FOUR
* * *
It was he and I; always just he and I. I suppose when these things first happen you don't really register it; in fact it's hard for me to remember all the details of the first time, or even the times after that. I suppose it must be the same for him.
But details aren't really what's important anyway. Those wounds can heal.
It's what it does to your insides that never goes away.
Go away. Go away.
That's what I said. I remember that for sure. Because even then I knew it was wrong. I knew that priests weren't supposed to do these things, and I told him he shouldn't, but he did.
Kevin told him too.
But he did. And did. And did.
You know, the funny thing is that I know it was years. Years and years. Years and years and no one knew. Just he and Kevin and I. The tastes of such men vary, I suppose, and sometimes he wanted me and sometimes he wanted Kevin. And I hate myself, too, because of how easy it was for him; you did not challenge priests, did not challenge the Mother Church. It was too easy to sin, too easy for him to give you the wrong absolution when you confessed, condemning you to Hell, and I remember the one time I hinted that I would tell my parents how he told me that they would never believe me, because he was a man of God and no one would believe a misbehaving little girl like me over him.
I don't know if he ever told Kevin anything like that. All I know is that neither of us ever told anyone, even later.
Not even Ben.
#
Because Ben was our one small success, our one small triumph in the darkness. There was that one night, late, when Kevin and I met secretly. I can still remember the silence in our house as we whispered, he in his Superman pajamas and me in my flannel nightgown, in the broom closet under the stairs, a flashlight our only illumination.
Odd. I can remember the silence, but not the exact words.
I don't suppose the exact words matter, though.
Ben.
We had each seen the priest's eyes, on him, as he sat in church, in our youth group. We had each seen him go to our brother, had each heard him as he told Ben to meet him later. We had each seen Ben nod, his eyes so trusting.
And then Kevin had stood. He had stepped to the priest and had looked him in the eye.
"Take me instead, Father."
#
Oh God, the eyes of the man. On my brothers, looking them over, like he was choosing a cut of meat for tonight's dinner. The eyes still haunt me, still give me nightmares. And his nod, too, because he knew he had won, knew that he owned Kevin and I, now and forever, that Ben was the price we would pay for our submission.
Ben. My dear, beloved brother Ben.
You will never know what Kevin gave up for you.
What I gave up.
* * *
It was he and I; always just he and I. I suppose when these things first happen you don't really register it; in fact it's hard for me to remember all the details of the first time, or even the times after that. I suppose it must be the same for him.
But details aren't really what's important anyway. Those wounds can heal.
It's what it does to your insides that never goes away.
Go away. Go away.
That's what I said. I remember that for sure. Because even then I knew it was wrong. I knew that priests weren't supposed to do these things, and I told him he shouldn't, but he did.
Kevin told him too.
But he did. And did. And did.
You know, the funny thing is that I know it was years. Years and years. Years and years and no one knew. Just he and Kevin and I. The tastes of such men vary, I suppose, and sometimes he wanted me and sometimes he wanted Kevin. And I hate myself, too, because of how easy it was for him; you did not challenge priests, did not challenge the Mother Church. It was too easy to sin, too easy for him to give you the wrong absolution when you confessed, condemning you to Hell, and I remember the one time I hinted that I would tell my parents how he told me that they would never believe me, because he was a man of God and no one would believe a misbehaving little girl like me over him.
I don't know if he ever told Kevin anything like that. All I know is that neither of us ever told anyone, even later.
Not even Ben.
#
Because Ben was our one small success, our one small triumph in the darkness. There was that one night, late, when Kevin and I met secretly. I can still remember the silence in our house as we whispered, he in his Superman pajamas and me in my flannel nightgown, in the broom closet under the stairs, a flashlight our only illumination.
Odd. I can remember the silence, but not the exact words.
I don't suppose the exact words matter, though.
Ben.
We had each seen the priest's eyes, on him, as he sat in church, in our youth group. We had each seen him go to our brother, had each heard him as he told Ben to meet him later. We had each seen Ben nod, his eyes so trusting.
And then Kevin had stood. He had stepped to the priest and had looked him in the eye.
"Take me instead, Father."
#
Oh God, the eyes of the man. On my brothers, looking them over, like he was choosing a cut of meat for tonight's dinner. The eyes still haunt me, still give me nightmares. And his nod, too, because he knew he had won, knew that he owned Kevin and I, now and forever, that Ben was the price we would pay for our submission.
Ben. My dear, beloved brother Ben.
You will never know what Kevin gave up for you.
What I gave up.