Like a Prayer
Chapter 2
"Bless me Father for I have sinned, it's been a week since my last confession and for my penance I've been praying every day for John Elway and trying — "
"And has that been helping, my child?"
Of course it's Father Patrick on the other side of the screen. Why didn't I check who was hearing confessions today? Probably because the only way to do that is to throw open the door of the confessional and that would hardly be polite. I wonder if disguising my voice will keep him from realizing I'm the same woman who has an apartment at the end of his private tunnel.
"I've…been trying to focus on the good in him but it's not enough, every time I picture his pasty self-satisfied face I hate him all over again, I know 'hate' is a strong word but when it comes to him or Manny fu— Manny Ramirez or Phil Jackson or — "
"My child — " He sounds genuinely puzzled, and I shut my mouth. " — is there anyone in your life you like?"
I think on it. "There's Randy Johnson."
"Randy John — Miri?"
Oh, heck. "Hi, Father Patrick," I say in a small voice.
And now he's putting two and two together — mind like a steel trap, that Father Patrick. "All these men you've spoken of to me — they're not your acquaintances, are they? They're professional athletes."
I nod, realize he can't see me, and say aloud, "Yes, Father. Coaches, too," I add in an attempt to be completely honest.
"You don't even know them, Miri, they've done nothing to you — "
"But that's not the point, Father!"
He audibly exhales, trying to be patient with me. "What is the point, Miri?"
"It's…" I have no idea. "…irrational. It's not supposed to make sense."
"Miri," he says sternly. "I think you like hating these men."
"Um…" The priest definitely has a point.
"Nothing will change until you let go of this hate. Perhaps you need to stop caring so much about these teams that are now halfway around the world from you — "
"And root for local teams?"
"— and develop different interests," he continues over me. "I'm not sure where this hate and anger come from, but you shouldn't dwell on these negative emotions." A pause. "We don't have the time now to discuss this the way we need to. Tomorrow is Sunday — "
"You'll probably be pretty busy," I guess.
"I will. Monday night — "
"I have rehearsal."
"Tuesday is bad...Wednesday — "
"Sectional."
"Thursdays I have dinner with my father...Friday — that's waiting too long. What are you doing tonight? Are you free tonight, Miri?"
"Yes, Father," I say, and immediately regret it. How lame am I, that I'm a single woman in Rome and I don't have a date on a Saturday night? Does he really want to hang out with a loser?
"Come to my chambers — wait, I have your flashlight. I'll come over after evening prayers."
I hear him starting to slide the panel between us closed and I ask, "Aren't you going to absolve me of my sins?"
"I cannot absolve you unless you're actually contrite." Ow. That's what a smackdown from a priest feels like. "I'll see you tonight, Miri."
"Yes, Father." I get up slowly and push open the door of the confessional. Instead of leaving St. Peter's, though, I go kneel before the Virgin Mary as if Father Patrick's actually given me Our Fathers and Hail Marys to say; I don't want anyone there to know my confession was rejected.
I clasp my hands tight and have to blink hard as I fight the sudden urge to burst into tears. I thought we were starting to be friends! And now he's getting all — priestly on me! He knows I can't receive communion tomorrow if I haven't confessed! But the worst thing is that at my last confession at least he'd thought I had a chance to change. Now he knows me better and he doesn't think there's any hope at all.
And those shortbread cookies I stayed up all night making — I can't give then to him now, it'll look like some kind of bribe. I wonder if he'll ever like me again.
I walk out of St. Peter's feeling terribly sorry for myself, but halfway home I realize — I have a date with the camerlengo tonight!
As Father Patrick comes up the stairs he hands over the gecko and notes, "You've been busy today."
No kidding. I'd spent the whole morning cleaning the passageway. After, of course, installing a bunch of puck lights between his place and mine because it's really hard to clean when you're trying to hold a cow-shaped flashlight (that keeps mooing) between your teeth.
"Well, I thought — if the passageway's cleaner, it'd be easier on your uniform."
"It's called a 'cassock,'" he corrects, donning his purple priest's scarf — and it's probably not called a scarf — so the ends hang over his shoulders. This is no social visit, he's in full-on confessor mode and I'm glad I didn't put out any drinks or snacks.
"Cassock," I repeat. Then I hand him a piece of paper. "I made a list of all the people I hate, Father."
He glances at it, then turns it over and sees the writing on the other side. His voice is faint with disbelief. "There are four columns of names here."
"I know. I kind of surprised myself."
Father Patrick sets his bible on the coffee table and sinks into the armchair to peruse the list. I perch on the edge of the sofa and watch his expression. He's frowning; clearly the names don't mean anything to him. I should have annotated the list.
He flips the page over and finally finds a few names he knows. "There's John Elway, I think I've gotten to know him...Jeff Kent you've spoken of as well...Kobe Bryant, I've actually heard of him! If you'd mentioned him in the confessional I would have caught on much sooner, Miri."
I've never felt more miserable than I do sitting across from the camerlengo, having him judge me and find me lacking. I force myself to meet his gaze — and see the corner of his mouth twitch the tiniest bit. Wait, I'm not on the verge of excommunication?
"At dinner in the refectory tonight I sat at a table with several rather partisan football fans and I have to admit, there's a certain...exhilaration in defending your team at the expense of another." Is he serious? "I came to realize there are quite a few reasons someone would ignore all logic and assert opinion as fact. Such as when Cardinal O'Connor enlists your support against the Italian and Spanish cardinals and you become 'one of the guys' and, for a little while at least, cease being 'the kid.'"
Immediately I imagine Barry Fitzgerald from "Going My Way" as Cardinal O'Connor roping Father Patrick into a spirited defense of Northern Ireland's football prowess against the agitated assertions of Romolo Valli from "The Leopard" and...I can't think of any priests in Spanish movies so I put Javier Bardem in a cassock and I'm about to let them have at it but Javier Bardem throws the whole refectory table off so I quickly recast Liam Neeson for Barry Fitzgerald and Christopher Meloni for Romolo Valli and put them all in cassocks and red skullcaps and — that's a pretty hot-looking foursome, especially if they're getting all intense about football, maybe... Hey! Focus!
Another, more rational part of my mind has registered that Father Patrick doesn't seem to take it too hard when people tease him, but I'm outraged for him. "They call you 'the kid'?!"
"To them I am, you know."
"But you're the camerlengo!"
"When you're my age, even being the camerlengo doesn't count for much."
"But — "And it suddenly dawns on me that being the camerlengo is a full-time job in and of itself. "Oh my gosh, this is overtime for you! It's Saturday night, Father Patrick, you shouldn't be here working, you should be — "
I'm starting to recognize the look he gives me — part amusement, part bafflement, as if he's not quite sure what to make of all my trains of thought crashing into the station at the same time. "First of all, there's no such thing as 'overtime' for a priest. Second, I 'should be' what?"
"Doing whatever priests do when they're off the clock! Play chess, listen to classical music, read biblical journals — " He bursts into laughter at my idea of what clergy do in their down time. " — watch a Champions League game — "
"Now if," he breaks in, sounding a little choked, "there was a game tonight involving Italy, Northern Ireland, or Spain, I probably would be watching it — "
"Solidifying your position as 'one of the guys'?"
"Exactly. I understand wanting that sense of belonging, of uniting against the world, as it were. And I believe in your case that's where such animus as you've expressed to me comes from. You wouldn't feel as strongly about John Elway if he didn't play for the opposing team, would you?"
If John had gone to Cal instead of Stanford? "I'd probably cut him some slack," I admit.
"Is there anyone on your list you know personally?"
I take the list from him and run my eye down all four columns. "No, Father."
"I didn't think so. You feel very passionately about your teams but you know where that passion ends and the real world begins. But hate, even of people you're never going to meet, is a heavy burden to carry, Miri." He looks earnestly at me, and Javier Cardinal Bardem, Liam Cardinal Neeson, and Christopher Cardinal Meloni all range themselves behind him, arms folded and gazes stern. This is serious and I'd better listen up.
"I don't want this to get out of hand. I don't want you to become embittered and so angry you can't see the good in other people, in your life, in the world around you. The world really is a glorious, awesome place, and I don't want you to miss it."
He's being so nice! He smiles at me and I have never wanted so badly to be worthy of such a warm, encouraging smile. No matter what he says about there being no overtime for priests I know his being in my living room isn't a normal part of his duties, that he's taking the time because he cares enough to try to impart some wisdom to the most crackpot sheep of his flock.
Father Patrick goes on, "You may have heard that the opposite of hate isn't love, but indifference. So for your penance, I want you to work on letting go. I want you to come up with another list. All the people you like, especially those you know personally. It should be at least as long as this list. And every time you find yourself slipping into old habits of thinking negatively about someone, think instead of someone on your new list. We'll discuss how that works for you next week. All right?"
"All right, Father."
The cardinals relax, and I breathe a little easier.
"Is there anything else you'd like to confess at this time?"
"I got dirt all over a priest's study last night."
"That's not a sin."
Sure felt like it. "I sassed a priest several times last night, too."
"You must always remember to respect your elders, my child."
"Yes, Father, I'll do my best."
We bow our heads as I recite the Act of Contrition, and then Father Patrick prays for my absolution (in Latin, which strikes me as a little show-offy but I'm all about respecting my elders now so I say nothing). And just like that, I'm ready for communion tomorrow and for the rest of the week!
"Thank you so much, Father Patrick, I owe you big time!" As he takes off his scarf, I ask, "Now that you're off the clock, do you want to stay and — ?"
"I didn't bring any biblical journals with me." His expression is guileless but I swear, that's a glint of mischief in his blue-green eyes. But just as I'm thinking there's something incredibly sexy about a mischievous priest he adds, "And my sermon still needs work," and suddenly I'm over it.
"Then how about — wait right here, before you go — " I dash into the kitchen and quickly pack up a plastic take-out container with his shortbread. When I dash back out I see he's admiring the view out the window. "Making a wish on the first star of the evening?"
He follows my gaze. "That's a planet."
"What?"
"It's not a star; it's Venus."
I sputter with outrage, making Father Patrick laugh, then I manage, "How many wishes have I wasted on planets when I thought they were stars?"
"Too many?"
Well, that explains why none of them come true, anyway. With some chagrin I look at him — and see something warm deep in his eyes. He's not just laughing at me; sure, I can bust him up without even trying, but when he tells me gently, "In the future, you might find prayer more effective," I know there's compassion, there, too.
"Yes, Father." I hand him the shortbread and explain, "Just something to snack on later."
"Did you make these?" I nod, and he suddenly grins like a kid who's just gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas. "They look delicious! Thank you, Miri."
"Thank you, Father."
He gathers up his scarf and bible, and right before he's about to go down the stairs, he leans close and hints, "I like chocolate, too." And then he's gone and I see the passageway go dark, light by light, as he turns them off on his way back to his study.
I can do chocolate.
But first I need to work on a list of my favorite people.
end Chapter 2