"Bless me, Father, I have sinned..."

I know, it's crazy doing this. Easter Confession in a town I've never been to before and will probably never see again. I should wait till I'm home and can see Father Marconi. Why not just go back to the motel and sin with Ingrid some more?

But I can't. When I woke up this morning, I felt like everything had changed. All that sex with Ingrid without a condom. (Five times on Saturday! I've never been so grateful for room service. We just had to put on robes for awhile and not go out to restaurants.)

No more barriers. Well, fewer barriers. It's not just physical. Barriers have been falling between us for years. And I don't know if I can keep doing this, being divided like this.

If it was just supposed to be one weekend in August, well, we've thrown that out the window. And it's not like our everyday lives are untouched. Every year, the boundaries blur more.

Angela was surprised when I told her I was going to Easter Mass. She offered to go with me, but I said this was something I had to do on my own. (I didn't mention I'd be doing Confession after Mass.) I'm sure she wondered why I didn't bring this up when she suggested an Easter trip. But she respected my choice, even if she looked puzzled.

So I left that beautiful, sexy woman, at her Ingridiest. We agreed to meet up in a park and then get brunch and go sightseeing before catching our flight home. Yes, I'd rather go back to the motel, but I realized that Mona and the kids would ask for travel details, particularly since Angela has never been to South Carolina before.

I guess I am putting off having sex with Ingrid again, even though I was so eager to have it these past twenty months. Well, we'll have it again in four months. We haven't picked a location yet but we'll figure that out when we get closer. And by then, maybe I'll have sorted out my feelings more.

"Mah Son, wah are yew pilin' see-on on see-on?"

The accent throws me, although of course I should've expected it. But the vowels aren't what I'm used to. Maybe I should've waited for Father Marconi. But then I'd have to explain why I lied to him before.

"I don't know," is all I can think to say. Because I don't know.

"Yew ev-ah he-ah the expression 'Fee-ush or cut bay-ut?' "

"Uh, yeah."

"See-on a-sigh-ud, yew can't keep stringin' along that poor gal."

"So what do I do?"

"Yew eith-uh mare-uh An-gee-luh or yew ghe-uv up Een-Grud."

"Uh, thanks." I can't imagine doing either, not yet.

Then he gives me the "pain-unce."

OK, I'm probably not capturing the accent. And yeah, he probably thinks my accent, with its blend of Brooklyn and Fairfield, is weird, too. But the point is, once I figure out what he's saying, it makes a lot of sense, but it doesn't solve my conflict. Maybe only time can do that.

I meet up with Angela at the park, right on the water. She's reading Anne Bronte (hasn't made much progress with it this weekend for some reason), and she's got our bags with her, since she had to check out of the motel on her own.

I sit next to her on the bench and slide my arm around her. "I hope you were OK waiting."

"Yes, it's a lovely view, with the sun and the water."

I look at the boats and say, "You wanna rent a rowboat or something?"

"Oh, gosh, Anthony, I haven't been out in a rowboat since camp."

"Yeah, I remember."

"What do you remember?"

"I was out on the lake, in a canoe. And there were a bunch of girls in a couple rowboats, girls from Camp Stuck-Up. Me and my three bunkmates were kidding around anyway, you know, splashing each other, trying to tip over each other's canoes, and then we started getting worse, to get the girls to pay attention. But they almost all had their noses in the air, like they'd be contaminated if they even looked at us. There was one girl though, with long straight blonde hair. She looked like she wasn't sure whether to laugh or frown, but she was watching us. So then I started watching her and then I smiled and she shyly smiled back. Well, of course my buddies started raggin' on me then. 'She likes you!' You know how kids are, especially boys that age."

"Eleven."

"Uh, yeah. I had no idea she was older. I didn't know anything about her. But I wanted to know more. So I made Bruce Weinberger, the guy in my canoe, row closer to her boat. He didn't want to but I insisted. So then the guys in the other canoe followed. And I got close enough to see her better. She had dark, mysterious eyes. So I grinned at her. Do you remember, Ingrid?"

"Yes, I do now. They were a bunch of rowdies from the Y Camp, and Cheryl, the girl in my rowboat, said to ignore them. But they were so noisy I couldn't. And then one of them noticed me watching. He had wavy dark hair and he reminded me a little of Frankie Avalon."

I groan, "Oh, Jesus, Frankie Avalon?"

"It's a compliment. I liked Frankie even more than Fabian."

"OK then."

"This boy didn't have a hair-helmet but he had that same sort of boy-next-door but mischievous look about him. And then he smiled at me, and it was a very warm smile. Friendly and flirty both, so I wasn't sure what he wanted from me."

"I don't know what I wanted either. Except to get closer to her, to you."

"Yes. And Cheryl tried to paddle further away, but the others, Judy and Tammy, had brought their rowboat closer, to see the fun, so we were sort of blocked. And I wouldn't help Cheryl because I couldn't take my eyes off the boy. He had puppy dog eyes, but a playful puppy."

"Oh, God, Ingrid, this is so embarrassing!" But I want her to keep going.

"I returned his smile, even though I felt self-conscious about my braces. It felt like we were the only people on the lake, but of course our friends were teasing us."

"I should've drowned Bruce!"

"Why, what did he say?"

"You don't remember?"

"No."
"Well, I guess you wouldn't. You didn't seem to understand. He said, 'Hey, Blondie, how'd you like to play with the little man in the rowboat?' "

"Oh, yes, I thought that was very rude of him to make fun of you for being short."

"Ingrid."

"What?"

"Think about it."

So she does, and then she gasps, "Oh, that's what he meant! Now I understand why Judy snickered!"

"Uh, yeah."

"I just remember the boys in the other canoe tried to tip over Judy's rowboat and we all paddled to get away."

"And you did. I watched you start to disappear before we'd even talked to each other. So I yelled across the lake, 'I'm Anthony!' "

"Right. And then the boys in the other canoe said they were named Anthony, too."

"Yeah, Anthony Camisa and some guy who wasn't from my neighborhood. I waited for the girl to yell her name back, but she didn't."

"I was tempted but I knew Cheryl wouldn't approve. She was already scolding me for paying attention to you."

"Yeah, our friends were a lot of help."

"Yes."

"Anyway, me and the guys went back to the Y Camp and of course they told everyone about me hitting on a girl from your camp. And I was embarrassed of course, because I hadn't even intended to flirt, and it's not like I said anything to you but my name. But at the same time, they egged me on to go over to your camp and see you. I wasn't gonna do that, especially since you didn't seem that interested. For all I knew, you just thought I was different from the boys you knew, but not in a good way."

"Then why did you steal my underwear?"

I blush a little. "Oh, right, that. So I guess it was a couple nights later. The guys dared me to go over there after supper. They'd all go with me. So I took the dare and then things got out of hand."

"Oh?"

"Well, yeah. I was too shy to talk to you."

"You, shy?"

"Yeah, me. We hid in the bushes till we figured out which cabin was yours. The girls were all going to supper, I guess yours was later than ours. The guys were nudging me to go over and talk to you, but now there were packs of girls—it was all girls back then, not coed—and counselors, and I didn't want us to get caught. Then when you were all in the dining hall, Anthony C. said, 'Let's go in her cabin and see if she's written about Tony M. in her diary!' "

She blushes. "How did you know I kept a diary?"

"I didn't. Not till now. It was just a lucky guess of Anthony C.'s, because you know, girls keep diaries. I told him we couldn't invade your privacy like that, so Anthony B.—I forget what the B stood for, Bruno or Bianchi probably—he said, 'Oh, we'll just look around.' And the other guys were up for it, and I knew I couldn't stop it, so I decided to go with them to keep them from getting out of hand. So we snuck in and looked around. And there was some sign that said that this was the 13-year-old girls' cabin. So then my buddies were all goin', 'Oo, Tony M.'s found himself an older woman!' "

"So that's how you knew I was 13."

"Yeah."

"But how did you know which underwear drawer was mine?"

"You'd been wearing a blue headband, this real rich blue."

"Sapphire blue."

"I guess, yeah. And it was sitting on top of your dresser. Bruce Weinberger noticed it. He had a good eye for details. I think he worked his way through law school later. Anyway, we all crowded around the dresser like we'd found a treasure chest. I still wanted to protect your privacy, but I knew there was no way I could stop the guys. So I said, 'Let me look,' and they all agreed I had the most right to. So I started on the bottom drawer, because that seemed the most likely place for a diary. And the first thing I touched was soft and cottony."

She blushes again. "My days of the week underwear."

"Yeah, I took it out and it said Tuesday. And this was a Monday. Well, you can imagine how the guys reacted. And then Anthony C. was the one to suggest we run it up the flagpole. And Anthony B. said, well, anyway."

"What?"

I blush again. " 'I bet Tony M. salutes it.' "

"Oh." She giggles. "Did you?"

"Ingrid! I was only eleven! I mean, yeah, I saluted it with my hand when the guys actually did run it up the flagpole. But I hadn't really hit puberty yet, so, no. And then I wanted them to take your panties down—I mean off the pole—I mean."

"It's OK, Anthony. This is an embarrassing story for both of us."

"Should I stop?"
"No, you can go on. If you want."

"OK. Well, I thought we should lower Tuesday so you'd have something to wear the next day. But then people started coming out of the dining hall, so we ran for it and back to the canoes."

"I heard boys running away and laughing—"

"Ay, I wasn't laughing."

"Well, your friends were. And I was very embarrassed when I realized whose panties those were. And then Cheryl sniffed and said something snide about 'courtship rituals of the lower classes.' "

"Sweet girl."

"Yes. And I wore Wednesday's underwear all the next day and wondered how I'd explain to Mother that I'd lost my panties at camp. Of course, I realized years later that she'd have been delighted." Yeah, Mona probably would've been, although Anthony can't know that.

"So why didn't a counselor or somebody lower Tuesday?"

"Miss Grunecker said the panties had to stay up there, as a reminder that we were not to fraternize with the boys from the Y camp. And they'd only be lowered if their owner stepped forward and took her punishment."

"Harsh."

"Yes. And of course I wasn't going to reclaim them. And my friends, even Cheryl, promised not to tell. Of course, if Miss Grunecker had lowered them, she'd have seen my name-tag sewn in by my housekeeper."

I didn't even notice the name-tag at the time, but then I wasn't gonna look at her panties too closely with the guys standing there. I now chuckle, thinking of a later housekeeper taking care of her undergarments, although he wasn't a good, good housekeeper when he ripped her teddy off her.

"To my surprise, the panties were returned to me Wednesday night, by which point I was wearing Thursday."

"Well, yeah. See, it started to rain and the guys teased me about your, um."

"Panties getting wet?"

"Yeah. And I felt bad for you anyway. So I decided that if Tuesday was still up there, I'd take it down myself. Well, that really made the guys tease me, but Anthony C. said he'd go with me. You know, Pitkin Avenue loyalty."

"Paisan."

"Yeah. So we 'borrowed' a canoe again, and got there after curfew. Of course, if we'd have been caught, it'd have been even worse than showing up at suppertime. But I didn't plan to be caught. Anthony C. dared me to climb up the pole but I could just see myself falling and cracking my head open. So I just used the ropes and took Tuesday down, Anthony C. keeping a lookout for me. And then I was just gonna throw Tuesday through your window, but he said, 'You should leave a note.' And I said, 'A note?' And he said, 'Yeah, you like her, don't you?' And I said, 'I don't know. She's OK. But I don't even know her, do I?' Then he said, 'Well, you're holding her panties, aren't you? That's pretty intimate.' "

Suddenly I think of how weird I felt about doing her dainties when I first moved in. My Psychology professor would probably say that this formative experience shaped how I regard even innocent handling of panties, although I can't see using this case study in my term paper.

"I said, 'What am I gonna say in a note?' He thought a minute and then he said, 'You should say if she wants to thank you for returning 'em, she can meet you tomorrow night at the Rock.' I said, 'Rock? What rock?' I thought maybe it was some dance or somethin', like a sock hop. So he explained about Make-Out Rock. He had an older brother who'd been to the same camp a few years earlier, so he knew a lot of the camping traditions I didn't. But I was eleven years old. I'd just started to discover girls. I didn't know if I wanted to make out with one, especially one I'd never really talked to. But he kept egging me on, and I thought why not? So I wrote what he told me."

She nods. "The next morning, Cheryl screamed because she stepped on a safety pin in her bare feet." I snicker and she can't help smiling. "It must've come undone when you threw the underwear in. But, after we put a Band-Aid on Cheryl's foot, Judy found the note and my underwear. She said, 'Get this, Girls! Robinson's knight in shining moccasins brought her undies back!' And she waved them in the air. We all speculated on whether he had stolen them and run them up the flagpole merely as an excuse to invite me to Kissing Rock."

I wonder if this was a formative experience for her, the beginning of that girl-talk where girlfriends try to figure out what boys, and then men, are thinking, because of course guys can't tell them directly. "So did they think you should go?"

"Well, they were divided on the matter. Cheryl of course thought any interaction with the Y Camp boys was a bad idea, and meeting one in the woods at night was particularly a bad idea. Judy thought I should go and get my first kiss, and it wasn't like I was making a lifetime commitment."

We grin at each other.

"So, uh, what about the other girl, whatshername?"

"Well, Tammy never said much. Not because she was shy like I was, but just because she was the type to only speak when she had something wise to say. So when we asked what she thought, she said, 'I think Angela should go but not give her real name. And if she's not back in half an hour, we'll go rescue her.' Everyone agreed that was sensible. And so Ingrid was born."

She's just broken the illusion, crossed back to Angela. But I'll pretend I didn't notice. "Meanwhile me and my buddies were planning it out. Even though they all wanted to go, I thought I should go alone. But they said I should bring one of them, in case Blondie tried for revenge. And then the two Anthonys were arguing over which one was gonna get to go and see if I made out with Blondie. And the bet came out of that. Bruce Weinberger had this really nice stopwatch, so he got drafted, even though he didn't want to go. The Anthonys both offered to take the watch, but it was a gift from Bruce's grandfather, so he wasn't gonna let it out of his sight."

"But didn't you feel any guilt or discomfort over making a bet about such a romantic moment as your first kiss?"

I wish she hadn't said guilt. "I didn't know it was gonna be romantic, did I? I'd never kissed a girl, and guys that had, like Anthony B., said it was no big deal. And I figured the girl would never find out, because Bruce got some Indian badge for stealth, so I knew he could hide quietly in the bushes. Either of the Anthonys would've laughed and given themselves away."

"I still think it was an awful thing to do. Even worse than lying about your age."

"Really, Ingrid?"

She blushes and then we both laugh.

"Well, anyway, I met up with you and I thanked you for returning my underwear and we sealed it with a kiss."

"Uh, just out of curiosity, what underwear were you wearing that night?"

"Um, I guess it would've been Friday. Tuesday hadn't yet gone through the wash, although it had been out in the rain. I didn't get back on track till the next week."

I don't say that I wonder if we've ever gotten back on track since that pivotal week, or if we'll always be just out of sync.

###

Translation of the priest's accent for non-native speakers:

"My Son, why are you piling sin on sin?"

"You ever hear the expression 'Fish or cut bait'?"

"Sin aside, you can't keep stringing along that poor girl."

"You either marry Angela or you give up Ingrid."

Then he gives Tony penance.