, undoubtedly tainted by the dirty hands of sinners creeping idly into the space, occupies a central place in the nave, its surface reflecting the intricate mosaics and ornate arches above. The pool’s edges are framed with elegant stonework that’s similar to the intricately carved birch pillars adorning the space.

Centered at the altar on a raised platform, the priest's and deacon's chairs are positioned before the Eucharist. Small seats and kneeling pads for the altar servers are arranged towards the back of the large podium, which is used for reading Scripture.

The choir sits toward the back wall, hidden and meant to be out of the disciples’ line of sight. Positioned to the left of the grand space, a separate room meant for confession remains unbothered. Its door will be unlocked and opened thirty minutes before Mass for people to cleanse their heavy souls. Unlike many catholic churches, Saint Michael’s chose a more direct approach to confession, positioning the priest's chair in front of the penitent, forcing you to look the man in the eyes while confessing your sins.

Over the years, confession has felt more like a game than an actual act of repentance. Lying to Father Kevin about my sins has become easier. He's old and frail, his best years behind him. Sometimes, I wonder if he looks forward to hearing my wild sins, eager to learn what temptations Satan has led me to.

Last week, I told him I tried meth for the first time, which was hilarious given the one time I tried pot, I vomited so much that I swore I’d never touch drugs again afterthat day.

The week before that, I told him I took part in an orgy, telling him it might be best if I didn’t drink from the communal chalice when receiving the blood of Christ.

Playing these games with the old man has given me something to look forward to while I avoid the real demons at play inside my soul.

My mom thinks confession will eventually give me the courage to tell her why I came home.

My father could care less that I dropped out. Less money for him to spend on a deadbeat child. He’s barely spoken twenty words to me since I made my way back to this small woodland town.

Shame.

I see Aiden talking to a few of his friends from the football team. Aiden has always been popular at school, but I’m not sure anyone knows the real him.

Drinking my third cup of complimentary lemonade, I isolate myself from the gaggle of overdressed members of the congregation, keeping to myself on one of the couches in the gathering space meant to be utilized before Mass.

Scrolling through social media on my phone, I nervously skim the posts from my friends back at college, turning my phone off entirely when I seehisface in one of the group photos posted over Spring Break.

Downing what's left of my drink, I toss the cup into a nearby trashcan, frowning when it misses the rim.

"She shoots, she misses," Her familiar voice chimes. The couch shifts under the added weight as she joins me with a wide grin on her face.

With dark curled hair, golden honey eyes, and rich olive skin, Zoey Lee is the epitome of human perfection. Unlike my unmanaged brown locks, murky hazel eyes, and freckled pale skin, she always looks full of life, kissed by the sun, her teeth as white as snow.

If she weren't a childhood friend who hated organized religion as much as me, I’m not sure we’d have anything in common.

"How many women have gossiped about my mom today?" I question, leaning into her. Her curvy body and full breasts are accentuated by the beautiful, flower-printed dress she’s wearing.

"Six. Dahlia always has something to say after your dad gives her the flirty eyes," She hisses, pointing to the young woman my dad stands uncomfortably close to.

"And what’s Aiden been saying?"

I know damn well he’s already led the charge on starting rumors about me, in the church and out of it.

"Apparently, your meth joke has gained some traction," She says contritely, patting me on the back. "But I know it's not true," She whispers, giving her cross necklace a small kiss. "As does the big man," She smiles. I feel the cold metal of my own cross pressed to the center of my chest nagging for attention.

Rolling my fingers over the rosary in my pocket, I use the sacramental meant for prayer as a distraction, keeping my thoughts away from the scars on my wrists.

"I should go light a candle," I mutter, the feeling of people's searing gazes suddenly much more apparent.

"I meant to tell you something," Zoey smiles, shifting her eyes around the room. Tugging my arm, she gets me to sit back down, her lips pressing to my ear. "Father Kevin is retiring."

"Father Kevin? The man who said he would “die at the altar before leaving” is retiring?"

Zoey nods her head excitedly.

"He went forward to the clergy, requesting an early retirement to enjoy some time in Jerusalem. They approved his request and appointed a new priest. The announcement is supposed to happen today-"

"Hey, Eden," One of Aiden's friends, an altar server, yells from across the room. His evil little grin is more than enough to tell me where this is going. "You think the Lord would approve of you using meth?" I see my brother's elbow drive into his side.

So much for respecting thy neighbor.