The Truth--Melanie

 

• TRIGGER WARNING : RELIGIOUS THEMES AND SUGGESTED SA

  A young girl, about 11 years old, named Mary Kate Sierra attended St. Gabriel Catholic School. After her husband had died, her mother took it upon herself to provide the best she could for her daughter by working two jobs nearly every day. Since most weekdays her mother isn’t off until 5 pm, Mary decided to join as many afterschool activities as she could to pass the time; Decathlon on Mondays, soccer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, church choir on Friday evenings. This particular Wednesday, Mary’s track meet would be canceled.

  “Today, Pastor John is going to share a theology practice to strengthen our connection with God,” announced Mrs. Chapmen. “I will be in the classroom across the hall to speak with Mr. Smith about arranging times for everyone who hasn’t already, to go to confession sometime this week. Please be on your best behavior when you’re with him as he will be listening to your confessions and pardoning your sins.”
  She exits the room and is replaced with Pastor John’s presence. His build is thin but his shoulders are just wide enough to fill the door frame. His blonde hair is thinning and beginning to turn grey. He towers over the little students in their desks as he adjusts the collar of his vestment. Despite Pastor John’s excellent reputation as a priest, I always found him to be spiritually intimidating as he would never hesitate to push someone in the right direction of God’s will. Near the end of last year, he gave a stern one-on-one talk to Will, one of the kids who used to always act out. After that, he never behaved badly again, but I’ve always found it strange because he ended up transferring before the next school year started.

  He clears his throat with a nasally cough and presents himself, “Good afternoon children. We are going do a spiritual exercise,” he proceeds to walk over towards the switch and turn the lights off, “First, you are all going to close your eyes and imagine a closed door that leads to your safe place. A place where you can talk to Jesus.”

  I think of the door to my old apartment building where my mother and I used to live when my father was still alive. I remember before we moved away I used to draw family portraits on the porch with chalk. I like to keep remembering it like that.

  “Now,” he continued, “Imagine a light peeking out of from the other side. All your hopes, dreams, and prayers await you. However, your sins shackle you to unfulfillment.”

  Pastor John started to walk around; the sound of his footsteps accompanied by the sound of quiet breathing echo throughout the room. I can feel his voice getting closer.

  "And there’s only one person who can forgive them.”

His footsteps stop.

“Jesus is waiting for you as the door opens completely.”

His voice feels as if it’s ringing in my head.

“He extends his hand to you.”

A chill shivers down my spine as I feel icy fingers touch the back of my neck.

“Only you can choose to reach out to him.”

The rough, dry hand slowly trails down my back.

“And accept his mercy.”
Suddenly, his hand retracts and I can hear his footsteps retreating. The lights are back on. My vision is distorted as a result of having my eyes closed for too long. My heart is pounding like a drum and my face is feverish from the adrenaline. Did that really happen? I watch Pastor John and Mrs. Chapmen exchange a few words in the doorway as they both look back at me. I sink into my seat and avoid eye contact.

“Mary, I need to speak to you,” she calls me into the hallway. I get up and realize my legs are shaking from the thought that I have to face him. To my relief, Pastor John is no longer in sight but I have no idea what to do once I speak with her.

“I’ve spoken with Pastor John and he said he has a slot available after school today for you to go to confession.” I feel blood rushing to my brain. “I know you and your mother have difficult schedules but I heard from Mrs. Monterey that today’s track meet has been rescheduled. I agreed with him that this is the perfect time for you since your mother won’t be picking you up until later. He’ll be waiting for you in the confession booth around 4:30.” I can’t seem to find enough strength in my vocal chords than to mutter a cloudy response and head back to my desk. I’m praying, begging to God for a way to have my mom magically appear before my eyes and take me back home.

He can’t hear me.